these last
words, and her wonderful eyes, so large and dark as to resemble
rather those of a deer than a human being, flashed fiercely, whilst
she seemed about to close the door in Tyrrel's face. But he pushed
in with a light laugh, leading Cuthbert with him, and saying as he
did so:

"Nay, nay, mother, be not so fierce. He is an honest lad enough, I
trow; if not, 'twill be the worse for him anon. We have brought him
hither to search him if he carries gold concealed. If not, and he
proves to have spoken sooth, he may go his way or join with us,
whichever likes him best. We could do with a few more bold lads,
since death has been something busy of late; and he seems to have
the grit in him one looks for in those who join with us. Moreover,
he has the dark eyes, and would soon have the swarth skin, that
distinguish our merry men all.

"How now, mother! Thou hast eyes for none but the lad! Why lookst
thou at him so?"

Cuthbert, too, gazed wonderingly at the handsome old gipsy, who
continued to keep her eyes fixed upon him, as if by a species of
fascination. He could no more withdraw his gaze than can the bird
whom the snake is luring to destruction.

"Boy, what is thy name?" she asked, in a quick, harsh whisper.

"Cuthbert Trevlyn," he answered, without hesitation, and at the
name a wild laugh rang out through the vaulted room, illumined by
the glow of a huge fire of logs, whilst all present started and
looked at one another.

"I knew it--I knew it!" cried the old woman, with a wild gesture of
her withered arms, which were bare to the elbow, as though she had
been engaged in culinary tasks. "I knew it--I knew it! I knew it
the moment the light fell upon his face. Trevlyn--Trevlyn! one of
that accursed brood! Heaven be praised, the hour of vengeance has
come! We will do unto one of them even as they did unto us;" and
she waved her arms again in the air, and glanced towards the
glowing fire on the hearth with a look in her wild eyes that for a
moment caused Cuthbert's heart to stand still. For he remembered
the story of the witch burned by his grand sire's mandate, and he
felt he was not mistaken in the interpretation he had put upon the
old woman's words.

But Tyrrel roughly interposed.

"No more of that, mother," he said. "We have wiped out that old
score long ago. The lad is a bold lad, Trevlyn or no. Let us to
supper now, and forget those accursed beldam's tales. Where is Long
Robin, and what is he doing? an