fitful glances, and her newborn softness in his presence, which gave a sweeter quality to her childish charms.  He himself did not wish Martin Holt to be aware that anything had passed between him and Cherry till he could come boldly forward and ask her at her father’s hands, having the wherewithal to support her.  He had been surprised into an admission of youthful devotion, and he by no means wished the words unsaid; for the secret understanding now existing betwixt himself and Cherry was the sweetest element in his daily life, and he was more and more in love every day with his charming cousin.  But he knew that until he could come with his share of the Trevlyn treasure in his hands, he could scarce hope or look for a patient hearing from the shrewd man of business.  And though he himself was increasingly confident that the treasure had been hidden out of spite, and not really made away with, and that some day it would be found, he knew that this opinion would be regarded by the world at large as a chimera of ardent youth, and that Martin Holt for one would bid him lay aside all such vain and idle dreams, and strive by steady perseverance in business to win for himself a modest independence.  Only to the young, the ardent, the lovers of imaginative romance, had the notion of hidden treasure any charm.

And here was Cherry crying, palpitating, trembling in his arms as though some great trouble menaced them.

“What ails thee, sweetheart?” he asked, with playful tenderness; and Cherry choked back her sobs to answer: 

“Cuthbert, he has spoken to me of marriage—­my father.  He has told me plainly what he purposes for me.  He and my uncle Dyson have talked of it together.  I am to wed my cousin Jacob.  O Cuthbert, Cuthbert! what must I do? what must I say?”

Cuthbert heard the news in silence.  It was not altogether unexpected, but he had scarce looked to have heard the subject openly broached so soon.  Cherry had been regarded in her home as such a child, and her father, sisters, and aunt had so combined to speak and think of her as such, that although her eighteenth birthday was hard at hand, and she was certainly of marriageable age, he had not looked to have to face this complication in the situation quite so quickly.  But as he stood holding Cherry in his arms (for she had come to him in the upper parlour at an hour when all the household were elsewhere engaged, and there was no fear of interruption), a look of stern purpose and resolution passed across the young man’s face—­an expression which those who knew the Trevlyn family would have recognized as a true Trevlyn look.  His face seemed to take added years and manliness as that expression crossed it; and looking tenderly down at the quivering Cherry, he asked: 

“Thinkest thou that he has seen or suspected aught?”

“I know not.  He said no word of that, only looked hard at me as be spoke of Jacob.”

“And what saidst thou?”