Cuthbert was greatly interested in this adventure. He looked into the dark, handsome face of the man who rode beside him, and wondered if some gipsy blood might not run in his veins. The gipsy people of whom Kate had spoken were well known in all this region, and despite the roving life they led, appeared to be rooted to a certain extent to this wild and wooded tract. He had seen dark faces like this before in the woods; he had often heard stories of the doings of the gipsies around. Before, he had not thought much of this; but now, his interest was keenly excited, and he was delighted to have this opportunity of studying them at close quarters.
"Where are we going, Tyrrel?" asked one of the followers. "It is a bitter cold night, now the wind has shifted, and we are far enough away from Dead Man's Hole."
"I am not bound for Dead Man's Hole. We will to the ruined mill, and ask Miriam to give us shelter for the night. We have ridden far, and our steeds are weary. I trow she will give us a welcome."
This proposition seemed to give general satisfaction. The men plodded on after their leader, who kept Cuthbert close beside him, and they all moved across the heath in an irregular fashion, following some path known only to themselves, until they reached the wooded track to the left, and plunged into the brushwood again, picking their way carefully as they went, and all the while descending lower and lower into the hollow, till the rush of water became more and more distinctly audible, and Cuthbert knew by the sound that they must be approaching a waterfall of some kind.
One of the men had ridden forward to give notice of their approach, and soon in the flickering moonlight the gray walls of an ancient mill, now greatly fallen to decay, became visible to the travellers' eyes. From the open door streamed out a flood of ruddy light, cheering indeed to cold and weary men; whilst framed in this ruddy glow was a tall and picturesque figure--the figure of an old woman, a scarlet kerchief tied over her white hair, whilst her dress displayed that picturesque medley of colours that has always been the prevailing characteristic of the gipsy race.
"You are welcome, son Tyrrel," quoth the mistress of this lone dwelling, as the little cavalcade drew up at the door. "It is long since you favoured old Miriam with a visit. Yet you come at no ill time, since Red Ronald brought us in a fat buck but yesternight, and I have made oaten cakes today, and pies of the best. But who is that with you! I like not new faces in my dwelling place. It were well you should remember this ere you bring a stranger with you."
The old woman's face suddenly darkened as she spoke 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.