"It is of the lost treasure I would speak.

Canst tell me if it still remains as it was when it was lost?
Canst tell me the spot where it lies hid, that I may draw it thence?
If thou canst lead me to it, thou shalt not lose thy reward; thou shalt be rich for life." The youth spoke eagerly; but a curious smile crept over the old woman's face at his words.
"Foolish boy!" she said.

"Seest thou not that if gold were my desire I have but to discover the place where the treasure lies to some stalwart knave sworn to do my bidding, and all would be mine?
Could I not sell this golden secret to the highest bidder, an wealth was all I craved?
Foolish, foolish boy--impetuous like all thy race! What hast thou to offer me that I may not obtain by one wave of this wand ?" Cuthbert was silent, wondering alike at the old woman and her words.

If she was not disposed to sell her golden secret (and what she said was but too true--that the treasure would be more to her than any reward), what hope was there of her revealing it to him?
He stood silent and perplexed, waiting for the old woman to speak again.
"Cuthbert Trevlyn," she said, after a long pause, "methought that the hope of finding the treasure had long since been abandoned by thy race." "That may well be, but it has not been so abandoned by me.

Whilst I have youth and health and strength, I will not give up that hope.
I, the grandson of Isabel Wyvern, will not cease to strive till I have won back the lost luck that was to return to that house through the daughters' sons." It was almost at random that Cuthbert had spoken these words, but some recollection had come over him of the story he had heard of the devotion of certain gipsy people to the family of the Wyverns, and their prognostications concerning them.