He felt as though all the breath were being pressed out of him, and in his ear there rang a hideous laugh, the sound of which he knew but too well.
"Fool!" cried a hoarse voice, hissing the words in his ears--"fool of a mad boy to trust a treacherous gipsy tale! So thou thoughtest to outwit Long Robin! Thou thoughtest to win back the lost treasure to the house of Trevlyn! Mad boy--fool of a hardy knave! But yet thou shalt have thy wish--thou shalt have thy will.

Thou shalt see with thine own eyes that long-lost treasure." There was a cruel sneer in the man's eyes, a mocking inflection in his voice, that sent a thrill of cold horror through Cuthbert's veins.

He was absolutely powerless in that merciless clasp.

He felt the strength leaving his limbs and his head turning giddy.

He only just knew it when he was laid upon the grass, his captor's knee firmly planted on his chest; and then he felt his hands and feet being tightly and securely bound, whilst the stars in the sky seemed to reel and dance before his eyes, and he said to himself, without realizing the import of his own words: "He is going to kill me; he is going to kill me." "Yes, I am going to kill thee, mad boy," said Long Robin coolly, as though he had heard the spoken word.