ferns said nothing, and the water kept its
secret.

Fortune was not more kindly to the Treverns in the eighteenth century
than she had been in the seventeenth. Roger Trevern, the elder son and
inheritor of the estate, found it a hard struggle to maintain himself
and his large family upon the impoverished property, while the younger
son Richard, the designated heir of the missing treasure, became
implicated in the Jacobite rising of 1715, was forced to fly to Holland
after Mar's defeat, and died in exile, a few years after the disaster of
Sherrifmuir, bequeathing a destitute orphan girl to his brother's
charge.

Roger Trevern, a most kindly man, welcomed this addition to his already
large family without a murmur; and little Mary Trevern grew up with her
cousins, beloved and kindly treated by all in the household. It was only
as the child grew into womanhood that a change came over Madam Trevern's
feelings towards her young niece; for Madam Trevern was a shrewd and
sensible woman, a devoted, but also an ambitious, mother. Much as she
liked sweet Mary Trevern, she had no desire to see her eldest son, the
youthful heir of the sadly encumbered estate, wedded to a portionless
bride, however comely and amiable. And Dick Trevern had lately been
exhibiting a marked preference for his pretty cousin, a fact which
greatly disturbed his mother's peace of mind.

Mary herself knew this, and did not resent her aunt's feelings in the
matter. The girl, as one of the elders among the children, had long been
familiar with the story of the family straits and struggles, and could
only acquiesce (though with a stifled sigh) in Madam Trevern's oft
repeated axiom that "whenever Dick wedded, his bride must bring with her
sufficient dowry to free the estate" from some of the mortgages which
were crushing and crippling it. Mary knew that a marriage between
herself and Dick could only result in bringing troubles upon both--and
yet--and yet--love and prudence do not often go hand-in-hand--and
although no word of actual wooing had ever passed between the young
folk, both had, unfortunately, learned to love each other but too well.
Wistfully did she think of that hidden treasure, now but a forlorn hope,
yet all the hope she had.

"And had the poor child but a dowry there is none to whom I would sooner
see our Dick wedded," Madam Trevern once remarked to her husband; "for
Molly is a good girl, and like a daughter to us already. But, Roger,
'tis b