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      Windsor Castle, by William H. Ainsworth
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The Project Gutenberg EBook of Windsor Castle, by William Harrison Ainsworth

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org


Title: Windsor Castle

Author: William Harrison Ainsworth

Release Date: January 10, 2009 [EBook #2866]
Last Updated: March 12, 2018

Language: English

Character set encoding: UTF-8

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WINDSOR CASTLE ***




Produced by Grant Macandrew, and David Widger






</pre>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <h1>
      WINDSOR CASTLE
    </h1>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      By William H. Ainsworth
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
           &ldquo;About, about!
           Search Windsor Castle, elves, within and out.&rdquo;

           SHAKESPEARE, Merry Wives of Windsor
      </pre>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
           &ldquo;There is an old tale goes, that Herne the hunter,
           Sometime a keeper here in Windsor forest,
           Doth all the winter time, at still midnight,
           Walk round about an oak, with great ragg'd horns;
           And there he blasts the tree, and takes the cattle,
           And makes milch-kine yield blood, and shakes a chain
           In a most hideous and dreadful manner:
           You have heard of such a spirit; and well you know,
           The superstitious idle-headed eld
           Receiv'd, and did deliver to our age,
           This tale of Herne the hunter for a truth.&rdquo;&mdash;ibid
      </pre>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p class="toc">
        <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big>
      </p>
      <p>
        <br />
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>WINDSOR CASTLE</b> </a>
      </p>
      <p>
        <br />
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> <b>BOOK I. ANNE BOLEYN</b> </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> I. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> II. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> III. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> IV. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> V. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> VI. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> VII. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> VIII. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> IX. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> X. </a>
      </p>
      <p>
        <br />
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> <b>BOOK II. HERNE THE HUNTER</b> </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> I. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> II. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> III. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> IV. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> V. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> VI. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> VII. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> VIII. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> IX. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> X. </a>
      </p>
      <p>
        <br />
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> <b>BOOK III. THE HISTORY OF THE CASTLE</b>
        </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> I. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> II. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> III. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> IV. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> V. </a>
      </p>
      <p>
        <br />
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> <b>BOOK IV. CARDINAL WOLSEY</b> </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> I. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> II. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0033"> III. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0034"> IV. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0035"> V. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> VI. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0037"> VII. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0038"> VIII. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0039"> IX. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0040"> X. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0041"> XI. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0042"> XII. </a>
      </p>
      <p>
        <br />
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0043"> <b>BOOK V. MABEL LYNDWOOD</b> </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0044"> I. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0045"> II. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0046"> III. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0047"> IV. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0048"> V. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0049"> VI. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0050"> VII. </a>
      </p>
      <p>
        <br />
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0051"> <b>BOOK VI. JANE SEYMOUR</b> </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0052"> I. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0053"> II. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0054"> III. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0055"> IV. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0056"> V. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0057"> VI. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0058"> VII. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0059"> VIII. </a>
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <h1>
      WINDSOR CASTLE
    </h1>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      BOOK I. ANNE BOLEYN
    </h2>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      I.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     Of the Earl of Surrey's solitary Ramble in the Home Park&mdash;Of
     the Vision beheld by him in the Haunted Dell&mdash;And of his
     Meeting with Morgan Fenwolf, the Keeper, beneath Herne's
     Oak.
</pre>
    <p>
      In the twentieth year of the reign of the right high and puissant King
      Henry the Eighth, namely, in 1529, on the 21st of April, and on one of the
      loveliest evenings that ever fell on the loveliest district in England, a
      fair youth, having somewhat the appearance of a page, was leaning over the
      terrace wall on the north side of Windsor Castle, and gazing at the
      magnificent scene before him. On his right stretched the broad green
      expanse forming the Home Park, studded with noble trees, chiefly
      consisting of ancient oaks, of which England had already learnt to be
      proud, thorns as old or older than the oaks, wide-spreading beeches, tall
      elms, and hollies. The disposition of these trees was picturesque and
      beautiful in the extreme. Here, at the end of a sweeping vista, and in the
      midst of an open space covered with the greenest sward, stood a mighty
      broad-armed oak, beneath whose ample boughs, though as yet almost
      destitute of foliage, while the sod beneath them could scarcely boast a
      head of fern, couched a herd of deer. There lay a thicket of thorns
      skirting a sand-bank, burrowed by rabbits, on this hand grew a dense and
      Druid-like grove, into whose intricacies the slanting sunbeams pierced; on
      that extended a long glade, formed by a natural avenue of oaks, across
      which, at intervals, deer were passing. Nor were human figures wanting to
      give life and interest to the scene. Adown the glade came two keepers of
      the forest, having each a couple of buckhounds with them in leash, whose
      baying sounded cheerily amid the woods. Nearer the castle, and bending
      their way towards it, marched a party of falconers with their well-trained
      birds, whose skill they had been approving upon their fists, their jesses
      ringing as they moved along, while nearer still, and almost at the foot of
      the terrace wall, was a minstrel playing on a rebec, to which a keeper, in
      a dress of Lincoln green, with a bow over his shoulder, a quiver of arrows
      at his back, and a comely damsel under his arm, was listening.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the left, a view altogether different in character, though scarcely
      less beautiful, was offered to the gaze. It was formed by the town of
      Windsor, then not a third of its present size, but incomparably more
      picturesque in appearance, consisting almost entirely of a long straggling
      row of houses, chequered black and white, with tall gables, and projecting
      storeys skirting the west and south sides of the castle, by the silver
      windings of the river, traceable for miles, and reflecting the glowing
      hues of the sky, by the venerable College of Eton, embowered in a grove of
      trees, and by a vast tract of well-wooded and well-cultivated country
      beyond it, interspersed with villages, churches, old halls, monasteries,
      and abbeys.
    </p>
    <p>
      Taking out his tablets, the youth, after some reflection, traced a few
      lines upon them, and then, quitting the parapet, proceeded slowly, and
      with a musing air, towards the north west angle of the terrace. He could
      not be more than fifteen, perhaps not so much, but he was tall and
      well-grown, with slight though remarkably well-proportioned limbs; and it
      might have been safely predicted that, when arrived at years of maturity,
      he would possess great personal vigour. His countenance was full of
      thought and intelligence, and he had a broad lofty brow, shaded by a
      profusion of light brown ringlets, a long, straight, and finely-formed
      nose, a full, sensitive, and well-chiselled mouth, and a pointed chin. His
      eyes were large, dark, and somewhat melancholy in expression, and his
      complexion possessed that rich clear brown tint constantly met with in
      Italy or Spain, though but seldom seen in a native of our own colder
      clime. His dress was rich, but sombre, consisting of a doublet of black
      satin, worked with threads of Venetian gold; hose of the same material,
      and similarly embroidered; a shirt curiously wrought with black silk, and
      fastened at the collar with black enamelled clasps; a cloak of black
      velvet, passmented with gold, and lined with crimson satin; a flat black
      velvet cap, set with pearls and goldsmith's work, and adorned with a short
      white plume; and black velvet buskins. His arms were rapier and dagger,
      both having gilt and graven handles, and sheaths of black velvet.
    </p>
    <p>
      As he moved along, the sound of voices chanting vespers arose from Saint
      George's Chapel; and while he paused to listen to the solemn strains, a
      door, in that part of the castle used as the king's privy lodgings,
      opened, and a person advanced towards him. The new-comer had broad, brown,
      martial-looking features, darkened still more by a thick coal-black beard,
      clipped short in the fashion of the time, and a pair of enormous
      moustachios. He was accoutred in a habergeon, which gleamed from beneath
      the folds of a russet-coloured mantle, and wore a steel cap in lieu of a
      bonnet on his head, while a long sword dangled from beneath his cloak.
      When within a few paces of the youth, whose back was towards him, and who
      did not hear his approach, he announced himself by a loud cough, that
      proved the excellence of his lungs, and made the old walls ring again,
      startling the jackdaws roosting in the battlements.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What! composing a vesper hymn, my lord of Surrey?&rdquo; he cried with a laugh,
      as the other hastily thrust the tablets, which he had hitherto held in his
      hand, into his bosom. &ldquo;You will rival Master Skelton, the poet laureate,
      and your friend Sir Thomas Wyat, too, ere long. But will it please your
      lord-ship to quit for a moment the society of the celestial Nine, and
      descend to earth, while I inform you that, acting as your representative,
      I have given all needful directions for his majesty's reception
      to-morrow?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have not failed, I trust, to give orders to the groom of the chambers
      for the lodging of my fair cousin, Mistress Anne Boleyn, Captain
      Bouchier?&rdquo; inquired the Earl of Surrey, with a significant smile.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Assuredly not, my lord!&rdquo; replied the other, smiling in his turn. &ldquo;She
      will be lodged as royally as if she were Queen of England. Indeed, the
      queen's own apartments are assigned her.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is well,&rdquo; rejoined Surrey. &ldquo;And you have also provided for the
      reception of the Pope's legate, Cardinal Campeggio?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Bouchier bowed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And for Cardinal Wolsey?&rdquo; pursued the other.
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain bowed again.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To save your lordship the necessity of asking any further questions,&rdquo; he
      said, &ldquo;I may state briefly that I have done all as if you had done it
      yourself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Be a little more particular, captain, I pray you,&rdquo; said Surrey.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Willingly, my lord,&rdquo; replied Bouchier. &ldquo;In your lord ship's name, then,
      as vice-chamberlain, in which character I presented myself, I summoned
      together the dean and canons of the College of St. George, the usher of
      the black rod, the governor of the alms-knights, and the whole of the
      officers of the household, and acquainted them, in a set speech-which, I
      flatter myself, was quite equal to any that your lordship, with all your
      poetical talents, could have delivered&mdash;that the king's highness,
      being at Hampton Court with the two cardinals, Wolsey and Campeggio,
      debating the matter of divorce from his queen, Catherine of Arragon,
      proposes to hold the grand feast of the most noble order of the Garter at
      this his castle of Windsor, on Saint George's Day&mdash;that is to say,
      the day after to-morrow&mdash;and that it is therefore his majesty's
      sovereign pleasure that the Chapel of St. George, in the said castle, be
      set forth and adorned with its richest furniture; that the high altar be
      hung with arras representing the patron saint of the order on horseback,
      and garnished with the costliest images and ornaments in gold and silver;
      that the pulpit be covered with crimson damask, inwrought with
      flowers-de-luces of gold, portcullises, and roses; that the royal stall be
      canopied with a rich cloth of state, with a haut-pas beneath it of a foot
      high; that the stalls of the knights companions be decked with cloth of
      tissue, with their scutcheons set at the back; and that all be ready at
      the hour of tierce-hora tertia vespertina, as appointed by his majesty's
      own statute&mdash;at which time the eve of the feast shall be held to
      commence.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Take breath, captain,&rdquo; laughed the earl.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have no need,&rdquo; replied Bouchier. &ldquo;Furthermore, I delivered your
      lordship's warrant from the lord chamberlain to the usher of the black
      rod, to make ready and furnish Saint George's Hall, both for the supper
      to-morrow and the grand feast on the following day; and I enjoined the
      dean and canons of the college, the alms-knights, and all the other
      officers of the order, to be in readiness for the occasion. And now,
      having fulfilled my devoir, or rather your lordship's, I am content to
      resign my post as vice-chamberlain, to resume my ordinary one, that of
      your simple gentleman, and to attend you back to Hampton Court whenever it
      shall please you to set forth.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And that will not be for an hour, at the least,&rdquo; replied the earl; &ldquo;for I
      intend to take a solitary ramble in the Home Park.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What I to seek inspiration for a song&mdash;or to meditate upon the
      charms of the fair Geraldine, eh, my lord?&rdquo; rejoined Bouchier. &ldquo;But I will
      not question you too shrewdly. Only let me caution you against going near
      Herne's Oak. It is said that the demon hunter walks at nightfall, and
      scares, if he does not injure, all those who cross his path. At curfew
      toll I must quit the castle, and will then, with your attendants proceed
      to the Garter, in Thames Street, where I will await your arrival. If we
      reach Hampton Court by midnight, it will be time enough, and as the moon
      will rise in an hour, we shall have a pleasant ride.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Commend me to Bryan Bowntance, the worthy host of the Garter,&rdquo; said the
      earl; &ldquo;and bid him provide you with a bottle of his best sack in which to
      drink my health.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Fear me not,&rdquo; replied the other. &ldquo;And I pray your lordship not to neglect
      my caution respecting Herne the Hunter. In sober sooth, I have heard
      strange stories of his appearance of late, and should not care to go near
      the tree after dark.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The earl laughed somewhat sceptically, and the captain reiterating his
      caution, they separated&mdash;Bouchier returning the way he came, and
      Surrey proceeding towards a small drawbridge crossing the ditch on the
      eastern side of the castle, and forming a means of communication with the
      Little Park. He was challenged by a sentinel at the drawbridge, but on
      giving the password he was allowed to cross it, and to pass through a gate
      on the farther side opening upon the park.
    </p>
    <p>
      Brushing the soft and dewy turf with a footstep almost as light and
      bounding as that of a fawn, he speeded on for more than a quarter of a
      mile, when he reached a noble beech-tree standing at the end of a clump of
      timber. A number of rabbits were feeding beneath it, but at his approach
      they instantly plunged into their burrows.
    </p>
    <p>
      Here he halted to look at the castle. The sun had sunk behind it, dilating
      its massive keep to almost its present height and tinging the summits of
      the whole line of ramparts and towers, since rebuilt and known as the
      Brunswick Tower, the Chester Tower, the Clarence Tower, and the Victoria
      Tower, with rosy lustre.
    </p>
    <p>
      Flinging himself at the foot of the beech-tree, the youthful earl indulged
      his poetical reveries for a short time, and then, rising, retraced his
      steps, and in a few minutes the whole of the south side of the castle lay
      before him. The view comprehended the two fortifications recently removed
      to make way for the York and Lancaster Towers, between which stood a gate
      approached by a drawbridge; the Earl Marshal's Tower, now styled from the
      monarch in whose reign it was erected, Edward the Third's Tower; the black
      rod's lodgings; the Lieutenant's&mdash;now Henry the Third's Tower; the
      line of embattled walls, constituting the lodgings of the alms-knights;
      the tower tenanted by the governor of that body, and still allotted to the
      same officer; Henry the Eight's Gateway, and the Chancellor of the
      Garter's Tower&mdash;the latter terminating the line of building. A few
      rosy beams tipped the pinnacles of Saint George's Chapel, seen behind the
      towers above-mentioned, with fire; but, with this exception, the whole of
      the mighty fabric looked cold and grey.
    </p>
    <p>
      At this juncture the upper gate was opened, and Captain Bouchier and his
      attendants issued from it, and passed over the drawbridge. The curfew bell
      then tolled, the drawbridge was raised, the horsemen disappeared, and no
      sound reached the listener's ear except the measured tread of the
      sentinels on the ramparts, audible in the profound stillness.
    </p>
    <p>
      The youthful earl made no attempt to join his followers, but having gazed
      on the ancient pile before him till its battlements and towers grew dim in
      the twilight, he struck into a footpath leading across the park towards
      Datchet, and pursued it until it brought him near a dell filled with
      thorns, hollies, and underwood, and overhung by mighty oaks, into which he
      unhesitatingly plunged, and soon gained the deepest part of it. Here,
      owing to the thickness of the hollies and the projecting arms of other
      large overhanging timber, added to the uncertain light above, the gloom
      was almost impervious, and he could scarcely see a yard before him. Still,
      he pressed on unhesitatingly, and with a sort of pleasurable sensation at
      the difficulties he was encountering. Suddenly, however, he was startled
      by a blue phosphoric light streaming through the bushes on the left, and,
      looking up, he beheld at the foot of an enormous oak, whose giant roots
      protruded like twisted snakes from the bank, a wild spectral-looking
      object, possessing some slight resemblance to humanity, and habited, so
      far as it could be determined, in the skins of deer, strangely disposed
      about its gaunt and tawny-coloured limbs. On its head was seen a sort of
      helmet, formed of the skull of a stag, from which branched a large pair of
      antlers; from its left arm hung a heavy and rusty-looking chain, in the
      links of which burnt the phosphoric fire before mentioned; while on its
      right wrist was perched a large horned owl, with feathers erected, and red
      staring eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      Impressed with the superstitious feelings common to the age, the young
      earl, fully believing he was in the presence of a supernatural being,
      could scarcely, despite his courageous nature, which no ordinary matter
      would have shaken, repress a cry. Crossing himself, he repeated, with
      great fervency, a prayer, against evil spirits, and as he uttered it the
      light was extinguished, and the spectral figure vanished. The clanking of
      the chain was heard, succeeded by the hooting of the owl; then came a
      horrible burst of laughter, then a fearful wail, and all was silent.
    </p>
    <p>
      Up to this moment the young earl had stood still, as if spell-bound; but
      being now convinced that the spirit had fled, he pressed forward, and, ere
      many seconds, emerged from the brake. The full moon was rising as he
      issued forth, and illuminating the glades and vistas, and the calmness and
      beauty of all around seemed at total variance with the fearful vision he
      had just witnessed. Throwing a shuddering glance at the haunted dell, he
      was about to hurry towards the castle, when a large, lightning-scathed,
      and solitary oak, standing a little distance from him, attracted his
      attention.
    </p>
    <p>
      This was the very tree connected with the wild legend of Herne the Hunter,
      which Captain Bouchier had warned him not to approach, and he now forcibly
      recalled the caution. Beneath it he perceived a figure, which he at first
      took for that of the spectral hunter; but his fears were relieved by a
      shout from the person, who at the same moment appeared to catch sight of
      him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Satisfied that, in the present instance, he had to do with a being of this
      world, Surrey ran towards the tree, and on approaching it perceived that
      the object of his alarm was a young man of very athletic proportions, and
      evidently, from his garb, a keeper of the forest.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was habited in a jerkin of Lincoln green cloth, with the royal badge
      woven in silver on the breast, and his head was protected by a flat green
      cloth cap, ornamented with a pheasant's tail. Under his right arm he
      carried a crossbow; a long silver-tipped horn was slung in his baldric;
      and he was armed with a short hanger, or wood-knife. His features were
      harsh and prominent; and he had black beetling brows, a large coarse
      mouth, and dark eyes, lighted up with a very sinister and malignant
      expression.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was attended by a large savage-looking staghound, whom he addressed as
      Bawsey, and whose fierceness had to be restrained as Surrey approached.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Have you seen anything?&rdquo; he demanded of the earl.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have seen Herne the Hunter himself, or the fiend in his likeness,&rdquo;
       replied Surrey.
    </p>
    <p>
      And he briefly related the vision he had beheld.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay, ay, you have seen the demon hunter, no doubt,&rdquo; replied the keeper at
      the close of the recital. &ldquo;I neither saw the light, nor heard the
      laughter, nor the wailing cry you speak of; but Bawsey crouched at my feet
      and whined, and I knew some evil thing was at hand. Heaven shield us!&rdquo; he
      exclaimed, as the hound crouched at his feet, and directed her gaze
      towards the oak, uttering a low ominous whine, &ldquo;she is at the same trick
      again.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The earl glanced in the same direction, and half expected to see the
      knotted trunk of the tree burst open and disclose the figure of the
      spectral hunter. But nothing was visible&mdash;at least, to him, though it
      would seem from the shaking limbs, fixed eyes, and ghastly visage of the
      keeper, that some appalling object was presented to his gaze.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do you not see him?&rdquo; cried the latter at length, in thrilling accents;
      &ldquo;he is circling the tree, and blasting it. There! he passes us now&mdash;do
      you not see him?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; replied Surrey; &ldquo;but do not let us tarry here longer.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      So saying he laid his hand upon the keeper's arm. The touch seemed to
      rouse him to exertion: He uttered a fearful cry, and set off at a quick
      pace along the park, followed by Bawsey, with her tail between her legs.
      The earl kept up with him, and neither halted till they had left the
      wizard oak at a considerable distance behind them.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And so you did not see him?&rdquo; said the keeper, in a tone of exhaustion, as
      he wiped the thick drops from his brow.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I did not,&rdquo; replied Surrey.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That is passing strange,&rdquo; rejoined the other. &ldquo;I myself have seen him
      before, but never as he appeared to-night.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are a keeper of the forest, I presume, friend?&rdquo; said Surrey. &ldquo;How are
      you named?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am called Morgan Fenwolf,&rdquo; replied the keeper; &ldquo;and you?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am the Earl of Surrey;' returned the young noble.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What!&rdquo; exclaimed Fenwolf, making a reverence, &ldquo;the son to his grace of
      Norfolk?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The earl replied in the affirmative.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, then, you must be the young nobleman whom I used to see so often
      with the king's son, the Duke of Richmond, three or four years ago, at the
      castle?&rdquo; rejoined Fenwolf &ldquo;You are altogether grown out of my
      recollection.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not unlikely,&rdquo; returned the earl. &ldquo;I have been at Oxford, and have only
      just completed my studies. This is the first time I have been at Windsor
      since the period you mention.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have heard that the Duke of Richmond was at Oxford likewise,&rdquo; observed
      Fenwolf.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We were at Cardinal College together,&rdquo; replied Surrey. &ldquo;But the duke's
      term was completed before mine. He is my senior by three years.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I suppose your lordship is returning to the castle?&rdquo; said Fenwolf.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; replied Surrey. &ldquo;My attendants are waiting for me at the Garter, and
      if you will accompany me thither, I will bestow a cup of good ale upon you
      to recruit you after the fright you have undergone.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Fenwolf signified his graceful acquiescence, and they walked on in
      silence, for the earl could not help dwelling upon the vision he had
      witnessed, and his companion appeared equally abstracted. In this sort
      they descended the hill near Henry the Eighth's Gate, and entered Thames
      Street.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      II.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     Of Bryan Bowntance, the Host of the Garter&mdash;Of the Duke of
     Shoreditch&mdash;Of the Bold Words uttered by Mark Fytton, the
     Butcher, and how he was cast into the Vault of the Curfew
     Tower.
</pre>
    <p>
      Turning off on the right, the earl and his companion continued to descend
      the hill until they came in sight of the Garter&mdash;a snug little
      hostel, situated immediately beneath the Curfew Tower.
    </p>
    <p>
      Before the porch were grouped the earl's attendants, most of whom had
      dismounted, and were holding their steeds by the bridles. At this juncture
      the door of the hostel opened, and a fat jolly-looking personage, with a
      bald head and bushy grey beard, and clad in a brown serge doublet, and
      hose to match, issued forth, bearing a foaming jug of ale and a horn cup.
      His appearance was welcomed by a joyful shout from the attendants.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Come, my masters!&rdquo; he cried, filling the horn, &ldquo;here is a cup of stout
      Windsor ale in which to drink the health of our jolly monarch, bluff King
      Hal; and there's no harm, I trust, in calling him so.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Marry, is there not, mine host;&rdquo; cried the foremost attendant. &ldquo;I spoke
      of him as such in his own hearing not long ago, and he laughed at me in
      right merry sort. I love the royal bully, and will drink his health
      gladly, and Mistress Anne Boleyn's to boot.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And he emptied the horn.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;They tell me Mistress Anne Boleyn is coming to Windsor with the king and
      the knights-companions to-morrow&mdash;is it so?&rdquo; asked the host, again
      filling the horn, and handing it to another attendant.
    </p>
    <p>
      The person addressed nodded, but he was too much engrossed by the horn to
      speak.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then there will be rare doings in the castle,&rdquo; chuckled the host; &ldquo;and
      many a lusty pot will be drained at the Garter. Alack-a-day! how times are
      changed since I, Bryan Bowntance, first stepped into my father's shoes,
      and became host of the Garter. It was in 1501&mdash;twenty-eight years ago&mdash;when
      King Henry the Seventh, of blessed memory, ruled the land, and when his
      elder son, Prince Arthur, was alive likewise. In that year the young
      prince espoused Catherine of Arragon, our present queen, and soon
      afterwards died; whereupon the old king, not liking&mdash;for he loved his
      treasure better than his own flesh&mdash;to part with her dowry, gave her
      to his second son, Henry, our gracious sovereign, whom God preserve! Folks
      said then the match wouldn't come to good; and now we find they spoke the
      truth, for it is likely to end in a divorce.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not so loud, mine host!&rdquo; cried the foremost attendant; &ldquo;here comes our
      young master, the Earl of Surrey.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, I care not,&rdquo; replied the host bluffly. &ldquo;I've spoken no treason. I
      love my king; and if he wishes to have a divorce, I hope his holiness the
      Pope will grant him one, that's all.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      As he said this, a loud noise was heard within the hostel, and a man was
      suddenly and so forcibly driven forth, that he almost knocked down Bryan
      Bowntance, who was rushing in to see what was the matter. The person thus
      ejected, who was a powerfully-built young man, in a leathern doublet, with
      his muscular arms bared to the shoulder, turned his rage upon the host,
      and seized him by the throat with a grip that threatened him with
      strangulation. Indeed, but for the intervention of the earl's attendants,
      who rushed to his assistance, such might have been his fate. As soon as he
      was liberated, Bryan cried in a voice of mingled rage and surprise to his
      assailant, &ldquo;Why, what's the matter, Mark Fytton?&mdash;are you gone mad,
      or do you mistake me for a sheep or a bullock, that you attack me in this
      fashion? My strong ale must have got into your addle pate with a
      vengeance.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The knave has been speaking treason of the king's highness,&rdquo; said the
      tall man, whose doublet and hose of the finest green cloth, as well as the
      how and quiverful of arrows at his back, proclaimed him an archer&mdash;&ldquo;and
      therefore we turned him out!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And you did well, Captain Barlow,&rdquo; cried the host.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Call me rather the Duke of Shoreditch,&rdquo; rejoined the tall archer; &ldquo;for
      since his majesty conferred the title upon me, though it were but in jest,
      when I won this silver bugle, I shall ever claim it. I am always
      designated by my neighbours in Shoreditch as his grace; and I require the
      same attention at your hands. To-morrow I shall have my comrades, the
      Marquises of Clerkenwell, Islington, Hogsden, Pancras, and Paddington,
      with me, and then you will see the gallant figure we shall cut.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I crave your grace's pardon for my want of respect,&rdquo; replied the host. &ldquo;I
      am not ignorant of the distinction conferred upon you at the last match at
      the castle butts by the king. But to the matter in hand. What treason hath
      Mark Fytton, the butcher, been talking?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I care not to repeat his words, mine host,&rdquo; replied the duke; &ldquo;but he
      hath spoken in unbecoming terms of his highness and Mistress Anne Boleyn.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He means not what he says,&rdquo; rejoined the host. &ldquo;He is a loyal subject of
      the king; but he is apt to get quarrelsome over his cups.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well said, honest Bryan,&rdquo; cried the duke; &ldquo;you have one quality of a good
      landlord&mdash;that of a peacemaker. Give the knave a cup of ale, and let
      him wash down his foul words in a health to the king, wishing him a speedy
      divorce and a new queen, and he shall then sit among us again.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I do not desire to sit with you, you self-dubbed duke,&rdquo; rejoined Mark;
      &ldquo;but if you will doff your fine jerkin, and stand up with me on the green,
      I will give you cause to remember laying hands on me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well challenged, bold butcher!&rdquo; cried one of Surrey's attendants. &ldquo;You
      shall be made a duke yourself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Or a cardinal,&rdquo; cried Mark. &ldquo;I should not be the first of my brethren who
      has met with such preferment.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He derides the Church in the person of Cardinal Wolsey!&rdquo; cried the duke.
      &ldquo;He is a blasphemer as well as traitor.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Drink the king's health in a full cup, Mark,&rdquo; interposed the host,
      anxious to set matters aright, &ldquo;and keep your mischievous tongue between
      your teeth.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Beshrew me if I drink the king's health, or that of his minion, Anne
      Boleyn!&rdquo; cried Mark boldly. &ldquo;But I will tell you what I will drink. I will
      drink the health of King Henry's lawful consort, Catherine of Arragon; and
      I will add to it a wish that the Pope may forge her marriage chains to her
      royal husband faster than ever.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A foolish wish,&rdquo; cried Bryan. &ldquo;Why, Mark, you are clean crazed!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is the king who is crazed, not me!&rdquo; cried Mark. &ldquo;He would sacrifice
      his rightful consort to his unlawful passion; and you, base hirelings,
      support the tyrant in his wrongful conduct!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Saints protect us!&rdquo; exclaimed Bryan. &ldquo;Why, this is flat treason. Mark, I
      can no longer uphold you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not if you do not desire to share his prison, mine host,&rdquo; cried the Duke
      of Shoreditch. &ldquo;You have all heard him call the king a tyrant. Seize him,
      my masters!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Let them lay hands upon me if they dare!&rdquo; cried the butcher resolutely.
      &ldquo;I have felled an ox with a blow of my fist before this, and I promise you
      I will show them no better treatment.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Awed by Mark's determined manner, the bystanders kept aloof.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I command you, in the king's name, to seize him!&rdquo; roared Shoreditch. &ldquo;If
      he offers resistance he will assuredly be hanged.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No one shall touch me!&rdquo; cried Mark fiercely.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That remains to be seen,&rdquo; said the foremost of the Earl of Surrey's
      attendants. &ldquo;Yield, fellow!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Never!&rdquo; replied Mark; &ldquo;and I warn you to keep off.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The attendant, however, advanced; but before he could lay hands on the
      butcher he received a blow from his ox-like fist that sent him reeling
      backwards for several paces, and finally stretched him at full length upon
      the ground. His companions drew their swords, and would have instantly
      fallen upon the sturdy offender, if Morgan Fenwolf, who, with the Earl of
      Surrey, was standing among the spectators, had not rushed forward, and,
      closing with Mark before the latter could strike a blow, grappled with
      him, and held him fast till he was secured, and his arms tied behind him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And so it is you, Morgan Fenwolf, who have served me this ill turn, eh?&rdquo;
       cried the butcher, regarding him fiercely. &ldquo;I now believe all I have heard
      of you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What have you heard of him?&rdquo; asked Surrey, advancing.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That he has dealings with the fiend&mdash;with Herne the Hunter,&rdquo; replied
      Mark. &ldquo;If I am hanged for a traitor, he ought to be burnt for a wizard.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Heed not what the villain says, my good fellow,&rdquo; said the Duke of
      Shoreditch; &ldquo;you have captured him bravely, and I will take care your
      conduct is duly reported to his majesty. To the castle with him! To the
      castle! He will lodge to-night in the deepest dungeon of yon
      fortification,&rdquo; pointing to the Curfew Tower above them, &ldquo;there to await
      the king's judgment; and to-morrow night it will be well for him if he is
      not swinging from the gibbet near the bridge. Bring him along.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And followed by Morgan Fenwolf and the others, with the prisoner, he
      strode up the hill.
    </p>
    <p>
      Long before this Captain Bouchier had issued from the hostel and joined
      the earl, and they walked together after the crowd. In a few minutes the
      Duke of Shoreditch reached Henry the Eighth's Gate, where he shouted to a
      sentinel, and told him what had occurred. After some delay a wicket in the
      gate was opened, and the chief persons of the party were allowed to pass
      through it with the prisoner, who was assigned to the custody of a couple
      of arquebusiers.
    </p>
    <p>
      By this time an officer had arrived, and it was agreed, at the suggestion
      of the Duke of Shoreditch, to take the offender to the Curfew Tower.
      Accordingly they crossed the lower ward, and passing beneath an archway
      near the semicircular range of habitations allotted to the petty canons,
      traversed the space before the west end of Saint George's Chapel, and
      descending a short flight of stone steps at the left, and threading a
      narrow passage, presently arrived at the arched entrance in the Curfew,
      whose hoary walls shone brightly in the moonlight.
    </p>
    <p>
      They had to knock for some time against the stout oak door before any
      notice was taken of the summons. At length an old man, who acted as
      bellringer, thrust his head out of one of the narrow pointed windows
      above, and demanded their business. Satisfied with the reply, he
      descended, and, opening the door, admitted them into a lofty chamber, the
      roof of which was composed of stout planks, crossed by heavy oaken
      rafters, and supported by beams of the same material. On the left a steep
      ladder-like flight of wooden steps led to an upper room, and from a hole
      in the roof descended a bell-rope, which was fastened to one of the beams,
      showing the use to which the chamber was put.
    </p>
    <p>
      Some further consultation was now held among the party as to the propriety
      of leaving the prisoner in this chamber under the guard of the
      arquebusiers, but it was at last decided against doing so, and the old
      bellringer being called upon for the keys of the dungeon beneath, he
      speedily produced them. They then went forth, and descending a flight of
      stone steps on the left, came to a low strong door, which they unlocked,
      and obtained admission to a large octangular chamber with a vaulted roof,
      and deep embrasures terminated by narrow loopholes. The light of a lamp
      carried by the bellringer showed the dreary extent of the vault, and the
      enormous thickness of its walls.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A night's solitary confinement in this place will be of infinite service
      to our prisoner,&rdquo; said the Duke of Shoreditch, gazing around. &ldquo;I'll be
      sworn he is ready to bite off the foolish tongue that has brought him to
      such a pass.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The butcher made no reply, but being released by the arquebusiers, sat
      down upon a bench that constituted the sole furniture of the vault.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Shall I leave him the lamp?&rdquo; asked the bellringer; &ldquo;he may beguile the
      time by reading the names of former prisoners scratched on the walls and
      in the embrasures.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No; he shall not even have that miserable satisfaction,&rdquo; returned the
      Duke of Shoreditch. &ldquo;He shall be left in the darkness to his own bad and
      bitter thoughts.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      With this the party withdrew, and the door was fastened upon the prisoner.
      An arquebusier was stationed at the foot of the steps; and the Earl of
      Surrey and Captain Bouchier having fully satisfied their curiosity, shaped
      their course towards the castle gate. On their way thither the earl looked
      about for Morgan Fenwolf, but could nowhere discern him. He then passed
      through the wicket with Bouchier, and proceeding to the Garter, they
      mounted their steeds, and galloped off towards Datchet, and thence to
      Staines and Hampton Court.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      III.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     Of the Grand Procession to Windsor Castle&mdash;Of the Meeting of
     King Henry the Eighth and Anne Boleyn at the Lower Gate-Of
     their Entrance into the Castle&mdash;And how the Butcher was
     Hanged from the Curfew Tower.
</pre>
    <p>
      A joyous day was it for Windsor and great were the preparations made by
      its loyal inhabitants for a suitable reception to their sovereign. At an
      early hour the town was thronged with strangers from the neighbouring
      villages, and later on crowds began to arrive from London, some having
      come along the highway on horseback, and others having rowed in various
      craft up the river. All were clad in holiday attire, and the streets
      presented an appearance of unwonted bustle and gaiety. The Maypole in
      Bachelors' Acre was hung with flowers. Several booths, with flags floating
      above them, were erected in the same place, where ale, mead, and hypocras,
      together with cold pasties, hams, capons, and large joints of beef and
      mutton, might be obtained. Mummers and minstrels were in attendance, and
      every kind of diversion was going forward. Here was one party wrestling;
      there another, casting the bar; on this side a set of rustics were dancing
      a merry round with a bevy of buxom Berkshire lasses; on that stood a
      fourth group, listening to a youth playing on the recorders. At one end of
      the Acre large fires were lighted, before which two whole oxen were
      roasting, provided in honour of the occasion by the mayor and burgesses of
      the town; at the other, butts were set against which the Duke of
      Shoreditch and his companions, the five marquises, were practising. The
      duke himself shot admirably, and never failed to hit the bulls-eye; but
      the great feat of the day was performed by Morgan Fenwolf, who thrice
      split the duke's shafts as they stuck in the mark.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well done!&rdquo; cried the duke, as he witnessed the achievement; &ldquo;why, you
      shoot as bravely as Herne the Hunter. Old wives tell us he used to split
      the arrows of his comrades in that fashion.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He must have learnt the trick from Herne himself in the forest,&rdquo; cried
      one of the bystanders.
    </p>
    <p>
      Morgan Fenwolf looked fiercely round in search of the speaker, but could
      not discern him. He, however, shot no more, and refusing a cup of hypocras
      offered him by Shoreditch, disappeared among the crowd.
    </p>
    <p>
      Soon after this the booths were emptied, the bar thrown down, the Maypole
      and the butts deserted, and the whole of Bachelors' Acre cleared of its
      occupants&mdash;except those who were compelled to attend to the mighty
      spits turning before the fires&mdash;by the loud discharge of ordnance
      from the castle gates, accompanied by the ringing of bells, announcing
      that the mayor and burgesses of Windsor, together with the officers of the
      Order of the Garter, were setting forth to Datchet Bridge to meet the
      royal procession.
    </p>
    <p>
      Those who most promptly obeyed this summons beheld the lower castle gate,
      built by the then reigning monarch, open, while from it issued four
      trumpeters clad in emblazoned coats, with silken bandrols depending from
      their horns, blowing loud fanfares. They were followed by twelve henchmen,
      walking four abreast, arrayed in scarlet tunics, with the royal cypher
      H.R. worked in gold on the breast, and carrying gilt poleaxes over their
      shoulders. Next came a company of archers, equipped in helm and
      brigandine, and armed with long pikes, glittering, as did their steel
      accoutrements, in the bright sunshine. They were succeeded by the bailiffs
      and burgesses of the town, riding three abreast, and enveloped in gowns of
      scarlet cloth; after which rode the mayor of Windsor in a gown of crimson
      velvet, and attended by two footmen, in white and red damask, carrying
      white wands. The mayor was followed by a company of the town guard, with
      partisans over the shoulders. Then came the sheriff of the county and his
      attendants. Next followed the twenty-six alms-knights (for such was their
      number), walking two and two, and wearing red mantles, with a scutcheon of
      Saint George on the shoulder, but without the garter surrounding it. Then
      came the thirteen petty canons, in murrey-coloured gowns, with the arms of
      Saint George wrought in a roundel on the shoulder; then the twelve canons,
      similarly attired; and lastly the dean of the college, in his cope.
    </p>
    <p>
      A slight pause ensued, and the chief officers of the Garter made their
      appearance. First walked the Black Rod, clothed in a russet-coloured
      mantle, faced with alternate panes of blue and red, emblazoned with
      flower-de-luces of gold and crowned lions. He carried a small black rod,
      the ensign of his office, surmounted with the lion of England in silver.
      After the Black Rod came the Garter, habited in a gown of crimson satin,
      paned and emblazoned like that of the officer who preceded him, hearing a
      white crown with a sceptre upon it, and having a gilt crown in lieu of a
      cap upon his head. The Garter was followed by the register, a grave
      personage, in a black gown, with a surplice over it, covered by a mantelet
      of furs. Then came the chancellor of the Order, in his robe of
      murrey-coloured velvet lined with sarcenet, with a badge on the shoulder
      consisting of a gold rose, enclosed in a garter wrought with pearls of
      damask gold. Lastly came the Bishop of Winchester, the prelate of the
      Order, wearing his mitre, and habited in a robe of crimson velvet lined
      with white taffeta, faced with blue, and embroidered on the right shoulder
      with a scutcheon of Saint George, encompassed with the Garter, and adorned
      with cordons of blue silk mingled with gold.
    </p>
    <p>
      Brought up by a rear guard of halberdiers, the procession moved slowly
      along Thames Street, the houses of which, as well as those in Peascod
      Street, were all more or less decorated&mdash;the humbler sort being
      covered with branches of trees, intermingled with garlands of flowers,
      while the better description was hung with pieces of tapestry, carpets,
      and rich stuffs. Nor should it pass unnoticed that the loyalty of Bryan
      Bowntance, the host of the Garter, had exhibited itself in an arch thrown
      across the road opposite his house, adorned with various coloured ribbons
      and flowers, in the midst of which was a large shield, exhibiting the
      letters, b. and h. (in mystic allusion to Henry and Anne Boleyn)
      intermingled and surrounded by love-knots.
    </p>
    <p>
      Turning off on the left into the lower road, skirting the north of the
      castle, and following the course of the river to Datchet, by which it was
      understood the royal cavalcade would make its approach, the procession
      arrived at an open space by the side of the river, where it came to a
      halt, and the dean, chancellor, and prelate, together with other officers
      of the Garter, embarked in a barge moored to the bank, which was towed
      slowly down the stream in the direction of Datchet Bridge&mdash;a band of
      minstrels stationed within it playing all the time.
    </p>
    <p>
      Meanwhile the rest of the cavalcade, having again set for ward, pursued
      their course along the banks of the river, proceeding at a foot's pace,
      and accompanied by crowds of spectators, cheering them as they moved
      along. The day was bright and beautiful, and nothing was wanting to
      enhance the beauty of the spectacle. On the left flowed the silver Thames,
      crowded with craft, filled with richly-dressed personages of both sexes,
      amid which floated the pompous barge appropriated to the officers of the
      Garter, which was hung with banners and streamers, and decorated at the
      sides with targets, emblazoned with the arms of St. George. On the
      greensward edging the stream marched a brilliant cavalcade, and on the
      right lay the old woods of the Home Park, with long vistas opening through
      them, giving exquisite peeps of the towers and battlements of the castle.
    </p>
    <p>
      Half an hour brought the cavalcade to Datchet Bridge, at the foot of which
      a pavilion was erected for the accommodation of the mayor and burgesses.
      And here, having dismounted, they awaited the king's arrival.
    </p>
    <p>
      Shortly after this a cloud of dust on the Staines Road seemed to announce
      the approach of the royal party, and all rushed forth and held themselves
      in readiness to meet it. But the dust appeared to have been raised by a
      company of horsemen, headed by Captain Bouchier, who rode up the next
      moment. Courteously saluting the mayor, Bouchier informed him that
      Mistress Anne Boleyn was close behind, and that it was the king's pleasure
      that she should be attended in all state to the lower gate of the castle,
      there to await his coming, as he himself intended to enter it with her.
      The mayor replied that the sovereign's behests should be implicitly
      obeyed, and he thereupon stationed himself at the farther side of the
      bridge in expectation of Anne Boleyn's arrival.
    </p>
    <p>
      Presently the sound of trumpets smote his ear, and a numerous and splendid
      retinue was seen advancing, consisting of nobles, knights, esquires, and
      gentlemen, ranged according to their degrees, and all sumptuously
      apparelled in cloths of gold and silver, and velvets of various colours,
      richly embroidered. Besides these, there were pages and other attendants
      in the liveries of their masters, together with sergeants of the guard and
      henchmen in their full accoutrements. Among the nobles were the Dukes of
      Norfolk and Suffolk&mdash;the king being desirous of honouring as much as
      possible her whom he had resolved to make his queen. The former was
      clothed in tissue, embroidered with roses of gold, with a baldric across
      his body of massive gold, and was mounted on a charger likewise trapped in
      gold; and the latter wore a mantle of cloth of silver, pounced in the form
      of letters, and lined with blue velvet, while his horse was trapped
      hardwise in harness embroidered with bullion gold curiously wrought. Both
      also wore the collar of the Order of the Garter. Near them rode Sir Thomas
      Boleyn, who, conscious of the dignity to which his daughter was to be
      advanced, comported himself with almost intolerable haughtiness.
    </p>
    <p>
      Immediately behind Sir Thomas Boleyn came a sumptuous litter covered with
      cloth of gold, drawn by four white palfreys caparisoned in white damask
      down to the ground, and each having a page in white and blue satin at its
      head. Over the litter was borne a canopy of cloth of gold supported by
      four gilt staves, and ornamented at the corners with silver bells, ringing
      forth sweet music as it moved along. Each staff was borne by a knight, of
      whom sixteen were in attendance to relieve one another when fatigued.
    </p>
    <p>
      In this litter sat Anne Boleyn. She wore a surcoat of white tissue, and a
      mantle of the same material lined with ermine. Her gown, which, however,
      was now concealed by the surcoat, was of cloth of gold tissue, raised with
      pearls of silver damask, with a stomacher of purple gold similarly raised,
      and large open sleeves lined with chequered tissue. Around her neck she
      wore a chain of orient pearls, from which depended a diamond cross. A
      black velvet cap, richly embroidered with pearls and other precious
      stones, and ornamented with a small white plume, covered her head; and her
      small feet were hidden in blue velvet brodequins, decorated with diamond
      stars.
    </p>
    <p>
      Anne Boleyn's features were exquisitely formed, and though not regular,
      far more charming than if they had been so. Her nose was slightly
      aquiline, but not enough so to detract from its beauty, and had a little
      retrousse; point that completed its attraction. The rest of her features
      were delicately chiselled: the chin being beautifully rounded, the brow
      smooth and white as snow, while the rose could not vie with the bloom of
      her cheek. Her neck&mdash;alas! that the fell hand of the executioner
      should ever touch it&mdash;was long and slender, her eyes large and blue,
      and of irresistible witchery&mdash;sometimes scorching the beholder like a
      sunbeam, anon melting him with soul-subduing softness.
    </p>
    <p>
      Of her accomplishments other opportunities will be found to speak; but it
      may be mentioned that she was skilled on many instruments, danced and sang
      divinely, and had rare powers of conversation and wit. If to these she had
      not added the dangerous desire to please, and the wish to hold other
      hearts than the royal one she had enslaved, in thraldom, all might,
      perhaps, have been well. But, alas like many other beautiful women, she
      had a strong tendency to coquetry. How severely she suffered for it, it is
      the purpose of this history to relate. An excellent description of her has
      been given by a contemporary writer, the Comte de Chateaubriand, who,
      while somewhat disparaging her personal attractions, speaks in rapturous
      terms of her accomplishments: &ldquo;Anne,&rdquo; writes the Comte, &ldquo;avait un esprit
      si deslie qui c'estoit a qui l'ouiroit desgoiser; et ci venoitelle a
      poetiser, telle qu' Orpheus, elle eust faict les ours et rochers
      attentifs: puis saltoit, balloit, et dancoit toutes dances Anglaises ou
      Estranges, et en imagina nombre qui ont garde son nom ou celluy du galant
      pour qui les feit: puis scavoit tous les jeux, qu'elle jouoit avec non
      plus d'heur que d'habilite puis chantoit comme syrene, s'accompagnant de
      luth; harpoit mieueix que le roy David, et manioit fort gentilment fleuste
      et rebec; puis s'accoustroit de tant et si merveilleuses facons, que ses
      inventions, faisoient d'elle le parangon de toutes des dames les plus
      sucrees de la court; mais nulle n'avoit sa grace, laquelle, au dire d'un
      ancien, passe venuste'.&rdquo; Such was the opinion of one who knew her well
      during her residence at the French court, when in attendance on Mary of
      England, consort of Louis XII., and afterwards Duchess of Suffolk.
    </p>
    <p>
      At this moment Anne's eyes were fixed with some tenderness upon one of the
      supporters of her canopy on the right&mdash;a very handsome young man,
      attired in a doublet and hose of black tylsent, paned and cut, and whose
      tall, well-proportioned figure was seen to the greatest advantage,
      inasmuch as he had divested himself of his mantle, for his better
      convenience in walking.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I fear me you will fatigue yourself, Sir Thomas Wyat,&rdquo; said Anne Boleyn,
      in tones of musical sweetness, which made the heart beat and the colour
      mount to the cheeks of him she addressed. &ldquo;You had better allow Sir Thomas
      Arundel or Sir John Hulstone to relieve you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I can feel no fatigue when near you, madam,&rdquo; replied Wyat, in a low tone.
    </p>
    <p>
      A slight blush overspread Anne's features, and she raised her embroidered
      kerchief to her lips.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If I had that kerchief I would wear it at the next lists, and defy all
      comers,&rdquo; said Wyat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You shall have it, then,&rdquo; rejoined Anne. &ldquo;I love all chivalrous exploits,
      and will do my best to encourage them.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Take heed, Sir Thomas,&rdquo; said Sir Francis Weston, the knight who held the
      staff on the other side, &ldquo;or we shall have the canopy down. Let Sir Thomas
      Arundel relieve you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; rejoined Wyat, recovering himself; &ldquo;I will not rest till we come to
      the bridge.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are in no haste to possess the kerchief,&rdquo; said Anne petulantly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There you wrong me, madam!&rdquo; cried Sir Thomas eagerly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What ho, good fellows!&rdquo; he shouted to the attendants at the palfreys'
      heads, &ldquo;your lady desires you to stop.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And I desire them to go on&mdash;I, Will Sommers, jester to the high and
      mighty King Harry the Eighth!&rdquo; cried a voice of mock authority behind the
      knight. &ldquo;What if Sir Thomas Wyat has undertaken to carry the canopy
      farther than any of his companions, is that a reason he should be
      relieved? Of a surety not&mdash;go on, I say!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The person who thus spoke then stepped forward, and threw a glance so full
      of significance at Anne Boleyn that she did not care to dispute the order,
      but, on the contrary, laughingly acquiesced in it.
    </p>
    <p>
      Will Sommers&mdash;the king's jester, as he described himself&mdash;was a
      small middle-aged personage, with a physiognomy in which good nature and
      malice, folly and shrewdness, were so oddly blended, that it was difficult
      to say which predominated. His look was cunning and sarcastic, but it was
      tempered by great drollery and oddity of manner, and he laughed so
      heartily at his own jests and jibes, that it was scarcely possible to help
      joining him. His attire consisted of a long loose gown of spotted crimson
      silk, with the royal cipher woven in front in gold; hose of blue cloth,
      guarded with red and black cloth; and red cordovan buskins. A sash tied
      round his waist served him instead of a girdle, and he wore a
      trencher-shaped velvet cap on his head, with a white tufted feather in it.
      In his hand he carried a small horn. He was generally attended by a
      monkey, habited in a crimson doublet and hood, which sat upon his
      shoulder, and played very diverting tricks, but the animal was not with
      him on the present occasion.
    </p>
    <p>
      Will Sommers was a great favourite with the king, and ventured upon
      familiarities which no one else dared to use with him. The favour in which
      he stood with his royal master procured him admittance to his presence at
      all hours and at all seasons, and his influence, though seldom exerted,
      was very great. He was especially serviceable in turning aside the edge of
      the king's displeasure, and more frequently exerted himself to allay the
      storm than to raise it. His principal hostility was directed against
      Wolsey, whose arrogance and grasping practices were the constant subjects
      of his railing. It was seldom, such was his privileged character, and the
      protection he enjoyed from the sovereign, that any of the courtiers
      resented his remarks; but Sir Thomas Wyat's feelings being now deeply
      interested, he turned sharply round, and said, &ldquo;How now, thou meddling
      varlet, what business hast thou to interfere?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I interfere to prove my authority, gossip Wyat,&rdquo; replied Sommers, &ldquo;and to
      show that, varlet as I am, I am as powerful as Mistress Anne Boleyn&mdash;nay,
      that I am yet more powerful, because I am obeyed, while she is not.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Were I at liberty,&rdquo; said Sir Thomas angrily, &ldquo;I would make thee repent
      thine insolence.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But thou art not at liberty, good gossip,&rdquo; replied the jester, screaming
      with laughter; &ldquo;thou art tied like a slave to the oar, and cannot free
      thyself from it&mdash;ha! ha!&rdquo; Having enjoyed the knight's discomposure
      for a few seconds, he advanced towards him, and whispered in his ear,
      &ldquo;Don't mistake me, gossip. I have done thee good service in preventing
      thee from taking that kerchief. Hadst thou received it in the presence of
      these witnesses, thou wouldst have been lodged in the Round Tower of
      Windsor Castle to-morrow, instead of feasting with the knights-companions
      in Saint George's Hall.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I believe thou art right, gossip,&rdquo; said Wyat in the same tone.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Rest assured I am,&rdquo; replied Sommers; &ldquo;and I further more counsel thee to
      decline this dangerous gift altogether, and to think no more of the fair
      profferer, or if thou must think of her, let it be as of one beyond thy
      reach. Cross not the lion's path; take a friendly hint from the jackal.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And without waiting for a reply, he darted away, and mingled with the
      cavalcade in the rear.
    </p>
    <p>
      Immediately behind Anne Boleyn's litter rode a company of henchmen of the
      royal household, armed with gilt partisans. Next succeeded a chariot
      covered with red cloth of gold, and drawn by four horses richly
      caparisoned, containing the old Duchess of Norfolk and the old Marchioness
      of Dorset. Then came the king's natural son, the Duke of Richmond&mdash;a
      young man formed on the same large scale, and distinguished by the same
      haughty port, and the same bluff manner, as his royal sire. The duke's
      mother was the Lady Talboys, esteemed one of the most beautiful women of
      the age, and who had for a long time held the capricious monarch captive.
      Henry was warmly attached to his son, showered favours without number upon
      him, and might have done yet more if fate had not snatched him away at an
      early age.
    </p>
    <p>
      Though scarcely eighteen, the Duke of Richmond looked more than twenty,
      and his lips and chin were clothed with a well-grown though
      closely-clipped beard. He was magnificently habited in a doublet of cloth
      of gold of bawdekin, the placard and sleeves of which were wrought with
      flat gold, and fastened with aiglets. A girdle of crimson velvet, enriched
      with precious stones, encircled his waist, and sustained a poniard and a
      Toledo sword, damascened with gold. Over all he wore a loose robe, or
      housse, of scarlet mohair, trimmed with minever, and was further decorated
      with the collar of the Order of the Garter. His cap was of white velvet,
      ornamented with emeralds, and from the side depended a small azure plume.
      He rode a magnificent black charger, trapped in housings of cloth of gold,
      powdered with ermine.
    </p>
    <p>
      By the duke's side rode the Earl of Surrey attired&mdash;as upon the
      previous day, and mounted on a fiery Arabian, trapped in crimson velvet
      fringed with Venetian gold. Both nobles were attended by their esquires in
      their liveries.
    </p>
    <p>
      Behind them came a chariot covered with cloth of silver, and drawn, like
      the first, by four horses in rich housings, containing two very beautiful
      damsels, one of whom attracted so much of the attention of the youthful
      nobles, that it was with difficulty they could preserve due order of
      march. The young dame in question was about seventeen; her face was oval
      in form, with features of the utmost delicacy and regularity. Her
      complexion was fair and pale, and contrasted strikingly with her jetty
      brows and magnificent black eyes, of oriental size, tenderness, and
      lustre. Her dark and luxuriant tresses were confined by a cap of black
      velvet faced with white satin, and ornamented with pearls. Her gown was of
      white satin worked with gold, and had long open pendent sleeves, while
      from her slender and marble neck hung a cordeliere&mdash;a species of
      necklace imitated from the cord worn by Franciscan friars, and formed of
      crimson silk twisted with threads of Venetian gold..
    </p>
    <p>
      This fair creature was the Lady Elizabeth Fitzgerald, daughter of Gerald
      Fitzgerald, ninth Earl of Kildare, who claimed descent from the Geraldi
      family of Florence; but she was generally known by the appellation of the
      Fair Geraldine&mdash;a title bestowed upon her, on account of her beauty,
      by the king, and by which she still lives, and will continue to live, as
      long as poetry endures, in the deathless and enchanting strains of her
      lover, the Earl of Surrey. At the instance of her mother, Lady Kildare,
      the Fair Geraldine was brought up with the Princess Mary, afterwards Queen
      of England; but she had been lately assigned by the royal order as one of
      the attendants&mdash;a post equivalent to that of maid of honour&mdash;to
      Anne Boleyn.
    </p>
    <p>
      Her companion was the Lady Mary Howard, the sister of the Earl of Surrey,
      a nymph about her own age, and possessed of great personal attractions,
      having nobly-formed features, radiant blue eyes, light tresses, and a
      complexion of dazzling clearness. Lady Mary Howard nourished a passion for
      the Duke of Richmond, whom she saw with secret chagrin captivated by the
      superior charms of the Fair Geraldine. Her uneasiness, however, was in
      some degree abated by the knowledge, which as confidante of the latter she
      had obtained, that her brother was master of her heart. Lady Mary was
      dressed in blue velvet, cut and lined with cloth of gold, and wore a
      headgear of white velvet, ornamented with pearls.
    </p>
    <p>
      Just as the cavalcade came in sight of Datchet Bridge, the Duke of
      Richmond turned his horse's head, and rode up to the side of the chariot
      on which the Fair Geraldine was sitting.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am come to tell you of a marvellous adventure that befell Surrey in the
      Home Park at Windsor last night,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;He declares he has seen the
      demon hunter, Herne.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then pray let the Earl of Surrey relate the adventure to us himself,&rdquo;
       replied the Fair Geraldine. &ldquo;No one can tell a story so well as the hero
      of it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The duke signed to the youthful earl, who was glancing rather wistfully at
      them, and he immediately joined them, while Richmond passed over to the
      Lady Mary Howard. Surrey then proceeded to relate what had happened to him
      in the park, and the fair Geraldine listened to his recital with
      breathless interest.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Heaven shield us from evil spirits!&rdquo; she exclaimed, crossing herself.
      &ldquo;But what is the history of this wicked hunter, my lord? and why did he
      incur such a dreadful doom?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I know nothing more than that he was a keeper in the forest, who, having
      committed some heinous crime, hanged himself from a branch of the oak
      beneath which I found the keeper, Morgan Fenwolf, and which still bears
      his name,&rdquo; replied the earl. &ldquo;For this unrighteous act he cannot obtain
      rest, but is condemned to wander through the forest at midnight, where he
      wreaks his vengeance in blasting the trees.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The legend I have heard differs from yours,&rdquo; observed the Duke of
      Richmond: &ldquo;it runs that the spirit by which the forest is haunted is a
      wood-demon, who assumes the shape of the ghostly hunter, and seeks to
      tempt or terrify the keepers to sell their souls to him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your grace's legend is the better of the two,&rdquo; said Lady Mary Howard, &ldquo;or
      rather, I should say, the more probable. I trust the evil spirit did not
      make you any such offer, brother of Surrey?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The earl gravely shook his head.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If I were to meet him, and he offered me my heart's dearest wish, I fear
      he would prevail with me,&rdquo; observed the duke, glancing tenderly at the
      Fair Geraldine.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Tush!&mdash;the subject is too serious for jesting, Richmond,&rdquo; said
      Surrey almost sternly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;His grace, as is usual in compacts with the fiend, might have reason to
      rue his bargain,&rdquo; observed Lady Mary Howard peevishly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If the Earl of Surrey were my brother,&rdquo; remarked the Fair Geraldine to
      the Lady Mary, &ldquo;I would interdict him from roaming in the park after
      nightfall.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He is very wilful,&rdquo; said Lady Mary, smiling, &ldquo;and holds my commands but
      lightly.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Let the Fair Geraldine lay hers upon me, and she shall not have to
      reproach me with disobedience,&rdquo; rejoined the earl.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I must interpose to prevent their utterance,&rdquo; cried Richmond, with a
      somewhat jealous look at his friend, &ldquo;for I have determined to know more
      of this mystery, and shall require the earl's assistance to unravel it. I
      think I remember Morgan Fenwolf, the keeper, and will send for him to the
      castle, and question him. But in any case, I and Surrey will visit Herne's
      Oak to-night.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The remonstrances of both ladies were interrupted by the sudden appearance
      of Will Sommers.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What ho! my lords&mdash;to your places! to your places!&rdquo; cried the
      jester, in a shrill angry voice. &ldquo;See ye not we are close upon Datchet
      Bridge? Ye can converse with these fair dames at a more fitting season;
      but it is the king's pleasure that the cavalcade should make a goodly
      show. To your places, I say!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Laughing at the jester's peremptory injunction, the two young nobles
      nevertheless obeyed it, and, bending almost to the saddle-bow to the
      ladies, resumed their posts.
    </p>
    <p>
      The concourse assembled on Datchet Bridge welcomed Anne Boleyn's arrival
      with loud acclamations, while joyous strains proceeded from sackbut and
      psaltery, and echoing blasts from the trumpets. Caps were flung into the
      air, and a piece of ordnance was fired from the barge, which was presently
      afterwards answered by the castle guns. Having paid his homage to Anne
      Boleyn, the mayor rejoined the company of bailiffs and burgesses, and the
      whole cavalcade crossed the bridge, winding their way slowly along the
      banks of the river, the barge, with the minstrels playing in it,
      accompanying them the while. In this way they reached Windsor; and as Anne
      Boleyn gazed up at the lordly castle above which the royal standard now
      floated, proud and aspiring thoughts swelled her heart, and she longed for
      the hour when she should approach it as its mistress. Just then her eye
      chanced on Sir Thomas Wyat, who was riding behind her amongst the knights,
      and she felt, though it might cost her a struggle, that love would yield
      to ambition.
    </p>
    <p>
      Leaving the barge and its occupants to await the king's arrival, the
      cavalcade ascended Thames Street, and were welcomed everywhere with
      acclamations and rejoicing. Bryan Bowntance, who had stationed himself on
      the right of the arch in front of his house, attempted to address Anne
      Boleyn, but could not bring forth a word. His failure, how ever, was more
      successful than his speech might have been, inasmuch as it excited
      abundance of merriment.
    </p>
    <p>
      Arrived at the area in front of the lower gateway, Anne Boleyn's litter
      was drawn up in the midst of it, and the whole of the cavalcade grouping
      around her, presented a magnificent sight to the archers and arquebusiers
      stationed on the towers and walls.
    </p>
    <p>
      Just at this moment a signal gun was heard from Datchet Bridge, announcing
      that the king had reached it, and the Dukes of Suffolk, Norfolk, and
      Richmond, together with the Earl of Surrey, Sir Thomas Wyat, and a few of
      their gentle men, rode back to meet him. They had scarcely, however,
      reached the foot of the hill when the royal party appeared in view, for
      the king with his characteristic impatience, on drawing near the castle,
      had urged his attendants quickly forward.
    </p>
    <p>
      First came half a dozen trumpeters, with silken bandrols fluttering in the
      breeze, blowing loud flourishes. Then a party of halberdiers, whose
      leaders had pennons streaming from the tops of their tall pikes. Next came
      two gentlemen ushers bareheaded, but mounted and richly habited, belonging
      to the Cardinal of York, who cried out as they pressed forward, &ldquo;On
      before, my masters, on before!&mdash;make way for my lord's grace.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Then came a sergeant-of-arms bearing a great mace of silver, and two
      gentlemen carrying each a pillar of silver. Next rode a gentleman carrying
      the cardinal's hat, and after him came Wolsey himself, mounted on a mule
      trapped in crimson velvet, with a saddle covered with the same stuff, and
      gilt stirrups. His large person was arrayed in robes of the finest crimson
      satin engrained, and a silk cap of the same colour contrasted by its
      brightness with the pale purple tint of his sullen, morose, and bloated
      features. The cardinal took no notice of the clamour around him, but now
      and then, when an expression of dislike was uttered against him, for he
      had already begun to be unpopular with the people, he would raise his eyes
      and direct a withering glance at the hardy speaker. But these expressions
      were few, for, though tottering, Wolsey was yet too formidable to be
      insulted with impunity. On either side of him were two mounted attend
      ants, each caring a gilt poleaxe, who, if he had given the word, would
      have instantly chastised the insolence of the bystanders, while behind him
      rode his two cross-bearers upon homes trapped in scarlet.
    </p>
    <p>
      Wolsey's princely retinue was followed by a litter of crimson velvet, in
      which lay the pope's legate, Cardinal Campeggio, whose infirmities were so
      great that he could not move without assistance. Campeggio was likewise
      attended by a numerous train.
    </p>
    <p>
      After a long line of lords, knights, and esquires, came Henry the Eighth.
      He was apparelled in a robe of crimson velvet furred with ermines, and
      wore a doublet of raised gold, the placard of which was embroidered with
      diamonds, rubies, emeralds, large pearls, and other precious stones. About
      his neck was a baldric of balas rubies, and over his robe he wore the
      collar of the Order of the Garter. His horse, a charger of the largest
      size, and well able to sustain his vast weight, was trapped in crimson
      velvet, purfled with ermines. His knights and esquires were clothed in
      purple velvet, and his henchmen in scarlet tunics of the same make as
      those worn by the warders of the Tower at the present day.
    </p>
    <p>
      Henry was in his thirty-eighth year, and though somewhat overgrown and
      heavy, had lost none of his activity, and but little of the grace of his
      noble proportions. His size and breadth of limb were well displayed in his
      magnificent habiliment. His countenance was handsome and manly, with a
      certain broad burly look, thoroughly English in its character, which won
      him much admiration from his subjects; and though it might be objected
      that the eyes were too small, and the mouth somewhat too diminutive, it
      could not be denied that the general expression of the face was kingly in
      the extreme. A prince of a more &ldquo;royal presence&rdquo; than Henry the Eighth was
      never seen, and though he had many and grave faults, want of dignity was
      not amongst the number.
    </p>
    <p>
      Henry entered Windsor amid the acclamations of the spectators, the
      fanfares of trumpeters, and the roar of ordnance from the castle walls.
    </p>
    <p>
      Meanwhile, Anne Boleyn, having descended from her litter, which passed
      through the gate into the lower ward, stood with her ladies beneath the
      canopy awaiting his arrival.
    </p>
    <p>
      A wide clear space was preserved before her, into which, however, Wolsey
      penetrated, and, dismounting, placed himself so that he could witness the
      meeting between her and the king. Behind him stood the jester, Will
      Sommers, who was equally curious with himself. The litter of Cardinal
      Campeggio passed through the gateway and proceeded to the lodgings
      reserved for his eminence.
    </p>
    <p>
      Scarcely had Wolsey taken up his station than Henry rode up, and,
      alighting, consigned his horse to a page, and, followed by the Duke of
      Richmond and the Earl of Surrey, advanced towards Anne Boleyn, who
      immediately stepped forward to meet him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Fair mistress,&rdquo; he said, taking her hand, and regarding her with a look
      of passionate devotion, &ldquo;I welcome you to this my castle of Windsor, and
      trust soon to make you as absolute mistress of it as I am lord and
      master.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Anne Boleyn blushed, and cast down her eyes, and Sir Thomas Wyat, who
      stood at some little distance with his hand upon his saddle, regarding
      her, felt that any hopes he might have entertained were utterly
      annihilated.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Heard you that, my lord cardinal?&rdquo; said Will Sommers to Wolsey. &ldquo;She will
      soon be mistress here. As she comes in, you go out&mdash;mind that!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The cardinal made no answer further than was conveyed by the deepened
      colour of his cheeks.
    </p>
    <p>
      Amid continued fanfares and acclamations, Harry then led Anne Boleyn
      through the gateway, followed by the ladies in waiting, who were joined by
      Richmond and Surrey. The prelate, chancellor, register, black rod, and
      other officers of the Garter, together with the whole of the royal retinue
      who had dismounted, came after them. A vast concourse of spectators,
      extending almost as far as the Lieutenant's Tower, was collected in front
      of the alms-knights' houses; but a wide space had been kept clear by the
      henchmen for the passage of the sovereign and his train, and along this
      Henry proceeded with Anne Boleyn, in the direction of the upper ward. Just
      as he reached the Norman Tower, and passed the entrance to the keep, the
      Duke of Shoreditch, who was standing beneath the gateway, advanced towards
      him and prostrated himself on one knee.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;May it please your majesty,&rdquo; said Shoreditch, &ldquo;I last night arrested a
      butcher of Windsor for uttering words highly disrespectful of your
      highness, and of the fair and virtuous lady by your side.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah! God's death!&rdquo; exclaimed the king. &ldquo;Where is the traitor? Bring him
      before us.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He is here,&rdquo; replied Shoreditch.
    </p>
    <p>
      And immediately Mark Fytton was brought forward by a couple of
      halberdiers. He still preserved his undaunted demeanour, and gazed sternly
      at the king.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;So, fellow, thou hast dared to speak disrespectfully of us&mdash;ha!&rdquo;
       cried Henry.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have spoken the truth,&rdquo; replied the butcher fearlessly. &ldquo;I have said
      you were about to divorce your lawful consort, Catherine of Arragon, and
      to take the minion, Anne Boleyn, who stands beside you, to your bed. And I
      added, it was a wrongful act.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Foul befall thy lying tongue for saying so!&rdquo; replied Henry furiously. &ldquo;I
      have a mind to pluck it from thy throat, and cast it to the dogs. What ho!
      guards, take this caitiff to the summit of the highest tower of the castle&mdash;the
      Curfew Tower&mdash;and hang him from it, so that all my loyal subjects in
      Windsor may see how traitors are served.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your highness has judged him justly,&rdquo; said Anne Boleyn. &ldquo;You say so now,
      Mistress Anne Boleyn,&rdquo; rejoined the butcher; &ldquo;but you yourself shall one
      day stand in as much peril of your life as I do, and shall plead as vainly
      as I should, were I to plead at all, which I will never do to this
      inexorable tyrant. You will then remember my end.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Away with him!&rdquo; cried Henry. &ldquo;I myself will go to the Garter Tower to see
      it done. Farewell for a short while, sweetheart. I will read these
      partisans of Catherine a terrible lesson.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      As the butcher was hurried off to the Curfew Tower, the king proceeded
      with his attendants to the Garter Tower, and ascended to its summit.
    </p>
    <p>
      In less than ten minutes a stout pole, like the mast of a ship, was thrust
      through the battlements of the Curfew Tower, on the side looking towards
      the town. To this pole a rope, of some dozen feet in length, and having a
      noose at one end, was firmly secured. The butcher was then brought forth,
      bound hand and foot, and the noose was thrown over his neck.
    </p>
    <p>
      While this was passing, the wretched man descried a person looking at him
      from a window in a wooden structure projecting from the side of the tower.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What, are you there, Morgan Fenwolf?&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Remember what passed
      between us in the dungeon last night, and be warned! You will not meet
      your end as firmly as I meet mine?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Make thy shrift quickly, fellow, if thou hast aught to say,&rdquo; interposed
      one of the halberdiers.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have no shrift to make,&rdquo; rejoined the butcher. &ldquo;I have already settled
      my account with Heaven. God preserve Queen Catherine!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      As he uttered these words, he was thrust off from the battlements by the
      halberdiers, and his body swung into the abyss amid the hootings and
      execrations of the spectators below.
    </p>
    <p>
      Having glutted his eyes with the horrible sight, Henry descended from the
      tower, and returned to Anne Boleyn.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      IV.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     How King Henry the Eighth held a Chapter of the Garter&mdash;How
     he attended Vespers and Matins in Saint George's Chapel&mdash;And
     how he feasted with the Knights&mdash;Companions in Saint
     George's Hall.
</pre>
    <p>
      From a balcony overlooking the upper ward, Anne Boleyn beheld the king's
      approach on his return from the Garter Tower, and waving her hand
      smilingly to him, she withdrew into the presence-chamber. Hastening to
      her, Henry found her surrounded by her ladies of honour, by the chief of
      the nobles and knights who had composed her train from Hampton Court, and
      by the Cardinals Wolsey and Campeggio; and having exchanged a few words
      with her, he took her hand, and led her to the upper part of the chamber,
      where two chairs of state were set beneath a canopy of crimson velvet
      embroidered with the royal arms, and placed her in the seat hitherto
      allotted to Catherine of Arragon. A smile of triumph irradiated Anne's
      lovely countenance at this mark of distinction, nor was her satisfaction
      diminished as Henry turned to address the assemblage.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My lords,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;ye are right well aware of the scruples of
      conscience I entertain in regard to my marriage with my brother's widow,
      Catherine of Arragon. The more I weigh the matter, the more convinced am I
      of its unlawfulness; and were it possible to blind myself to my sinful
      condition, the preachers, who openly rebuke me from the pulpit, would take
      care to remind me of it. Misunderstand me not, my lords. I have no ground
      of complaint against the queen. Far otherwise. She is a lady of most
      excellent character&mdash;full of devotion, loyalty, nobility, and
      gentleness. And if I could divest myself of my misgivings, so far from
      seeking to put her from me, I should cherish her with the greatest
      tenderness. Ye may marvel that I have delayed the divorce thus long. But
      it is only of late that my eyes have been opened; and the step was hard to
      take. Old affections clung to me&mdash;old chains restrained me&mdash;nor
      could I, without compunction, separate myself from one who has ever been
      to me a virtuous and devoted consort.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Thou hast undergone a martyrdom, gossip,&rdquo; observed Will Sommers, who had
      posted himself at the foot of the canopy, near the king, &ldquo;and shalt
      henceforth be denominated Saint Henry.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The gravity of the hearers might have been discomposed by this remark, but
      for the stern looks of the king.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ye may make a jest of my scruples, my lords,&rdquo; he continued, &ldquo;and think I
      hold them lightly; but my treatise on the subject, which has cost me much
      labour and meditation, will avouch to the contrary. What would befall this
      realm if my marriage were called in question after my decease? The same
      trouble and confusion would ensue that followed on the death of my noble
      grandfather, King Edward the Fourth. To prevent such mischance I have
      resolved, most reluctantly, to put away my present queen, and to take
      another consort, by whom I trust to raise up a worthy successor and
      inheritor of my kingdom.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A murmur of applause followed this speech, and the two cardinals exchanged
      significant glances, which were not unobserved by the king.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I doubt not ye will all approve the choice I shall make,&rdquo; he pursued,
      looking fiercely at Wolsey, and taking Anne Boleyn's hand, who arose as he
      turned to her. &ldquo;And now, fair mistress,&rdquo; he added to her, &ldquo;as an earnest
      of the regard I have for you, and of the honours I intend you, I hereby
      create you Marchioness of Pembroke, and bestow upon you a thousand marks a
      year in land, and another thousand to be paid out of my treasury to
      support your dignity.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your majesty is too generous,&rdquo; replied Anne, bending the knee, and
      kissing his hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not a whit, sweetheart&mdash;not a whit,&rdquo; replied Henry, tenderly raising
      her; &ldquo;this is but a slight mark of my goodwill. Sir Thomas Boleyn,&rdquo; he
      added to her father, &ldquo;henceforth your style and title will be that of
      Viscount Rochford, and your patent will be made out at the same time as
      that of your daughter, the Marchioness of Pembroke. I also elect you a
      knight-companion of the most honourable Order of the Garter, and your
      investiture and installation will take place to-day.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Having received the thanks and homage of the newly-created noble, Henry
      descended from the canopy, and passed into an inner room with the Lady
      Anne, where a collation was prepared for them. Their slight meal over,
      Anne took up her lute, and playing a lively prelude, sang two or three
      French songs with so much skill and grace, that Henry, who was
      passionately fond of music, was quite enraptured. Two delightful hours
      having passed by, almost imperceptibly, an usher approached the king, and
      whispering a few words to him, he reluctantly withdrew, and Anne retired
      with her ladies to an inner apartment.
    </p>
    <p>
      On reaching his closet, the king's attendants proceeded to array him in a
      surcoat of crimson velvet, powdered with garters embroidered in silk and
      gold, with the motto&mdash;boni soft qui mal y pense&mdash;wrought within
      them. Over the surcoat was thrown a mantle of blue velvet with a
      magnificent train, lined with white damask, and having on the left
      shoulder a large garter, wrought in pearls and Venice twists, containing
      the motto, and encircling the arms of Saint George&mdash;argent, a cross
      gules. The royal habiliments were completed by a hood of the same stuff as
      the surcoat, decorated like it with small embroidered garters, and lined
      with white satin. From the king's neck was suspended the collar of the
      Great George, composed of pieces of gold, fashioned like garters, the
      ground of which was enamelled, and the letters gold.
    </p>
    <p>
      While Henry was thus arrayed, the knights-companions, robed in their
      mantles, hoods, and collars, entered the closet, and waiting till he was
      ready, marched before him into the presence-chamber, where were assembled
      the two provincial kings-at-arms, Clarenceux and Norroy, the heralds, and
      pursuivants, wearing their coats-of-arms, together with the band of
      pensioners, carrying gilt poleaxes, and drawn up in two lines. At the
      king's approach, one of the gentlemen-ushers who carried the sword of
      state, with the point resting upon the ground, delivered it to the Duke of
      Richmond,&mdash;the latter having been appointed to bear it before the
      king during all the proceedings of the feast. Meanwhile, the
      knights-companions having drawn up on either side of the canopy, Henry
      advanced with a slow and stately step towards it, his train borne by the
      Earl of Surrey, Sir Thomas Wyat, and other nobles and knights. As he
      ascended the canopy, and faced the assemblage, the Duke of Richmond and
      the chief officers of the Order drew up a little on his right. The
      knights-companions then made their salutation to him, which he returned by
      removing his jewelled cap with infinite grace and dignity, and as soon as
      he was again covered they put on their caps, and ranging themselves in
      order, set forward to Saint George's Chapel.
    </p>
    <p>
      Quitting the royal lodgings, and passing through the gateway of the Norman
      Tower, the procession wound its way along the base of the Round Tower, the
      battlements of which bristled with spearmen, as did the walls on the
      right, and the summit of the Winchester Tower, and crossing the middle
      ward, skirted the tomb-house, then newly erected by Wolsey, and threading
      a narrow passage between it and Saint George's Chapel, entered the
      north-east door of the latter structure.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dividing, on their entrance into the chapel, into two lines, the
      attendants of the knights-companions flanked either side of the north
      aisle; while between them walked the alms-knights, the verger, the
      prebends of the college, and the officers-of-arms, who proceeded as far as
      the west door of the choir, where they stopped. A slight pause then
      ensued, after which the king, the knights-companions, and the chief
      officers of the Order, entered the chapter-house&mdash;a chamber situated
      at the north-east corner of the chapel&mdash;leaving the Duke of Richmond,
      the sword-bearer, Lard Rochford, the knight-elect, the train-bearers, and
      pensioners outside. The door of the chapter-house being closed by the
      black-rod, the king proceeded to the upper end of the vestments-board&mdash;as
      the table was designated&mdash;where a chair, cushions, and cloth of state
      were provided for him; the knights-companions, whose stalls in the choir
      were on the same side as his own, seating themselves on his right, and
      those whose posts were on the prince's side taking their places on the
      left. The prelate and the chancellor stood at the upper end of the table;
      the Garter and register at the foot; while the door was kept by the
      black-rod.
    </p>
    <p>
      As soon as the king and the knights were seated, intimation was given by
      an usher to the black-rod that the newly elected knight, Lord Rochford,
      was without. The intelligence being communicated to the king, he ordered
      the Dukes of Suffolk and Norfolk to bring him into his presence. The
      injunction was obeyed, and the knight-elect presently made his appearance,
      the Garter marching before him to the king. Bowing reverently to the
      sovereign, Rochford, in a brief speech, expressed his gratitude for the
      signal honour conferred upon him, and at its close set his left foot upon
      a gilt stool, placed for him by the Garter, who pronounced the following
      admonition:&mdash;&ldquo;My good lord, the loving company of the Order of the
      Garter have received you as their brother and fellow. In token whereof,
      they give you this garter, which God grant you may receive and wear from
      henceforth to His praise and glory, and to the exaltation and honour of
      the noble Order and yourself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Meanwhile the garter was girded on the leg of the newly-elected knight,
      and buckled by the Duke of Suffolk. This done, he knelt before the king,
      who hung a gold chain, with the image of Saint George attached to it,
      about his neck, while another admonition was pronounced by the chancellor.
      Rochford then arose, bowed to the monarch, to the knights-companions, who
      returned his salutations, and the investiture was complete.
    </p>
    <p>
      Other affairs of the chapter were next discussed. Certain officers
      nominated since the last meeting, were sworn; letters from absent
      knights-companions, praying to be excused from attendance, were read&mdash;and
      their pleas, except in the instance of Sir Thomas Cheney, allowed. After
      reading the excuse of the latter, Henry uttered an angry oath, declaring
      he would deprive him of his vote in the chapter-house, banish him from his
      stall, and mulct him a hundred marks, to be paid at Saint George's altar,
      when Will Sommers, who was permitted to be present, whispered in his ear
      that the offender was kept away by the devices of Wolsey, because he was
      known to be friendly to the divorce, and to the interests of the lady
      Anne.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Aha! by Saint Mary, is it so?&rdquo; exclaimed Henry, knitting his brows. &ldquo;This
      shall be looked into. I have hanged a butcher just now. Let the butcher's
      son take warning by his fate. He has bearded me long enough. See that Sir
      Thomas Cheney be sent for with all despatch. I will hear the truth from
      his own lips.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He then arose, and quitting the chapter-house, proceeded with the
      knights-companions to the choir&mdash;the roof and walls of the sacred
      structure resounding with the solemn notes of the organ as they traversed
      the aisle. The first to enter the choir were the alms-knights, who passed
      through the door in a body, and making low obeisances toward the altar and
      the royal stall, divided into two lines. They were succeeded by the
      prebends of the College, who, making similar obeisances, stationed
      themselves in front of the benches before the stalls of the
      knights-companions. Next followed the pursuivants, heralds, and provincial
      kings-of-arms, making like reverences, and ranging themselves with the
      alms-knights. Then came the knights-companions, who performed double
      reverences like the others, and took their stations under their stalls;
      then came the black-rod, Garter, and register, who having gone through the
      same ceremony as the others, proceeded to their form, which was placed on
      the south side of the choir before the sovereign's stall; then came the
      chancellor and prelate, whose form was likewise placed before the royal
      stall, but nearer to it than that allotted to the other officers; and,
      lastly, Henry himself, with the sword borne before him by the Duke of
      Richmond, who as he approached the steps of his stall bowed reverently
      towards the altar, and made another obeisance before seating himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      Meanwhile the Duke of Richmond posted himself in front of the royal stall,
      the Earl of Oxford, as lord chamberlain, taking his station on the king's
      right, and the Earl of Surrey, as vice-chamberlain, on the left. As these
      arrangements were made, the two cardinals arrived, and proceeded to the
      altar.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mass was then said, and nothing could be more striking than the appearance
      of the chapel during its performance. The glorious choir with its groined
      and pendent roof, its walls adorned with the richest stuffs, its
      exquisitely carved stalls, above which hung the banners of the
      knights-companions, together with their helmets, crests, and swords, its
      sumptuously&mdash;decorated altar, glittering with costly vessels, its
      pulpit hung with crimson damask interwoven with gold, the magnificent and
      varied dresses of the assemblage&mdash;all these constituted a picture of
      surpassing splendour.
    </p>
    <p>
      Vespers over, the king and his train departed with the same ceremonies and
      in the same order as had been observed on their entrance to the choir.
    </p>
    <p>
      On returning to the royal lodgings, Henry proceeded to his closet, where
      having divested himself of his mantle, he went in search of the Lady Anne.
      He found her walking with her dames on the stately terrace at the north of
      the castle, and the attendants retiring as he joined her, he was left at
      full liberty for amorous converse. After pacing the terrace for some time,
      he adjourned with Anne to her own apartments, where he remained till
      summoned to supper with the knights-companions in Saint George's Hall.
    </p>
    <p>
      The next morning betimes, it being the day of the Patron Saint of the
      Order of the Garter, a numerous cavalcade assembled in the upper ward of
      the castle, to conduct the king to hear matins in Saint George's Chapel.
      In order to render the sight as imposing as possible, Henry had arranged
      that the procession should take place on horseback, and the whole of the
      retinue were accordingly mounted. The large quadrangle was filled with
      steeds and their attendants, and the castle walls resounded with the
      fanfares of trumpets and the beating of kettledrums. The most attractive
      feature of the procession in the eyes of the beholders was the Lady Anne,
      who, mounted on a snow-white palfrey richly trapped, rode on the right of
      the king. She was dressed in a rich gown of raised cloth of gold; and had
      a coronet of black velvet, decorated with orient pearls, on her head.
      Never had she looked so lovely as on this occasion, and the king's passion
      increased as he gazed upon her. Henry himself was more sumptuously attired
      than on the preceding day. He wore a robe of purple velvet, made somewhat
      like a frock, embroidered with flat damask gold, and small lace
      intermixed. His doublet was very curiously embroidered, the sleeves and
      breast being lined with cloth of gold, and fastened with great buttons of
      diamonds and rubies. His sword and girdle were adorned with magnificent
      emeralds, and his bonnet glistened with precious stones. His charger was
      trapped in cloth of gold, traversed lattice-wise, square, embroidered with
      gold damask, pearled on every side, and having buckles and pendants of
      fine gold. By his side ran ten footmen, richly attired in velvet and
      goldsmith's work. They were followed by the pages of honour, mounted on
      great horses, trapped in crimson velvet embroidered with new devices and
      knots of gold.
    </p>
    <p>
      In this state Henry and his favourite proceeded to the great western door
      of Saint George's Chapel. Here twelve gentlemen of the privy-chamber
      attended with a canopy of cloth of gold, which they bore over the king's
      bead, and that of the Lady Anne, as she walked beside him to the entrance
      of the choir, where they separated&mdash;he proceeding to his stall, and
      she to a closet at the north-east corner of the choir over the altar,
      while her ladies repaired to one adjoining it.
    </p>
    <p>
      Matins then commenced, and at the appointed part of the service the dean
      of the college took a silver box, containing the heart of Saint George,
      bestowed upon King Henry the Fifth by the Emperor Sigismund, and after
      incense had been shed upon it by one of the canons, presented it to the
      king and the knights-companions to kiss.
    </p>
    <p>
      After the offertory, a carpet was spread on the steps before the altar,
      the alms-knights, pursuivants, and heralds stationing themselves on either
      side of it. The Garter then descended from his seat, and waving his rod,
      the knights-companions descended likewise, but remained before their
      stalls. The black-rod next descended, and proceeding towards the altar, a
      groom of the wardrobe brought him a small carpet of cloth of gold, and a
      cushion of the same stuff, which were placed on the larger carpet, the
      cushion being set on the head of the steps. Taking a large gilt bason to
      receive the offerings, the prelate stationed himself with one of the
      prebends in the midst of the altar. The king then rose from his stall, and
      making a reverence as before, proceeded to the altar, attended by the
      Garter, register, and chancellor, together with the Duke of Richmond
      bearing the sword; and having reached the upper step, prostrated himself
      on the cushion, while the black-rod bending the knee delivered a chain of
      gold, intended afterwards to be redeemed, to the Duke of Suffolk, who was
      appointed to make the royal offering, and who placed it in the bason held
      by the prelate. This ceremony over, the king got up, and with similar
      reverences returned to his stall. Then the two provincial kings,
      Clarenceux and Norroy, proceeded along the choir, and making due
      reverences to the altar and the sovereign, bowed to the two senior
      knights; who thereupon advanced towards the altar, and kneeling down, made
      their offering. The other imitated their example, coming forward according
      to their seniority.
    </p>
    <p>
      The service ended, the officers and knights-companions quitted the chapel
      in the same order they had entered it, the king being received under the
      canopy at the door of the choir, and passing through the west entrance of
      the chapel, where he waited for the Lady Anne. On her arrival they both
      mounted their steeds, and rode up to the royal lodgings amid flourishes of
      trumpets and acclamations. Dismounting at the great gate, Henry proceeded
      to the presence-chamber, where the knights-companions had assembled, and
      having received their salutations, retired to his closet. Here he remained
      in deep consultation with the Duke of Suffolk for some hours, when it
      having been announced to him that the first course of the banquet was
      served, he came forth, and proceeded to the presence-chamber, where he
      greeted the knights-companions, who were there assembled, and who
      immediately put themselves in order of procession. After this, the
      alms-knights, prebends, and officers-of-arms passed on through the
      guard-chamber into Saint George's Hall. They were followed by the
      knights-companions, who drew up in double file, the seniors taking the
      uppermost place; and through these lines the king passed, his train borne
      up as before, until reaching the table set apart for him beneath a canopy,
      he turned round and received the knights' reverences. The Earl of Oxford,
      as vice-chamberlain, then brought him a ewer containing water, the Earl of
      Surrey a bason, and Lord Rochford a napkin. Henry having performed his
      ablutions, grace was said by the prelate, after which the king seated
      himself beneath the canopy in an ancient chair with a curiously carved
      back representing the exploit of Saint George, which had once belonged to
      the founder, King Edward the Third, and called up the two cardinals, who
      by this time had entered the hall, and who remained standing beside him,
      one on either hand, during the repast.
    </p>
    <p>
      As soon as the king was seated, the knights-companions put on their caps,
      and retired to the table prepared for them on the right side of the hall,
      where they seated themselves according to their degree&mdash;the Duke of
      Richmond occupying the first place, the Duke of Suffolk the second, and
      the Duke of Norfolk the third. On the opposite side of the hall was a long
      beaufet covered with flasks of wine, meats, and dishes, for the service of
      the knights' table. Before this stood the attendants, near whom were drawn
      up two lines of pensioners bearing the second course on great gilt dishes,
      and headed by the sewer. In front of the sewer were the treasurer and
      comptroller of the household, each bearing a white wand; next them stood
      the officers-of-arms in two lines, headed by the Garter. The bottom of the
      hall was thronged with yeomen of the guard, halberdiers, and henchmen. In
      a gallery at the lower end were stationed a band of minstrels, and near
      them sat the Lady Anne and her dames to view the proceedings.
    </p>
    <p>
      The appearance of the hall during the banquet was magnificent, the upper
      part being hung with arras representing the legend of Saint George, placed
      there by Henry the Sixth, and the walls behind the knights-companions
      adorned with other tapestries and rich stuffs. The tables groaned with the
      weight of dishes, some of which may be enumerated for the benefit of
      modern gastronomers. There were Georges on horseback, chickens in brewis,
      cygnets, capons of high grease, carpes of venison, herons, calvered
      salmon, custards planted with garters, tarts closed with arms, godwits,
      peafowl, halibut engrailed, porpoise in armour, pickled mullets, perch in
      foyle, venison pasties, hypocras jelly, and mainemy royal.
    </p>
    <p>
      Before the second course was served, the Garter, followed by Clarenceux
      and Norroy, together with the heralds and pursuivants, advanced towards
      the sovereign's canopy, and cried thrice in a loud voice, &ldquo;Largesse!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Upon this, all the knights-companions arose and took off their caps. The
      Garter then proceeded to proclaim the king's titles in Latin and French,
      and lastly in English, as follows:&mdash;&ldquo;Of the most high, most
      excellent, and most mighty monarch, Henry the Eighth, by the grace of God
      King of England, France, and Ireland, Defender of the Faith, and Sovereign
      of the most noble Order of the Garter.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      This proclamation made, the treasurer of the household put ten golden
      marks into the Garter's cap, who making a reverence to the sovereign,
      retired from the hall with his followers.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Come, my lord legate,&rdquo; said Henry, when this ceremony was at an end, &ldquo;we
      will drink to my future queen. What ho! wine!&rdquo; he added to the Earl of
      Surrey, who officiated as cup-bearer.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your highness is not yet divorced from your present consort,&rdquo; replied
      Campeggio. &ldquo;If it please you, I should prefer drinking the health of
      Catherine of Arragon.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, as your eminence pleases,&rdquo; replied the king, taking the goblet from
      the hand of Surrey; &ldquo;I shall not constrain you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And looking towards the gallery, he fixed his eyes on the Lady Anne and
      drained the cup to the last drop.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Would it were poison,&rdquo; muttered Sir Thomas Wyat, who stood behind the
      Earl of Surrey, and witnessed what was passing.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Give not thy treasonable thoughts vent, gossip,&rdquo; said Will Sommers, who
      formed one of the group near the royal table, &ldquo;or it may chance that some
      one less friendly disposed towards thee than myself may overhear them. I
      tell thee, the Lady Anne is lost to thee for ever. Think'st thou aught of
      womankind would hesitate between a simple knight and a king? My lord
      duke,&rdquo; he added sharply to Richmond, who was looking round at him, &ldquo;you
      would rather be in yonder gallery than here.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why so, knave?&rdquo; asked the duke.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Because the Fair Geraldine is there,&rdquo; replied the jester. &ldquo;And yet your
      grace is not the person she would most desire to have with her.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Whom would she prefer?&rdquo; inquired the duke angrily.
    </p>
    <p>
      The jester nodded at Surrey, and laughed maliciously.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You heard the health given by the king just now, my lord,&rdquo; observed the
      Duke of Suffolk to his neighbour the Duke of Norfolk; &ldquo;it was a shrewd
      hint to the lord legate which way his judgment should decline. Your niece
      will assuredly be Queen of England.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I did not note what was said, my lord,&rdquo; replied Norfolk; &ldquo;I pray you
      repeat it to me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Suffolk complied, and they continued in close debate until the termination
      of the banquet, when the king, having saluted the company, returned to the
      presence-chamber.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      V.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     Of the Ghostly Chase beheld by the Earl of Surrey and the
     Duke of Richmond in Windsor Forest.
</pre>
    <p>
      On that same night, and just as the castle clock was on the stroke of
      twelve, the Earl of Surrey and the Duke of Richmond issued from the upper
      gate, and took their way towards Herne's Oak. The moon was shining
      brightly, and its beams silvered the foliage of the noble trees with which
      the park was studded. The youthful friends soon reached the blasted tree;
      but nothing was to be seen near it, and all looked so tranquil, so free
      from malignant influence, that the Duke of Richmond could not help
      laughing at his companion, telling him that the supposed vision must have
      been the offspring of his over-excited fancy. Angry at being thus doubted,
      the earl walked off, and plunged into the haunted dell. The duke followed,
      but though they paused for some time beneath the gnarled oak-tree, the
      spirit did not appear.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And thus ends the adventure of Herne the Hunter!&rdquo; laughed the duke, as
      they emerged from the brake. &ldquo;By my halidom, Surrey, I am grievously
      disappointed. You must have mistaken some large stag, caught by its
      antlers in the branches of the oak-tree, for the demon.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have told you precisely what occurred,&rdquo; replied Surrey angrily. &ldquo;Ha!
      there he is&mdash;look! look!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And he pointed to a weird figure, mounted on a steed as weird-looking as
      itself, galloping through the trees with extraordinary swiftness, at a
      little distance from them. This ghostly rider wore the antlered helmet
      described by Surrey, and seemed to be habited in a garb of deer-skins.
      Before him flew a large owl, and a couple of great black dogs ran beside
      him. Staring in speechless wonder at the sight, the two youths watched the
      mysterious being scour a glade brightly illumined by the moon, until,
      reaching the pales marking the confines of the Home Park, he leaped them
      and disappeared.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What think you of that?&rdquo; cried Surrey, as soon as he had recovered from
      his surprise, glancing triumphantly at the duke. &ldquo;Was that the offspring
      of my fancy?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It was a marvellous sight, truly!&rdquo; exclaimed Richmond. &ldquo;Would we had our
      steeds to follow him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We can follow him on foot,&rdquo; replied the earl&mdash;&ldquo;he is evidently gone
      into the forest.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And they set off at a quick pace in the direction taken by the ghostly
      rider. Clambering the park pales, they crossed the road leading to Old
      Windsor, and entered that part of the forest which, in more recent times,
      has been enclosed and allotted to the grounds of Frogmore. Tracking a long
      vista, they came to a thick dell, overgrown with large oaks, at the bottom
      of which lay a small pool. Fleeter than his companion, and therefore
      somewhat in advance of him, the Earl of Surrey, as he approached this
      dell, perceived the spectral huntsman and his dogs standing at the edge of
      the water. The earl instantly shouted to him, and the horseman turning his
      head, shook his hand menacingly, while the hounds glared fiercely at the
      intruder, and displayed their fangs, but did not bark. As Surrey, however,
      despite this caution, continued to advance, the huntsman took a strangely
      shaped horn that hung by his side, and placing it to his lips, flames and
      thick smoke presently issued from it, and before the vapour had cleared
      off, he and his dogs had disappeared.. The witnesses of this marvellous
      spectacle crossed themselves reverently, and descended to the brink of the
      pool; but the numerous footprints of deer, that came there to drink,
      prevented them from distinguishing any marks of the steed of the ghostly
      hunter.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Shall we return, Surrey?&rdquo; asked the duke.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; replied the earl. &ldquo;I am persuaded we shall see the mysterious
      huntsman again. You can return, if you think proper. I will go on.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay, I will not leave you,&rdquo; rejoined Richmond.
    </p>
    <p>
      And they set off again at the same quick pace as before. Mounting a hill
      covered with noble beeches and elms, a magnificent view of the castle
      burst upon them, towering over the groves they had tracked, and looking
      almost like the work of enchantment. Charmed with the view, the young men
      continued to contemplate it for some time. They then struck off on the
      right, and ascended still higher, until they came to a beautiful grove of
      beeches cresting the hill where the equestrian statue of George the Third
      is now placed. Skirting this grove, they disturbed a herd of deer, which
      started up, and darted into the valley below.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the foot of two fine beech-trees lay another small pool, and Surrey
      almost expected to see the spectral huntsman beside it.
    </p>
    <p>
      From this spot they could discern the whole of the valley beyond, and they
      scanned it in the hope of perceiving the object of their search. Though
      not comparable to the view on the nearer side, the prospect was
      nevertheless exceedingly beautiful. Long vistas and glades stretched out
      before them, while in the far distance might be seen glittering in the
      moonbeams the lake or mere which in later days has received the name of
      Virginia Water.
    </p>
    <p>
      While they were gazing at this scene, a figure habited like a keeper of
      the forest suddenly emerged from the trees at the lower end of one of the
      glades. Persuaded that this person had some mysterious connection with the
      ghostly huntsman, the earl determined to follow him, and hastily
      mentioning his suspicions and design to Richmond, he hurried down the
      hill. But before he accomplished the descent, the keeper was gone.
    </p>
    <p>
      At length, however, on looking about, they perceived him mounting the
      rising ground on the left, and immediately started after him, taking care
      to keep out of sight. The policy of this course was soon apparent.
      Supposing himself no longer pursued, the keeper relaxed his pace, and the
      others got nearer to him.
    </p>
    <p>
      In this way both parties went on, the keeper still hurrying forward, every
      now and then turning his head to see whether any one was on his track,
      until he came to a road cut through the trees that brought him to the edge
      of a descent leading to the lake. Just at this moment a cloud passed over
      the moon, burying all in comparative obscurity. The watchers, however,
      could perceive the keeper approach an ancient beech-tree of enormous
      growth, and strike it thrice with the short hunting-spear which he held in
      his grasp.
    </p>
    <p>
      The signal remaining unanswered, he quitted the tree, and shaped his
      course along the side of a hill on the right. Keeping under the shelter of
      the thicket on the top of the same hill, Surrey and Richmond followed, and
      saw him direct his steps towards another beech-tree of almost double the
      girth of that he had just visited. Arrived at this mighty tree, he struck
      it with his spear, while a large owl, seated on a leafless branch, began
      to hoot; a bat circled the tree; and two large snakes, glistening in the
      moonlight, glided from its roots. As the tree was stricken for the third
      time, the same weird figure that the watchers had seen ride along the Home
      Park burst from its riften trunk, and addressed its summoner in tones
      apparently menacing and imperious, but whose import was lost upon the
      listeners. The curiosity of the beholders was roused to the highest pitch,
      but an undefinable awe prevented them from rushing forward.
    </p>
    <p>
      Suddenly the demon hunter waved a pike with which he was armed, and
      uttered a peculiar cry, resembling the hooting of an owl. At this sound,
      and as if by magic, a couple of steeds, accompanied by the two hounds,
      started from the brake. In an instant the demon huntsman vaulted upon the
      hack of the horse nearest to him, and the keeper almost as quickly mounted
      the other. The pair then galloped off through the glen, the owl flying
      before them, and the hounds coursing by their side.
    </p>
    <p>
      The two friends gazed at each other, for some time, in speechless wonder.
      Taking heart, they then descended to the haunted tree, but could perceive
      no traces of the strange being by whom it had been recently tenanted.
      After a while they retraced their course towards the castle, hoping they
      might once more encounter the wild huntsman. Nor were they disappointed.
      As they crossed a glen, a noble stag darted by. Close at its heels came
      the two black hounds, and after them the riders hurrying forward at a
      furious pace, their steeds appearing to breathe forth flame and smoke.
    </p>
    <p>
      In an instant the huntsmen and hounds were gone, and the trampling of the
      horses died away in the distance. Soon afterwards a low sound, like the
      winding of a horn, broke upon the ear, and the listeners had no doubt that
      the buck was brought down. They hurried in the direction of the sound, but
      though the view was wholly unobstructed for a considerable distance, they
      could see nothing either of horsemen, hounds, or deer.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008">
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    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      VI.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     How the Fair Geraldine bestowed a Relic upon her Lover&mdash;How
     Surrey and Richmond rode in the Forest at Midnight&mdash;And
     where they found the Body of Mark Fytton, the Butcher.
</pre>
    <p>
      Surrey and Richmond agreed to say nothing for the present of their
      mysterious adventure in the forest; but their haggard looks, as they
      presented themselves to the Lady Anne Boleyn in the reception-chamber on
      the following morning, proclaimed that something had happened, and they
      had to undergo much questioning from the Fair Geraldine and the Lady Mary
      Howard.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I never saw you so out of spirits, my lord,&rdquo; remarked the Fair Geraldine
      to Surrey; &ldquo;you must have spent the whole night in study&mdash;or what is
      more probable, you have again seen Herne the Hunter. Confess now, you have
      been in the forest.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will confess anything you please,&rdquo; replied Surrey evasively.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And what have you seen?&mdash;a stranger vision than the first?&rdquo; rejoined
      the Fair Geraldine.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Since your ladyship answers for me, there is no need for explanation on
      my part,&rdquo; rejoined Surrey, with a faint laugh. &ldquo;And know you not, that
      those who encounter super natural beings are generally bound to profound
      secrecy?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Such, I hope, is not your case, Henry?&rdquo; cried the Lady Mary Howard, in
      alarm;&mdash;&ldquo;nor yours, my lord?&rdquo; she added to the Duke of Richmond.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am bound equally with Surrey,&rdquo; returned the duke mysteriously
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You pique my curiosity, my lords,&rdquo; said the Fair Geraldine; &ldquo;and since
      there is no other way of gratifying it, if the Lady Mary Howard will
      accompany me, we will ourselves venture into the forest, and try whether
      we cannot have a meeting with this wild huntsman. Shall we go to-night?
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not for worlds,&rdquo; replied the Lady Mary, shuddering; &ldquo;were I to see Herne,
      I should die of fright.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your alarm is groundless,&rdquo; observed Richmond gallantly. &ldquo;The presence of
      two beings, fair and pure as yourself and the Lady Elizabeth Fitzgerald,
      would scare away aught of evil.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Lady Mary thanked him with a beaming smile, but the Fair Geraldine
      could not suppress a slight laugh.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your grace is highly flattering,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;But, with all faith in
      beauty and purity, I should place most reliance in a relic I possess&mdash;the
      virtue of which has often been approved against evil spirits. It was given
      by a monk&mdash;who had been sorely tempted by a demon, and who owed his
      deliverance to it&mdash;to my ancestor, Luigi Geraldi of Florence; and
      from him it descended to me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Would I had an opportunity of proving its efficacy!&rdquo; exclaimed the Earl
      of Surrey.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You shall prove it, if you choose,&rdquo; rejoined the Fair Geraldine. &ldquo;I will
      give you the relic on condition that you never part with it to friend or
      foe.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And detaching a small cross of gold, suspended by a chain from her neck,
      she presented it to the Earl of Surrey.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This cross encloses the relic,&rdquo; she continued; &ldquo;wear it, and may it
      protect you from all ill!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Surrey's pale cheek glowed as he took the gift. &ldquo;I will never past with it
      but with life,&rdquo; he cried, pressing the cross to his lips, and afterwards
      placing it next his heart.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I would have given half my dukedom to be so favoured,&rdquo; said Richmond
      moodily.
    </p>
    <p>
      And quitting the little group, he walked towards the Lady Anne. &ldquo;Henry,&rdquo;
       said the Lady Mary, taking her brother aside, &ldquo;you will lose your friend.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I care not,&rdquo; replied Surrey.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But you may incur his enmity,&rdquo; pursued the Lady Mary. &ldquo;I saw the glance
      he threw at you just now, and it was exactly like the king's terrible look
      when offended.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Again I say I care not,&rdquo; replied Surrey. &ldquo;Armed with this relic, I defy
      all hostility.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It will avail little against Richmond's rivalry and opposition,&rdquo; rejoined
      his sister.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We shall see,&rdquo; retorted Surrey. &ldquo;Were the king himself my rival, I would
      not resign my pretensions to the Fair Geraldine.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Bravely resolved, my lord,&rdquo; said Sir Thomas Wyat, who, having overheard
      the exclamation, advanced towards him. &ldquo;Heaven grant you may never be
      placed in such jeopardy!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I say amen to that prayer, Sir Thomas,&rdquo; rejoined Surrey &ldquo;I would not
      prove disloyal, and yet under such circumstances&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What would you do?&rdquo; interrupted Wyat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My brother is but a hasty boy, and has not learned discretion, Sir
      Thomas,&rdquo; interposed the Lady Mary, trying by a significant glance to
      impose silence on the earl.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Young as he is, he loves well and truly,&rdquo; remarked Wyat, in a sombre
      tone.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What is all this?&rdquo; inquired the Fair Geraldine, who had been gazing
      through the casement into the court below.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I was merely expressing a wish that Surrey may never have a monarch for a
      rival, fair lady,&rdquo; replied Wyat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It matters little who may be his rival,&rdquo; rejoined Geraldine, &ldquo;provided
      she he loves be constant.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Right, lady, right,&rdquo; said Wyat, with great bitterness. At this moment
      Will Sommers approached them. &ldquo;I come to bid you to the Lady Anne's
      presence, Sir Thomas, and you to the king's, my lord of Surrey,&rdquo; said the
      jester. &ldquo;I noticed what has just taken place,&rdquo; he remarked to the latter,
      as they proceeded towards the royal canopy, beneath which Henry and the
      Lady Anne Boleyn were seated; &ldquo;but Richmond will not relinquish her
      tamely, for all that.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Anne Boleyn had summoned Sir Thomas Wyat, in order to gratify her vanity
      by showing him the unbounded influence she possessed over his royal rival;
      and the half-suppressed agony displayed by the unfortunate lover at the
      exhibition afforded her a pleasure such as only the most refined coquette
      can feel.
    </p>
    <p>
      Surrey was sent for by the king to receive instructions, in his quality of
      vice-chamberlain, respecting a tilting-match and hunting-party to be held
      on successive days&mdash;the one in the upper quadrangle of the castle,
      the other in the forest.
    </p>
    <p>
      Anxious, now that he was somewhat calmer, to avoid a rupture with
      Richmond, Surrey, as soon as he had received the king's instructions, drew
      near the duke; and the latter, who had likewise reasoned himself out of
      his resentment, was speedily appeased, and they became, to all appearance,
      as good friends as ever.
    </p>
    <p>
      Soon afterwards the Lady Anne and her dames retired, and the court
      breaking up, the two young nobles strolled forth to the stately terrace at
      the north of the castle, where, while gazing at the glorious view it
      commanded, they talked over the mysterious event of the previous night.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I cannot help suspecting that the keeper we beheld with the demon hunter
      was Morgan Fenwolf,&rdquo; remarked the earl. &ldquo;Suppose we make inquiry whether
      he was at home last night. We can readily find out his dwelling from Bryan
      Bowntance, the host of the Garter.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Richmond acquiesced in the proposal, and they accordingly proceeded to the
      cloisters of Saint George's Chapel, and threading some tortuous passages
      contrived among the canons' houses, passed through a small porch, guarded
      by a sentinel, and opening upon a precipitous and somewhat dangerous
      flight of steps, hewn out of the rock and leading to the town.
    </p>
    <p>
      None except the more important members of the royal household were allowed
      to use this means of exit from the castle, but, of course, the privilege
      extended to Richmond and Surrey. Here in later times, and when the castle
      was not so strictly guarded, a more convenient approach was built, and
      designated, from the number of its stairs, &ldquo;The Hundred Steps.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Having accomplished the descent in safety, and given the password to the
      sentinel at the foot of the steps, the two young nobles emerged into the
      street, and the first object they beheld was the body of the miserable
      butcher swinging from the summit of the Curfew Tower, where it was left by
      order of the king.
    </p>
    <p>
      Averting their gaze from this ghastly spectacle, they took their way up
      Thames Street, and soon reached the Garter. Honest Bryan was seated on a
      bench before the dwelling, with a flagon of his own ale beside him, and
      rising as he saw the others approach, he made them a profound salutation.
    </p>
    <p>
      Upon leaning what they sought, he told them that Morgan Fenwolf dwelt in a
      small cottage by the river-side not far from the bridge, and if it pleased
      them, he would guide them to it himself&mdash;an offer which they gladly
      accepted.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do you know anything of this Fenwolf?&rdquo; asked Surrey, as they proceeded on
      their way.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nothing particular,&rdquo; replied Bryan, with some hesitation. &ldquo;There are some
      strange reports about him, but I don't believe 'em.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What reports are they, friend?&rdquo; asked the Duke of Richmond.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, your grace, one ought to be cautious what one says, for fear of
      bringing an innocent man into trouble,&rdquo; returned the host. &ldquo;But if the
      truth must be spoken, people do say that Morgan Fenwolf is in league with
      the devil&mdash;or with Herne the Hunter, which is the same thing.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Richmond exchanged a look with his friend.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Folks say strange sights have been seen in the forest of late,&rdquo; pursued
      Bryan&mdash;&ldquo;and it may be so. But I myself have seen nothing&mdash;but
      then, to be sure, I never go there. The keepers used to talk of Herne the
      Hunter when I was a lad, but I believe it was only a tale to frighten
      deer-stealers; and I fancy it's much the same thing now.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Neither Surrey nor Richmond made any remark, and they presently reached
      the keeper's dwelling.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a small wooden tenement standing, as the host had stated, on the
      bank of the river, about a bow-shot from the bridge. The door was opened
      by Bryan, and the party entered without further ceremony. They found no
      one within except an old woman, with harsh, wrinkled features, and a
      glance as ill-omened as that of a witch, whom Bryan Bowntance told them
      was Fenwolf's mother. This old crone regarded the intruders uneasily.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Where is your son, dame?&rdquo; demanded the duke.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;On his walk in the forest,&rdquo; replied the old crone bluntly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What time did he go forth?&rdquo; inquired Surrey.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;An hour before daybreak, as is his custom,&rdquo; returned the woman, in the
      same short tone as before.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are sure he slept at home last night, dame?&rdquo; said Surrey.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;As sure as I am that the question is asked me,&rdquo; she replied. &ldquo;I can show
      you the very bed on which he slept, if you desire to see it. He retired
      soon after sunset&mdash;slept soundly, as he always sleeps&mdash;and arose
      as I have told you. I lighted a fire, and made him some hot pottage
      myself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If she speaks the truth, you must be mistaken,&rdquo; observed Richmond in a
      whisper to his friend.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I do not believe her,&rdquo; replied Surrey, in the same tone. &ldquo;Show us his
      chamber, dame.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The old crone sullenly complied, and, throwing open a side door, disclosed
      an inner apartment, in which there was a small bed. There was nothing
      noticeable in the room except a couple of fishing-nets, a hunting-spear,
      and an old cross-bow. A small open casement looked upon the river, whose
      clear sparkling waters flowed immediately beneath it.
    </p>
    <p>
      Surrey approached the window, and obtained a fine view of the Brocas meads
      on the one hand, and the embowered college of Eton on the other. His
      attention, however, was diverted by a fierce barking without, and the next
      moment, in spite of the vociferations of the old woman, a large black
      staghound, which Surrey recognised as Fenwolf's dog, Bawsey, burst through
      the door, and rushed furiously towards him. Surrey drew his dagger to
      defend himself from the hound's attack, but the precaution was needless.
      Bawsey's fierceness changed suddenly to the most abject submission, and
      with a terrified howl, she retreated from the room with' her tail between
      her legs. Even the old woman uttered a cry of surprise.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Lord help us!&rdquo; exclaimed Bryan; &ldquo;was ever the like o' that seen? Your
      lordship must have a strange mastery over dogs. That hound,&rdquo; he added, in
      a whisper, &ldquo;is said to be a familiar spirit.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The virtue of the relic is approved,&rdquo; observed Surrey to Richmond, in an
      undertone.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It would seem so,&rdquo; replied the duke.
    </p>
    <p>
      The old woman now thought proper to assume a more respectful demeanour
      towards her visitors, and inquired whether her son should attend upon them
      on his return from the forest, but they said it was unnecessary.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The king is about to have a grand hunting-party the day after to-morrow,&rdquo;
       observed Surrey, &ldquo;and we wished to give your son some instructions
      respecting it. They can, however, be delivered to another keeper.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And they departed with Bryan, and returned to the castle. At midnight they
      again issued forth. Their steeds awaited them near the upper gate, and,
      mounting, they galloped across the greensward in the direction of Herne's
      Oak. Discerning no trace of the ghostly huntsman, they shaped their course
      towards the forest.
    </p>
    <p>
      Urging their steeds to their utmost speed, and skirting the long avenue,
      they did not draw the rein till they reached the eminence beyond it;
      having climbed which, they dashed down the farther side at the same swift
      pace as before. The ride greatly excited them, but they saw nothing of the
      wild huntsman; nor did any sound salute their ears except the tramp of
      their own horses, or the occasional darting forth of a startled deer.
    </p>
    <p>
      Less than a quarter of an hour brought them to the haunted beech-tree; but
      all was as silent and solitary here as at the blasted oak. In vain Surrey
      smote the tree. No answer was returned to the summons; and, finding all
      efforts to evoke the demon fruitless, they quitted the spot, and, turning
      their horses' heads to the right, slowly ascended the hill-side.
    </p>
    <p>
      Before they had gained the brow of the hill the faint blast of a horn
      saluted their ears, apparently proceeding from the valley near the lake.
      They instantly stopped and looked in that direction, but could see
      nothing. Presently, however, the blast was repeated more loudly than
      before, and, guided by the sound, they discerned the spectral huntsman
      riding beneath the trees at some quarter of a mile's distance.
    </p>
    <p>
      Striking spurs into their steeds, they instantly gave him chase; but
      though he lured them on through thicket and over glade&mdash;now climbing
      a hill, now plunging into a valley, until their steeds began to show
      symptoms of exhaustion&mdash;they got no nearer to him; and at length, as
      they drew near the Home Park, to which he had gradually led them, he
      disappeared from view.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will take my station near the blasted oak,&rdquo; said Surrey, galloping
      towards it: &ldquo;the demon is sure to revisit his favourite tree before
      cock-crowing.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What is that?&rdquo; cried the Earl of Surrey, pointing to a strange and
      ghastly-looking object depending from the tree. &ldquo;Some one has hanged
      himself! It may be the caitiff, Morgan Fenwolf.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      With one accord they dashed forward, and as they drew nearer the tree,
      they perceived that the object that had attracted their attention was the
      body of Mark Fytton, the butcher, which they had so recently seen swinging
      from the summit of the Curfew Tower. It was now suspended from an arm of
      the wizard oak.
    </p>
    <p>
      A small scroll was stuck upon the breast of the corpse, and, taking it
      off, Surrey read these words, traced in uncouth characters&mdash;&ldquo;Mark
      Fytton is now one of the band of Herne the Hunter.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By my fay, this passes all comprehension,&rdquo; said Richmond, after a few
      moments' silence. &ldquo;This castle and forest seem under the sway of the
      powers of darkness. Let us return. I have had enough of adventure for
      to-night.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And he rode towards the castle, followed more slowly by the earl.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      VII.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     How the Earl of Surrey and the Fair Geraldine plighted their
     troth in the Cloisters of Saint George's Chapel.
</pre>
    <p>
      Barriers were erected on the following day in the upper ward of the
      castle, and the Lady Anne and her dames assembled in the balcony in front
      of the royal lodgings, which was decorated with arras, costly carpets, and
      rich stuffs, to view the spectacle.
    </p>
    <p>
      Perfect in all manly accomplishments, Henry splintered several lances with
      his brother-in-law, the Duke of Suffolk, who formed an admirable match for
      him in point of weight and strength; and at last, though he did not
      succeed in unhorsing the duke, he struck off his helmet, the clasp of
      which, it was whispered, was left designedly unfastened; and being
      thereupon declared the victor, he received the prize&mdash;a scarf
      embroidered by her own hands&mdash;from the fair Anne herself.
    </p>
    <p>
      He then retired from the lists, leaving them free for the younger knights
      to run a course at the ring. The first to enter the arena was Sir Thomas
      Wyat; and as he was known to be a skilful jouster, it was expected he
      would come off triumphantly. But a glance from the royal balcony rendered
      his arm unsteady, and he missed the mark.
    </p>
    <p>
      Next came the Duke of Richmond, superbly accoutred. Laughing at Wyat's ill
      success, he bowed to the Fair Geraldine, and taking a lance from his
      esquire, placed it in the rest, and rode gallantly forward. But he was
      equally unsuccessful, and retired, looking deeply chagrined.
    </p>
    <p>
      The third knight who presented himself was Surrey. Mounted on his
      favourite black Arabian&mdash;a steed which, though of fiery temper,
      obeyed his slightest movement&mdash;his light symmetrical figure was seen
      to the greatest advantage in his close-fitting habiliments of silk and
      velvet. Without venturing a look at the royal balcony, the earl couched
      his lance, and bounding forward, bore away the ring on its point.
    </p>
    <p>
      Amid the plaudits of the spectators, he then careered around the arena,
      and approaching the royal balcony, raised his lance, and proffered the
      ring to the Fair Geraldine, who blushingly received it. Henry, though by
      no means pleased with Surrey's success, earned as it was at the expense of
      his son, complimented him upon his skill, and Anne Boleyn joined warmly in
      his praises.
    </p>
    <p>
      The lists were then closed, and the royal party retired to partake of
      refreshments; after which they proceeded to the butts erected in the broad
      mead at the north of the castle, where the Duke of Shoreditch and his
      companions shot a well-contested match with the long-bow.
    </p>
    <p>
      During these sports, Surrey placed himself as near as he could to the Fair
      Geraldine, and though but few opportunities occurred of exchanging a
      syllable with her, his looks spoke a sufficiently intelligible language.
      At last, just as they were about to return to the palace, he breathed in
      an imploring tone in her ear&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You will attend vespers at Saint George's Chapel this evening. Return
      through the cloisters. Grant me a moment's interview alone there.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I cannot promise,&rdquo; replied the Fair Geraldine. And she followed in the
      train of the Lady Anne.
    </p>
    <p>
      The earl's request had not been unheard. As the royal train proceeded
      towards the castle, Will Sommers contrived to approach the Duke of
      Richmond, and said to him, in a jeering tone &ldquo;You ran but indifferently at
      the ring to-day, gossip. The galliard Surrey rode better, and carried off
      the prize.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Pest on thee, scurril knave&mdash;be silent!&rdquo; cried Richmond angrily;
      &ldquo;failure is bad enough without thy taunts.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If you had only missed the ring, gossip, I should have thought nothing of
      it,&rdquo; pursued Will Sommers; &ldquo;but you lost a golden opportunity of
      ingratiating yourself with your lady-love. All your hopes are now at an
      end. A word in your ear&mdash;the Fair Geraldine will meet Surrey alone
      this evening.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Thou liest, knave!&rdquo; cried the duke fiercely.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your grace will find the contrary, if you will be at Wolsey's tomb-house
      at vesper-time,&rdquo; replied the jester.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will be there,&rdquo; replied the duke; &ldquo;but if I am brought on a bootless
      errand, not even my royal father shall save thee from chastisement.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will bear any chastisement your grace may choose to inflict upon me, if
      I prove not the truth of my assertion,&rdquo; replied Sommers. And he dropped
      into the rear of the train.
    </p>
    <p>
      The two friends, as if by mutual consent, avoided each other during the
      rest of the day&mdash;Surrey feeling he could not unburden his heart to
      Richmond, and Richmond brooding jealously over the intelligence he had
      received from the jester.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the appointed hour the duke proceeded to the lower ward, and stationed
      himself near Wolsey's tomb-house. Just as he arrived there, the vesper
      hymn arose from the adjoining fane, and its solemn strains somewhat
      soothed his troubled spirit. But they died away; and as the jester came
      not, Richmond grew impatient, and began to fear he had been duped by his
      informant. At length the service concluded, and, losing all patience, he
      was about to depart, when the jester peered round the lower angle of the
      tomb-house, and beckoned to him. Obeying the summons, the duke followed
      his conductor down the arched passage leading to the cloisters.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Tread softly, gossip, or you will alarm them,&rdquo; said Sommers, in a low
      tone.
    </p>
    <p>
      They turned the corner of the cloisters; and there, near the entrance of
      the chapel, stood the youthful pair&mdash;the Fair Geraldine half
      reclining upon the earl's breast, while his arm encircled her slender
      waist.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There!&rdquo; whispered the jester, chuckling maliciously, &ldquo;there! did I speak
      falsely&mdash;eh, gossip?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Richmond laid his hand upon his sword.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hist!&rdquo; said the jester; &ldquo;hear what the Fair Geraldine has to say.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We must meet no more thus, Surrey,&rdquo; she murmured:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I feel I was wrong in granting the interview, but I could not help it.
      If, when a few more years have flown over your head, your heart remains
      unchanged.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It will never change!&rdquo; interrupted Surrey. &ldquo;I here solemnly pledge my
      troth to you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And I return the pledge,&rdquo; replied the Fair Geraldine earnestly. &ldquo;I vow to
      be yours, and yours only.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Would that Richmond could hear your vow!&rdquo; said Surrey; &ldquo;it would
      extinguish his hopes.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He has heard it!&rdquo; cried the duke, advancing. &ldquo;But his hopes are not yet
      extinguished.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Fair Geraldine uttered a slight scream, and disengaged herself from
      the earl.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Richmond, you have acted unworthily in thus playing the spy,&rdquo; said Surrey
      angrily.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;None but a spy can surprise interviews like these,&rdquo; rejoined Richmond
      bitterly. &ldquo;The Lady Elizabeth Fitzgerald had better have kept her chamber,
      than come here to plight her troth with a boy, who will change his mind
      before his beard is grown.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your grace shall find the boy man enough to avenge an insult,&rdquo; rejoined
      Surrey sternly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am glad to hear it,&rdquo; returned the duke. &ldquo;Lady Elizabeth Fitzgerald, I
      must pray you to return to your lodgings. The king's jester will attend
      you. This way, my lord.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Too much exasperated to hesitate, Surrey followed the duke down the
      passage, and the next moment the clashing of swords was heard. The Fair
      Geraldine screamed loudly, and Will Sommers began to think the jest had
      been carried too far.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What is to be done?&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;If the king hears of this quarrel, he
      will assuredly place the Earl of Surrey in arrest. I now repent having
      brought the duke here.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You acted most maliciously,&rdquo; cried the Fair Geraldine; &ldquo;but fly, and
      prevent further mischief.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Thus urged, the jester ran towards the lower ward, and finding an officer
      of the guard and a couple of halberdiers near the entrance of St. George's
      Chapel, told them what was taking place, and they immediately hastened
      with him to the scene of the conflict.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My lords!&rdquo; cried the officer to the combatants, &ldquo;I command you to lay
      down your weapons.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      But finding no respect paid to his injunctions, he rushed between them,
      and with the aid of the halberdiers, forcibly separated them.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My lord of Surrey,&rdquo; said the officer, &ldquo;you are my prisoner. I demand your
      sword.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;On what plea, sir?&rdquo; rejoined the other.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have drawn it against the king's son&mdash;and the act is treason,&rdquo;
       replied the officer. &ldquo;I shall take you to the guard house until the king's
      pleasure is known.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But I provoked the earl to the conflict,&rdquo; said Richmond: &ldquo;I was the
      aggressor.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your grace will represent the matter as you see fit to your royal
      father,&rdquo; rejoined the officer. &ldquo;I shall fulfil my duty. My lord, to the
      guard-house!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will procure your instant liberation, Surrey,&rdquo; said Richmond.
    </p>
    <p>
      The earl was then led away, and conveyed to a chamber in the lower part of
      Henry the Eighth's gate, now used as a place of military punishment, and
      denominated the &ldquo;black hole.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      VIII.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     Of Tristram Lyndwood, the old Forester, and his Grand-
     daughter Mabel&mdash;Of the Peril in which the Lady Anne Boleyn
     was placed during the chase&mdash;And by whom she was rescued.
</pre>
    <p>
      In consequence of the announcement that a grand hunting party would be
      held in the forest, all the verderers, rangers, and keepers assembled at
      an early hour on the fourth day after the king's arrival at Windsor in an
      open space on the west side of the great avenue, where a wooden stand was
      erected, canopied over with green boughs and festooned with garlands of
      flowers, for the accommodation of the Lady Anne Boleyn and her dames, who,
      it was understood, would be present at the chase.
    </p>
    <p>
      At a little distance from the stand an extensive covert was fenced round
      with stout poles, to which nets were attached so as to form a haye or
      preserve, where the game intended for the royal sport was confined; and
      though many of the animals thus brought together were of hostile natures,
      they were all so terrified, and seemingly so conscious of the danger
      impending over them, that they did not molest each other. The foxes and
      martins, of which there were abundance, slunk into the brushwood with the
      hares and rabbits, but left their prey untouched. The harts made violent
      efforts to break forth, and, entangling their horns in the nets, were with
      difficulty extricated and driven back; while the timid does, not daring to
      follow them, stood warily watching the result of the struggle.
    </p>
    <p>
      Amongst the antlered captives was a fine buck, which, having been once
      before hunted by the king, was styled a &ldquo;hart royal,&rdquo; and this noble
      animal would certainly have effected his escape if he had not been
      attacked and driven back by Morgan Fenwolf, who throughout the morning's
      proceedings displayed great energy and skill. The compliments bestowed on
      Fenwolf for his address by the chief verderer excited the jealousy of some
      of his comrades, and more than one asserted that he had been assisted in
      his task by some evil being, and that Bawsey herself was no better than a
      familiar spirit in the form of a hound.
    </p>
    <p>
      Morgan Fenwolf scouted these remarks; and he was supported by some others
      among the keepers, who declared that it required no supernatural aid to
      accomplish what he had done&mdash;that he was nothing more than a good
      huntsman, who could ride fast and boldly&mdash;that he was skilled in all
      the exercises of the chase, and possessed a stanch and well-trained hound.
    </p>
    <p>
      The party then sat down to breakfast beneath the trees, and the talk fell
      upon Herne the Hunter, and his frequent appearance of late in the forest
      (for most of the keepers had heard of or encountered the spectral
      huntsman); and while they were discussing this topic, and a plentiful
      allowance of cold meat, bread, ale, and mead at the same time, two persons
      were seen approaching along a vista on the right, who specially attracted
      their attention and caused Morgan Fenwolf to drop the hunting-knife with
      which he was carving his viands, and start to his feet.
    </p>
    <p>
      The new-comers were an old man and a comely young damsel. The former,
      though nearer seventy than sixty, was still hale and athletic, with fresh
      complexion, somewhat tanned by the sun, and a keen grey eye, which had
      lost nothing of its fire. He was habited in a stout leathern doublet, hose
      of the same material, and boots rudely fashioned out of untanned ox-hide,
      and drawn above the knee. In his girdle was thrust a large hunting-knife;
      a horn with a silver mouthpiece depended from his shoulder, and he wore a
      long bow and a quiver full of arrows at his back. A flat bonnet, made of
      fox-skin and ornamented with a raven's wing, covered his hair, which was
      as white as silver.
    </p>
    <p>
      But it was not upon this old forester, for such his attire proclaimed him,
      that the attention of the beholders, and of Morgan Fenwolf in especial,
      was fixed, but upon his companion. Amongst the many lovely and high-born
      dames who had so recently graced the procession to the castle were few, if
      any, comparable to this lowly damsel. Her dress&mdash;probably owing to
      the pride felt in her by her old relative was somewhat superior to her
      station. A tightly-laced green kirtle displayed to perfection her slight
      but exquisitely-formed figure A gown of orange-coloured cloth,
      sufficiently short to display her small ankles, and a pair of green
      buskins, embroidered with silver, together with a collar of the whitest
      and finest linen, though shamed by the neck it concealed, and fastened by
      a small clasp, completed her attire. Her girdle was embroidered with
      silver, and her sleeves were fastened by aiglets of the same metal.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How proud old Tristram Lyndwood seems of his granddaughter,&rdquo; remarked one
      of the keepers.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And with reason,&rdquo; replied another. &ldquo;Mabel Lyndwood is the comeliest lass
      in Berkshire.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay, marry is she,&rdquo; rejoined the first speaker; &ldquo;and, to my thinking, she
      is a fairer and sweeter flower than any that blooms in yon stately castle&mdash;the
      flower that finds so much favour in the eyes of our royal Hal not
      excepted.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Have a care, Gabriel Lapp,&rdquo; observed another keeper. &ldquo;Recollect that Mark
      Fytton, the butcher, was hanged for speaking slightingly of the Lady Anne
      Boleyn; and you may share his fate if you disparage her beauty.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Na I meant not to disparage the Lady Anne,&rdquo; replied Gabriel. &ldquo;Hal may
      marry her when he will, and divorce her as soon afterwards as he pleases,
      for aught I care. If he marries fifty wives, I shall like him all the
      better. The more the merrier, say I. But if he sets eyes on Mab Lyndwood
      it may somewhat unsettle his love for the Lady Anne.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Tush, Gabriel!&rdquo; said Morgan Fenwolf, darting an angry look at him. &ldquo;What
      business have you to insinuate that the king would heed other than the
      lady of his love?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are jealous, Morgan Fenwolf,&rdquo; rejoined Gabriel, with a malignant
      grin. &ldquo;We all know you are in love with Mabel yourself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And we all know, likewise, that Mabel will have nothing to say to you!&rdquo;
       cried another keeper, while the others laughed in chorus. &ldquo;Come and sit
      down beside us, Morgan, and finish your breakfast.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      But the keeper turned moodily away, and hied towards Tristram Lyndwood and
      his granddaughter. The old forester shook him cordially by the hand, and
      after questioning him as to what had taken place, and hearing how he had
      managed to drive the hart royal into the haye, clapped him on the shoulder
      and said, &ldquo;Thou art a brave huntsman, Morgan. I wish Mab could only think
      as well of thee as I do.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      To this speech Mabel not only paid no attention, but looked studiously
      another way.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am glad your grandfather has brought you out to see the chase to-day,
      Mabel,&rdquo; observed Morgan Fenwolf.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I dame not to see the chase, but the king,&rdquo; she replied, somewhat
      petulantly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is not every fair maid who would confess so much,&rdquo; observed Fenwolf,
      frowning.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then I am franker than some of my sex,&rdquo; replied Mabel. &ldquo;But who is the
      strange man looking at us from behind that tree, grandfather!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I see no one,&rdquo; replied the old forester.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Neither do I,&rdquo; added Morgan Fenwolf, with a shudder. &ldquo;You are wilfully
      blind,&rdquo; rejoined Mabel. &ldquo;But see, the person I mentioned stalks forth.
      Now, perhaps, he is visible to you both.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And as she spoke, a tall wild-looking figure, armed with a hunting-spear,
      emerged from the trees and advanced towards them. The garb of the newcomer
      somewhat resembled that of a forester; but his arms and lower limbs were
      destitute of covering, and appeared singularly muscular, while his skin
      was swarthy as that of a gipsy. His jet-black hair hung in elf-locks over
      his savage-looking features.
    </p>
    <p>
      In another moment he was beside them, and fixed his dark piercing eyes on
      Mabel in such a manner as to compel her to avert her gaze.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What brings you here this morning, Tristram Lyndwood?&rdquo; he demanded, in a
      hoarse imperious tone.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The same motive that brought you, Valentine Hagthorne,&rdquo; replied the old
      forester&mdash;&ldquo;to see the royal chase.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This, I suppose, is your granddaughter?&rdquo; pursued Hagthorne.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay,&rdquo; replied Tristram bluntly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Strange I should never have seen her before,&rdquo; rejoined the other. &ldquo;She is
      very fair. Be ruled by me, friend Tristram&mdash;take her home again. If
      she sees the king, ill will come of it. You know, or should know, his
      character.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hagthorne advises well,&rdquo; interposed Fenwolf. &ldquo;Mabel will be better at
      home.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But she has no intention of returning at present,&rdquo; replied Mabel. &ldquo;You
      brought me here for pastime, dear grandfather, and will not take me back
      at the recommendation of this strange man?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Content you, child&mdash;content you,&rdquo; replied Tristram kindly. &ldquo;You
      shall remain where you are.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You will repent it!&rdquo; cried Hagthorne.
    </p>
    <p>
      And hastily darting among the trees, he disappeared from view.
    </p>
    <p>
      Affecting to laugh at the occurrence, though evidently annoyed by it, the
      old forester led his granddaughter towards the stand, where he was
      cordially greeted by the keepers, most of whom, while expressing their
      pleasure at seeing him, strove to render themselves agreeable in the eyes
      of Mabel.
    </p>
    <p>
      From this scene Morgan Fenwolf kept aloof, and remained leaning against a
      tree, with his eyes riveted upon the damsel. He was roused from his
      reverie by a slight tap upon the shoulder; and turning at the touch,
      beheld Valentine Hagthorne. Obedient to a sign from the latter, he
      followed him amongst the trees, and they both plunged into a dell.
    </p>
    <p>
      An hour or two after this, when the sun was higher in the heavens, and the
      dew dried upon the greensward, the king and a large company of lords and
      ladies rode forth from the upper gate of the castle, and taking their way
      along the great avenue, struck off on the right when about half-way up it,
      and shaped their course towards the haye.
    </p>
    <p>
      A goodly sight it was to see this gallant company riding beneath the
      trees; and pleasant was it, also, to listen to the blithe sound of their
      voices, amid which Anne Boleyn's musical laugh could be plainly
      distinguished. Henry was attended by his customary band of archers and
      yeomen of the guard, and by the Duke of Shoreditch and his followers. On
      reaching the haye, the king dismounted, and assisting the Lady Anne from
      her steed, ascended the stand with her.
    </p>
    <p>
      He then took a small and beautifully fashioned bow from an attendant, and
      stringing it, presented it to her.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I trust this will not prove too strong for your fair hands,&rdquo; he said.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will make shift to draw it,&rdquo; replied Anne, raising the bow, and
      gracefully pulling the string. &ldquo;Would I could wound your majesty as surely
      as I shall hit the first roe that passes.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That were a needless labour,&rdquo; rejoined Henry, &ldquo;seeing that you have
      already stricken me to the heart. You should cure the wound you have
      already made, sweetheart-not inflict a new one.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      At this juncture the chief verderer, mounted on a powerful steed, and
      followed by two keepers, each holding a couple of stag-hounds in leash,
      rode up to the royal stand, and placing his horn to his lips, blew three
      long mootes from it. At the same moment part of the network of the haye
      was lifted up, and a roebuck set free.
    </p>
    <p>
      By the management of the keepers, the animal was driven past the royal
      stand; and Anne Boleyn, who had drawn an arrow nearly to the head, let it
      fly with such good aim that she pierced the buck to the heart. A loud
      shout from the spectators rewarded the prowess of the fair huntress; and
      Henry was so enchanted, that he bent the knee to her, and pressed her hand
      to his lips. Satisfied, however, with the' achievement, Anne prudently
      declined another shot. Henry then took a bow from one of the archers, and
      other roes being turned out, he approved upon them his unerring skill as a
      marksman.
    </p>
    <p>
      Meanwhile, the hounds, being held in leash, kept up a loud and incessant
      baying; and Henry, wearying of his slaughterous sport, turned to Anne, and
      asked her whether she was disposed for the chase. She answered in the
      affirmative, and the king motioned his henchmen to bring forward the
      steeds.
    </p>
    <p>
      In doing this, he caught sight of Mabel, who was standing with her
      grandsire among the keepers, at a little distance from the stand, and,
      struck with her extraordinary beauty, he regarded her for a moment
      intently, and then called to Gabriel Lapp, who chanced to be near him, and
      demanded her name.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is Mabel Lyndwood, an't please your majesty,&rdquo; replied Gabriel. &ldquo;She is
      granddaughter to old Tristram Lyndwood, who dwells at Black Nest, near the
      lake, at the farther extremity of Windsor Forest, and who was forester to
      your royal father, King Henry the Seventh, of blessed memory.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ha! is it so?&rdquo; cried Henry.
    </p>
    <p>
      But he was prevented from further remark by Anne Boleyn, who, perceiving
      how his attention was attracted, suddenly interposed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your majesty spoke of the chase,&rdquo; she said impatiently. &ldquo;But perhaps you
      have found other pastime more diverting?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not so&mdash;not so, sweetheart,&rdquo; he replied hastily.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There is a hart royal in the haye,&rdquo; said Gabriel Lapp. &ldquo;Is it your
      majesty's pleasure that I set him free?
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is, good fellow&mdash;it is,&rdquo; replied the king.
    </p>
    <p>
      And as Gabriel hastened to the netted fencework, and prepared to drive
      forth the hart, Henry assisted Anne Boleyn, who could not help exhibiting
      some slight jealous pique, to mount her steed, and having sprung into his
      own saddle, they waited the liberation of the buck, which was accomplished
      in a somewhat unexpected manner.
    </p>
    <p>
      Separated from the rest of the herd, the noble animal made a sudden dart
      towards Gabriel, and upsetting him in his wild career, darted past the
      king, and made towards the upper part of the forest. In another instant
      the hounds were un coupled and at his heels, while Henry and Anne urged
      their steeds after him, the king shouting at the top of his lusty voice.
      The rest of the royal party followed as they might, and the woods
      resounded with their joyous cries.
    </p>
    <p>
      The hart royal proved himself worthy of his designation. Dashing forward
      with extraordinary swiftness, he rapidly gained upon his pursuers&mdash;for
      though Henry, by putting his courser to his utmost speed, could have kept
      near him, he did not choose to quit his fair companion.
    </p>
    <p>
      In this way they scoured the forest, until the king, seeing they should be
      speedily distanced, commanded Sir Thomas Wyat, who, with the Dukes of
      Suffolk and Norfolk, was riding close behind him, to cross by the lower
      ground on the left, and turn the stag. Wyat instantly obeyed, and plunging
      his spurs deeply into his horse's sides, started off at a furious pace,
      and was soon after seen shaping his rapid course through a devious glade.
    </p>
    <p>
      Meanwhile, Henry and his fair companion rode on without relaxing their
      pace, until they reached the summit of a knoll, crowned by an old oak and
      beech-tree, and commanding a superb view of the castle, where they drew in
      the rein.
    </p>
    <p>
      From this eminence they could witness the progress of the chase, as it
      continued in the valley beyond. An ardent lover of hunting, the king
      watched it with the deepest interest, rose in his saddle, and uttering
      various exclamations, showed, from his impatience, that he was only
      restrained by the stronger passion of love from joining it.
    </p>
    <p>
      Ere long, stag, hounds, and huntsmen were lost amid a thicket, and nothing
      could be distinguished but a distant baying and shouts. At last even these
      sounds died away.
    </p>
    <p>
      Henry, who had ill brooked the previous restraint, now grew so impatient,
      that Anne begged him to set off after them, when suddenly the cry of
      hounds burst upon their ears, and the hart was seen issuing from the dell,
      closely followed by his pursuers.
    </p>
    <p>
      The affrighted animal, to the king's great satisfaction, made his way
      directly towards the spot where he was stationed; but on reaching the side
      of the knoll, and seeing his new foes, he darted off on the right, and
      tried to regain the thicket below. But he was turned by another band of
      keepers, and again driven towards the knoll.
    </p>
    <p>
      Scarcely had Sir Thomas Wyat reined in his steed by the side of the king,
      than the hart again appeared bounding up the hill. Anne Boleyn, who had
      turned her horse's head to obtain a better view of the hunt, alarmed by
      the animal's menacing appearance, tried to get out of his way. But it was
      too late. Hemmed in on all sides, and driven to desperation by the cries
      of hounds and huntsmen in front, the hart lowered his horns, and made a
      furious push at her.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dreadfully alarmed, Anne drew in the rein so suddenly and sharply, that
      she almost pulled her steed back upon his haunches; and in trying to avoid
      the stag's attack, caught hold of Sir Thomas Wyat, who was close beside
      her. In all probability she would have received some serious injury from
      the infuriated animal, who was just about to repeat his assault and more
      successfully, when a bolt from a cross-bow, discharged by Morgan Fenwolf,
      who suddenly made his appearance from behind the beech-tree, brought him
      to the ground.
    </p>
    <p>
      But Anne Boleyn escaped one danger only to encounter another equally
      serious. On seeing her fling herself into the arms of Sir Thomas Wyat,
      Henry regarded her in stern displeasure for a moment, and then calling
      angrily to his train, without so much as deigning to inquire whether she
      had sustained any damage from the accident, or making the slightest remark
      upon her conduct, rode sullenly towards the castle.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      IX.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     By what means Sir Thomas Wyat obtained an Interview with
     Anne Boleyn&mdash;And how the Earl of Surrey saved them from the
     King's anger.
</pre>
    <p>
      The incident above related gave new life to the adherents of Catherine of
      Arragon, while it filled those devoted to Anne Boleyn with alarm.
      Immediately on Anne's return to the castle Lord Rochford had a private
      interview with her, and bitterly reproached her for endangering her
      splendid prospects. Anne treated the matter very lightly&mdash;said it was
      only a temporary gust of jealousy&mdash;and added that the king would be
      at her feet again before the day was past.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are over-confident, mistress!&rdquo; cried Rochford angrily. &ldquo;Henry is not
      an ordinary gallant.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is you who are mistaken, father,&rdquo; replied Anne. &ldquo;The king differs in
      no respect from any of his love-smitten subjects. I have him in my toils,
      and will not let him escape.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have a tiger in your toils, daughter, and take heed he breaks not
      forcibly through them,&rdquo; rejoined Rochford. &ldquo;Henry is more wayward than you
      suppose him. Once let him take up a notion, and nothing can shake him from
      it. He has resolved upon the divorce as much from self-will as from any
      other consideration. If you regain your position with him, of which you
      seem so confident, do not consider yourself secure&mdash;not even when you
      are crowned queen&mdash;but be warned by Catherine of Arragon.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Catherine has not the art to retain him,&rdquo; said Anne. &ldquo;Henry will never
      divorce me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Take care he does not rid himself of you in a more summary manner,
      daughter,&rdquo; rejoined Rochford. &ldquo;If you would stand well with him, you must
      study his lightest word, look, and action&mdash;humour him in every whim&mdash;and
      yield to every caprice. Above all, you must exhibit no jealousy.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are wrong in all but the last, father,&rdquo; returned Anne. &ldquo;Henry is not
      to be pleased by such nice attention to his humours. It is because I have
      shown myself careless of them that I have captivated him. But I will take
      care not to exhibit jealousy, and, sooth to say, I do not think I shall
      have cause.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Be not too sure of that,&rdquo; replied Rochford. &ldquo;And at all events, let not
      the king have cause to be jealous of you. I trust Wyat will be banished
      from court. But if he is not, do not let him approach you more.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Poor Sir Thomas!&rdquo; sighed Anne. &ldquo;He loved me very dearly.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But what is his love compared to the king's?&rdquo; cried Rochford. &ldquo;Tut, tut,
      girl! think no more of him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will not, my lord,&rdquo; she rejoined; &ldquo;I see the prudence of your counsel,
      and will obey it. Leave me, I pray you. I will soon win back the
      affections of the king.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      No sooner had Rochford quitted the chamber than the arras at the farther
      end was raised, and Wyat stepped from behind it. His first proceeding was
      to bar the door.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What means this, Sir Thomas?&rdquo; cried Anne in alarm. &ldquo;How have you obtained
      admittance here?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Through the secret staircase,&rdquo; replied Wyat, bending the knee before her.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Rise, sir!&rdquo; cried Anne, in great alarm. &ldquo;Return, I beseech you, as you
      came. You have greatly endangered me by coming here. If you are seen to
      leave this chamber, it will be in vain to assert my innocence to Henry.
      Oh, Sir Thomas! you cannot love me, or you would not have done this.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not love you, Anne!&rdquo; he repeated bitterly; &ldquo;not love you I Words cannot
      speak my devotion. I would lay down my head on the scaffold to prove it.
      But for my love for you, I would throw open that door, and walk forth so
      that all might see me&mdash;so that Henry might experience some part of
      the anguish I now feel.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But you will not do so, good Sir Thomas&mdash;dear Sir Thomas,&rdquo; cried
      Anne Boleyn, in alarm.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Have no fear,&rdquo; rejoined Wyat, with some contempt; &ldquo;I will sacrifice even
      vengeance to love.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sir Thomas, I had tolerated this too long,&rdquo; said Anne. &ldquo;Begone&mdash;you
      terrify me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is my last interview with you, Anne,&rdquo; said Wyat imploringly; &ldquo;do not
      abridge it. Oh, bethink you of the happy hours we have passed together&mdash;of
      the vows we have interchanged&mdash;of the protestations you have listened
      to, and returned&mdash;ay, returned, Anne. Are all these forgotten?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not forgotten, Sir Thomas,&rdquo; replied Anne mournfully; &ldquo;but they must not
      be recalled. I cannot listen to you longer. You must go. Heaven grant you
      may get hence in safety!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Anne,&rdquo; replied Wyat in a sombre tone, &ldquo;the thought of Henry's happiness
      drives me mad. I feel that I am grown a traitor&mdash;that I could slay
      him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sir Thomas!&rdquo; she exclaimed, in mingled fear and anger.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will not go,&rdquo; he continued, flinging himself into a seat. &ldquo;Let them put
      what construction they will upon my presence. I shall at least wring
      Henry's heart. I shall see him suffer as I have suffered; and I shall be
      content.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This is not like you, Wyat,&rdquo; cried Anne, in great alarm. &ldquo;You were wont
      to be noble, generous, kind. You will not act thus disloyally?
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Who has acted disloyally, Anne?&rdquo; cried Wyat, springing to his feet, and
      fixing his dark eyes, blazing with jealous fury, upon her&mdash;&ldquo;you or I?
      Have you not sacrificed your old affections at the shrine of ambition? Are
      you not about to give yourself to one to whom&mdash;unless you are
      foresworn&mdash;you cannot give your heart? Better had you been the
      mistress of Allington Castle&mdash;better the wife of a humble knight like
      myself, than the queen of the ruthless Henry.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No more of this, Wyat,&rdquo; said Anne.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Better far you should perish by his tyranny for a supposed fault now than
      hereafter,&rdquo; pursued Wyat fiercely. &ldquo;Think not Henry will respect you more
      than her who had been eight-and-twenty years his wife. No; when he is
      tired of your charms&mdash;when some other dame, fair as yourself, shall
      enslave his fancy, he will cast you off, or, as your father truly
      intimated, will seek a readier means of ridding himself of you. Then you
      will think of the different fate that might have been yours if you had
      adhered to your early love.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Wyat! Wyat! I cannot bear this&mdash;in mercy spare me!&rdquo; cried Anne.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am glad to see you weep,&rdquo; said Wyat; &ldquo;your tears make you look more
      like your former self.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, Wyat, do not view my conduct too harshly!&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Few of my sex
      would have acted other than I have done.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I do not think so,&rdquo; replied Wyat sternly; &ldquo;nor will I forego my
      vengeance. Anne, you shall die. You know Henry too well to doubt your fate
      if he finds me here.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You cannot mean this,&rdquo; she rejoined, with difficulty repressing a scream;
      &ldquo;but if I perish, you will perish with me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I wish to do so,&rdquo; he rejoined, with a bitter laugh.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Wyat,&rdquo; cried Anne, throwing herself on her knees before him, &ldquo;by your
      former love for me, I implore you to spare me! Do not disgrace me thus.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      But Wyat continued inexorable.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;O God!&rdquo; exclaimed Anne, wringing her hands in agony. A terrible silence
      ensued, during which Anne regarded Wyat, but she could discern no change
      in his countenance.
    </p>
    <p>
      At this juncture the tapestry was again raised, and the Earl of Surrey
      issued from it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You here, my lord?&rdquo; said Anne, rushing towards him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am come to save you, madame,&rdquo; said the earl. &ldquo;I have been just
      liberated from arrest, and was about to implore your intercession with the
      king, when I learned he had been informed by one of his pages that a man
      was in your chamber. Luckily, he knows not who it is, and while he was
      summoning his attendants to accompany him, I hurried hither by the secret
      staircase. I have arrived in time. Fly&mdash;fly! Sir Thomas Wyat!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      But Wyat moved not.
    </p>
    <p>
      At this moment footsteps were heard approaching the door&mdash;the handle
      was tried&mdash;and the stern voice of the king was heard commanding that
      it might be opened.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Will you destroy me, Wyat?&rdquo; cried Anne.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have destroyed yourself,&rdquo; he rejoined.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why stay you here, Sir Thomas?&rdquo; said Surrey, seizing his arm. &ldquo;You may
      yet escape. By heaven! if you move not, I will stab you to the heart!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You would do me a favour, young man,&rdquo; said Wyat coldly; &ldquo;but I will go. I
      yield to love, and not to you, tyrant!&rdquo; he added, shaking his hand at the
      door. &ldquo;May the worst pangs of jealously rend your heart!&rdquo; And he
      disappeared behind the arras.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I hear voices,&rdquo; cried Henry from without. &ldquo;God's death! madam, open the
      door&mdash;or I will burst it open!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, heaven! what is to be done?&rdquo; cried Anne Boleyn, in despair.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Open the door, and leave all to me, madam,&rdquo; said Surrey; &ldquo;I will save
      you, though it cost me my life!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Anne pressed his hand, with a look of ineffable gratitude, and Surrey
      concealed himself behind the arras.
    </p>
    <p>
      The door was opened, and Henry rushed in, followed by Richmond, Norfolk,
      Suffolk, and a host of attendants.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah! God's death! where is the traitor?&rdquo; roared the king, gazing round.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why is my privacy thus broken upon?&rdquo; said Anne, assuming a look of
      indignation.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your privacy!&rdquo; echoed Henry, in a tone of deep derision&mdash;&ldquo;Your
      privacy! &mdash;ha!&mdash;ha! You bear yourself bravely, it must be
      confessed. My lords, you heard the voices as well as myself. Where is Sir
      Thomas Wyat?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He is not here,&rdquo; replied Anne firmly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Aha! we shall see that, mistress,&rdquo; rejoined Henry fiercely. &ldquo;But if Sir
      Thomas Wyat is not here, who is? for I am well assured that some one is
      hidden in your chamber.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What if there be?&rdquo; rejoined Anne coldly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah! by Saint Mary, you confess it!&rdquo; cried the king. &ldquo;Let the traitor come
      forth.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your majesty shall not need to bid twice,&rdquo; said Surrey, issuing from his
      concealment.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The Earl of Surrey!&rdquo; exclaimed Henry, in surprise. &ldquo;How come you here, my
      lord? Methought you were under arrest at the guard-house.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He was set free by my orders,&rdquo; said the Duke of Richmond.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;First of all I must entreat your majesty to turn your resentment against
      me,&rdquo; said the earl. &ldquo;I am solely to blame, and I would not have the Lady
      Anne suffer for my fault. I forced myself into her presence. She knew not
      of my coming.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And wherefore did you so, my lord?&rdquo; demanded Henry sternly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Liberated from the guard-house at the Duke of Richmond's instance, my
      liege, I came to entreat the Lady Anne to mediate between me and your
      majesty, and to use her influence with your highness to have me betrothed
      to the Lady Elizabeth Fitzgerald.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Is this so, madam?&rdquo; asked the king.
    </p>
    <p>
      Anne bowed her head.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But why was the door barred?&rdquo; demanded Henry, again frowning
      suspiciously.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I barred it myself,&rdquo; said Surrey, &ldquo;and vowed that the Lady Anne should
      not go forth till she had granted my request.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By our lady you have placed yourself in peril, my lord,&rdquo; said Henry
      sternly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your majesty will bear in mind his youth,&rdquo; said the Duke of Norfolk
      anxiously.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;For my sake overlook the indiscretion,&rdquo; cried the Duke of Richmond.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It will not, perhaps, avail him to hope that it may be overlooked for
      mine,&rdquo; added Anne Boleyn.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The offence must not pass unpunished,&rdquo; said Henry musingly. &ldquo;My lord of
      Surrey, you must be content to remain for two months a prisoner in the
      Round Tower of this castle.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your majesty!&rdquo; cried Richmond, bending the knee in supplication.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The sentence is passed,&rdquo; replied Henry coldly; &ldquo;and the earl may thank
      you it is not heavier. Richmond, you will think no more of the fair
      Geraldine; and it is my pleasure, Lady Anne, that the young dame withdraw
      from the court for a short while.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your majesty shall be obeyed,&rdquo; said Anne; &ldquo;but&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But me no buts, sweetheart,&rdquo; said the king peremptorily. &ldquo;Surrey's
      explanation is satisfactory so far as it goes, but I was told Sir Thomas
      Wyat was here.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sir Thomas Wyat is here,&rdquo; said Will Sommers, pointing out the knight, who
      had just joined the throng of courtiers at the door.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have hurried hither from my chamber, my liege,&rdquo; said Wyat, stepping
      forward, &ldquo;hearing there was some inquiry concerning me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Is your majesty now satisfied?&rdquo; asked Anne Boleyn.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, ay, sweetheart, well enough,&rdquo; rejoined Henry. &ldquo;Sir Thomas Wyat, we
      have a special mission for you to the court of our brother of France. You
      will set out to-morrow.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Wyat bowed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have saved your head, gossip,&rdquo; whispered Will Sommers in the knight's
      ear. &ldquo;A visit to Francis the First is better than a visit to the Tower.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Retire, my lords,&rdquo; said Henry to the assemblage; &ldquo;we owe some apology to
      the Lady Anne for our intrusion, and desire an opportunity to make it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Upon this the chamber was instantly cleared of its occupants, and the Earl
      of Surrey was conducted, under a guard, to the Round Tower.
    </p>
    <p>
      Henry, however, did not find it an easy matter to make peace with the Lady
      Anne. Conscious of the advantage she had gained, she determined not to
      relinquish it, and, after half an hour's vain suing, her royal lover
      proposed a turn in the long gallery, upon which her apartments opened.
      Here they continued conversing&mdash;Henry pleading in the most passionate
      manner, and Anne maintaining a show of offended pride.
    </p>
    <p>
      At last she exhibited some signs of relenting, and Henry led her into a
      recess in the gallery, lighted by a window filled with magnificent stained
      glass. In this recess was a seat and a small table, on which stood a vase
      filled with flowers, arranged by Anne's own hand; and here the monarch
      hoped to adjust his differences with her.
    </p>
    <p>
      Meanwhile, word having reached Wolsey and Campeggio of the new cause of
      jealousy which the king had received, it was instantly resolved that the
      former should present to him, while in his present favourable mood, a
      despatch received that morning from Catherine of Arragon.
    </p>
    <p>
      Armed with the letter, Wolsey repaired to the king's closet. Not finding
      him there, and being given to understand by an usher that he was in the
      great gallery, he proceeded thither. As he walked softly along the
      polished oak floor, he heard voices in one of the recesses, and
      distinguished the tones of Henry and Anne Boleyn.
    </p>
    <p>
      Henry was clasping the snowy fingers of his favourite, and gazing
      passionately at her, as the cardinal approached.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your majesty shall not detain my hand,&rdquo; said Anne, &ldquo;unless you swear to
      me, by your crown, that you will not again be jealous without cause.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I swear it,&rdquo; replied Henry.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Were your majesty as devoted to me as you would have me believe, you
      would soon bring this matter of the divorce to an issue,&rdquo; said Anne.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I would fain do so, sweetheart,&rdquo; rejoined Henry; &ldquo;but these cardinals
      perplex me sorely.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am told by one who overheard him, that Wolsey has declared the divorce
      shall not be settled these two years,&rdquo; said Anne; &ldquo;in which case it had
      better not be settled at all; for I care not to avow I cannot brook so
      much delay. The warmth of my affection will grow icy cold by that time.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It were enough to try the patience of the most forbearing,&rdquo; rejoined the
      king, smiling&mdash;&ldquo;but it shall not be so&mdash;by this lily hand it
      shall not! And now, sweetheart, are we entirely reconciled?
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not yet,&rdquo; replied Anne. &ldquo;I shall claim a boon from your majesty before I
      accord my entire forgiveness.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Name it,&rdquo; said the king, still clasping her hand tenderly, and
      intoxicated by the witchery of her glance.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I ask an important favour,&rdquo; said Anne, &ldquo;but as it is one which will
      benefit your majesty as much as myself, I have the less scruple in
      requesting it. I ask the dismissal of one who has abused your favour, who,
      by his extortion and rapacity, has in some degree alienated the affections
      of your subjects from you, and who solely opposes your divorce from
      Catherine of Arragon because he fears my influence may be prejudicial to
      him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You cannot mean Wolsey?&rdquo; said Henry uneasily.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your majesty has guessed aright,&rdquo; replied Anne.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Wolsey has incurred my displeasure oft of late,&rdquo; said Henry; &ldquo;and yet his
      fidelity&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Be not deceived, my liege,&rdquo; said Anne; &ldquo;he is faithful to you only so far
      as serves his turn. He thinks he rules you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Before Henry could reply, the cardinal stepped forward.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I bring your majesty a despatch, just received from the queen,&rdquo; he said.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And you have been listening to our discourse?&rdquo; rejoined Henry sternly.
      &ldquo;You have overheard&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Enough to convince me, if I had previously doubted it, that the Lady Anne
      Boleyn is my mortal foe,&rdquo; replied Wolsey.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Foe though I am, I will make terms with your eminence,&rdquo; said Anne.
      &ldquo;Expedite the divorce&mdash;you can do so if you will&mdash;and I am your
      fast friend.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I know too well the value of your friendship, noble lady, not to do all
      in my power to gain it,&rdquo; replied Wolsey. &ldquo;I will further the matter, if
      possible. But it rests chiefly in the hands of his holiness Pope Clement
      the Seventh.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If his majesty will listen to my counsel, he will throw off the pope's
      yoke altogether,&rdquo; rejoined Anne. &ldquo;Nay, your eminence may frown at me if
      you will. Such, I repeat, shall be my counsel. If the divorce is speedily
      obtained, I am your friend: if not&mdash;look to yourself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do not appeal to me, Wolsey,&rdquo; said Henry, smiling approval at Anne; &ldquo;I
      shall uphold her.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Will it please your majesty to peruse this despatch?&rdquo; said Wolsey, again
      offering Catherine's letter.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Take it to my closet,&rdquo; replied the king; &ldquo;I will join you there. And now
      at last we are good friends, sweetheart.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Excellent friends, my dear liege,&rdquo; replied Anne; &ldquo;but I shall never be
      your queen while Wolsey holds his place.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then, indeed, he shall lose it,&rdquo; replied Henry.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;She is a bitter enemy, certes,&rdquo; muttered Wolsey as he walked away. &ldquo;I
      must overthrow her quickly, or she will overthrow me. A rival must be
      found&mdash;ay, a rival&mdash;but where? I was told that Henry cast eyes
      on a comely forester's daughter at the chase this morning. She may do for
      the nonce.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      X.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     Of the Mysterious Disappearance of Herne the Hunter in the
     Lake.
</pre>
    <p>
      Unable to procure any mitigation of Surrey's sentence, the Duke of
      Richmond proceeded to the Round Tower, where he found his friend in a
      small chamber, endeavouring to beguile his captivity by study.
    </p>
    <p>
      Richmond endeavoured to console him, and was glad to find him in better
      spirits than he expected. Early youth is seldom long dejected, and
      misfortunes, at that buoyant season, seem lighter than they appear later
      on in life. The cause for which he suffered, moreover, sustained Surrey,
      and confident of the Fair Geraldine's attachment, he cared little for the
      restraint imposed upon him. On one point he expressed some regret&mdash;namely,
      his inability to prosecute the adventure of Herne the Hunter with the
      duke.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I grieve that I cannot accompany you, Richmond,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;but since that
      is impossible, let me recommend you to take the stout archer who goes by
      the name of the Duke of Shoreditch with you. He is the very man you
      require.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      After some consideration the duke assented, and, promising to return on
      the following day and report what had occurred he took his leave, and went
      in search of the archer in question. Finding he had taken up his quarters
      at the Garter, he sent for him and proposed the matter.
    </p>
    <p>
      Shoreditch heard the duke's relation with astonishment, but expressed the
      greatest willingness to accompany him, pledging himself, as Richmond
      demanded, to profound secrecy on the subject.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the appointed hour&mdash;namely, midnight&mdash;the duke quitted the
      castle, and found Shoreditch waiting for him near the upper gate. The
      latter was armed with a stout staff, and a bow and arrows.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If we gain sight of the mysterious horseman to-night,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;a
      cloth-yard shaft shall try whether he is of mortal mould or not. If he be
      not a demon, I will warrant he rides no more.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Quitting the Home Park, they shaped their course at once towards the
      forest. It was a stormy night, and the moon was obscured by thick clouds.
      Before they reached the hill, at the end of the long avenue, a heavy
      thunderstorm came on, and the lightning, playing among the trees, seemed
      to reveal a thousand fantastic forms to their half-blinded gaze. Presently
      the rain began to descend in torrents, and compelled them to take refuge
      beneath a large beech-tree.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was evident, notwithstanding his boasting, that the courage of
      Shoreditch was waning fast, and he at last proposed to his leader that
      they should return as soon as the rain abated. But the duke indignantly
      rejected the proposal.
    </p>
    <p>
      While they were thus sheltering themselves, the low winding of a horn was
      heard. The sound was succeeded by the trampling of horses' hoofs, and the
      next moment a vivid flash of lightning showed a hart darting past,
      followed by a troop of some twenty ghostly horsemen, headed by the demon
      hunter.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Duke of Richmond bade his companion send a shaft after them; but the
      latter was so overcome by terror that he could scarcely fix an arrow on
      the string, and when he bent the bow, the shaft glanced from the branches
      of an adjoining tree.
    </p>
    <p>
      The storm continued with unabated fury for nearly an hour, at the
      expiration of which time it partially cleared off, and though it was still
      profoundly dark, the duke insisted upon going on. So they pressed forward
      beneath the dripping trees and through the wet grass. Ever and anon the
      moon broke through the rifted clouds, and shed a wild glimmer upon the
      scene.
    </p>
    <p>
      As they were tracking a glade on the farther side of the hill, the
      spectral huntsmen again swept past them, and so closely that they could
      almost touch their horses. To the duke's horror, he perceived among them
      the body of the butcher, Mark Fytton, sitting erect upon a powerful black
      steed.
    </p>
    <p>
      By this time, Shoreditch, having somewhat regained his courage, discharged
      another shaft at the troop. The arrow struck the body of the butcher, and
      completely transfixed it, but did not check his career; while wild and
      derisive laughter broke from the rest of the cavalcade.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Duke of Richmond hurried after the band, trying to keep them in sight;
      and Shoreditch, flinging down his bow, which he found useless, and
      grasping his staff, endeavoured to keep up with him. But though they ran
      swiftly down the glade, and tried to peer through the darkness, they could
      see nothing more of the ghostly company.
    </p>
    <p>
      After a while they arrived at a hillside, at the foot of which lay the
      lake, whose darkling waters were just distinguishable through an opening
      in the trees. As the duke was debating with himself whether to go on or
      retrace his course, the trampling of a horse was heard behind them, and
      looking in the direction of the sound, they beheld Herne the Hunter,
      mounted on his swarthy steed and accompanied only by his two black hounds,
      galloping furiously down the declivity. Before him flew the owl, whooping
      as it sailed along the air.
    </p>
    <p>
      The demon hunter was so close to them that they could perfectly discern
      his horrible lineaments, the chain depending from his neck, and his
      antlered helm. Richmond shouted to him, but the rider continued his
      headlong course towards the lake, heedless of the call.
    </p>
    <p>
      The two beholders rushed forward, but by this time the huntsman had gained
      the edge of the lake. One of his sable hounds plunged into it, and the owl
      skimmed over its surface. Even in the hasty view which the duke caught of
      the flying figure, he fancied he perceived that it was attended by a
      fantastic shadow, whether cast by itself or arising from some supernatural
      cause he could not determine.
    </p>
    <p>
      But what followed was equally marvellous and incomprehensible. As the wild
      huntsman reached the brink of the lake, he placed a horn to his mouth, and
      blew from it a bright blue flame, which illumined his own dusky and
      hideous features, and shed a wild and unearthly glimmer over the
      surrounding objects.
    </p>
    <p>
      While enveloped in this flame, the demon plunged into the lake, and
      apparently descended to its abysses, for as soon as the duke could muster
      courage to approach its brink, nothing could be seen of him, his steed, or
      his hounds.
    </p>
    <p>
      THUS ENDS THE FIRST BOOK OF THE CHRONICLE OF WINDSOR CASTLE <a
      name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013">
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    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      BOOK II. HERNE THE HUNTER
    </h2>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      I.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     Of the Compact between Sir Thomas Wyat and Herne the Hunter.
</pre>
    <p>
      On the day after his secret interview with Anne Boleyn, Sir Thomas Wyat
      received despatches from the king for the court of France.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;His majesty bade me tell you to make your preparations quickly, Sir
      Thomas,&rdquo; said the messenger who delivered the despatches; &ldquo;he cares not
      how soon you set forth.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The king's pleasure shall be obeyed,&rdquo; rejoined Wyat.
    </p>
    <p>
      And the messenger retired.
    </p>
    <p>
      Left alone, Wyat remained for some time in profound and melancholy
      thought. Heaving a deep sigh, he then arose, and paced the chamber with
      rapid strides.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, it is better thus,&rdquo; he ejaculated. &ldquo;If I remain near her, I shall do
      some desperate deed. Better&mdash;far better&mdash;I should go. And yet to
      leave her with Henry&mdash;to know that he is ever near her&mdash;that he
      drinks in the music of her voice, and basks in the sunshine of her smile&mdash;while
      I am driven forth to darkness and despair&mdash;the thought is madness! I
      will not obey the hateful mandate! I will stay and defy him!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      As he uttered aloud this wild and unguarded speech, the arras screening
      the door was drawn aside, and gave admittance to Wolsey.
    </p>
    <p>
      Wyat's gaze sunk before the penetrating glance fixed upon him by the
      Cardinal.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I did not come to play the eavesdropper, Sir Thomas,&rdquo; said Wolsey; &ldquo;but I
      have heard enough to place your life in my power. So you refuse to obey
      the king's injunctions. You refuse to proceed to Paris. You refuse to
      assist in bringing about the divorce, and prefer remaining here to brave
      your sovereign, and avenge yourself upon a fickle mistress. Ha?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Wyat returned no answer.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If such be your purpose,&rdquo; pursued Wolsey, after a pause, during which he
      intently scrutinised the knight's countenance, &ldquo;I will assist you in it.
      Be ruled by me, and you shall have a deep and full revenge.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Say on,&rdquo; rejoined Wyat, his eyes blazing with infernal fire, and his hand
      involuntarily clutching the handle of his dagger.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If I read you aright,&rdquo; continued the cardinal, &ldquo;you are arrived at that
      pitch of desperation when life itself becomes indifferent, and when but
      one object remains to be gained&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And that is vengeance!&rdquo; interrupted Wyat fiercely. &ldquo;Right, cardinal&mdash;right.
      I will have vengeance&mdash;terrible vengeance!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You shall. But I will not deceive you. You will purchase what you seek at
      the price of your own head.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I care not,&rdquo; replied Wyat. &ldquo;All sentiments of love and loyalty are
      swallowed up by jealousy and burning hate. Nothing but blood can allay the
      fever that consumes me. Show me how to slay him!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Him!&rdquo; echoed the cardinal, in alarm and horror. &ldquo;Wretch! would you kill
      your king? God forbid that I should counsel the injury of a hair of his
      head! I do not want you to play the assassin, Wyat,&rdquo; he added more calmly,
      &ldquo;but the just avenger. Liberate the king from the thraldom of the
      capricious siren who enslaves him, and you will do a service to the whole
      country. A word from you&mdash;a letter&mdash;a token&mdash;will cast her
      from the king, and place her on the block. And what matter? The gory
      scaffold were better than Henry's bed.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I cannot harm her,&rdquo; cried Wyat distractedly. &ldquo;I love her still, devotedly
      as ever. She was in my power yesterday, and without your aid, cardinal, I
      could have wreaked my vengeance upon her, if I had been so minded.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You were then in her chamber, as the king suspected?&rdquo; cried Wolsey, with
      a look of exultation. &ldquo;Trouble yourself no more, Sir Thomas. I will take
      the part of vengeance off your hands.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My indiscretion will avail you little, cardinal,&rdquo; replied Wyat sternly.
      &ldquo;A hasty word proves nothing. I will perish on the rack sooner than accuse
      Anne Boleyn. I am a desperate man, but not so desperate as you suppose me.
      A moment ago I might have been led on, by the murderous and traitorous
      impulse that prompted me, to lift my hand against the king, but I never
      could have injured her.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are a madman!&rdquo; cried Wolsey impatiently, &ldquo;and it is a waste of time
      to argue with you. I wish you good speed on your journey. On your return
      you will find Anne Boleyn Queen of England.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And you disgraced,&rdquo; rejoined Wyat, as, with a malignant and vindictive
      look, the cardinal quitted the chamber.
    </p>
    <p>
      Again left alone, Wyat fell into another fit of despondency from which he
      roused himself with difficulty, and went forth to visit the Earl of Surrey
      in the Round Tower.
    </p>
    <p>
      Some delay occurred before he could obtain access to the earl. The
      halberdier stationed at the entrance to the keep near the Norman Tower
      refused to admit him without the order of the officer in command of the
      tower, and as the latter was not in the way at the moment, Wyat had to
      remain without till he made his appearance.
    </p>
    <p>
      While thus detained, he beheld Anne Boleyn and her royal lover mount their
      steeds in the upper ward, and ride forth, with their attendants, on a
      hawking expedition. Anne Boleyn bore a beautiful falcon on her wrist&mdash;Wyat's
      own gift to her in happier days&mdash;and looked full of coquetry,
      animation, and delight&mdash;without the vestige of a cloud upon her brow,
      or a care on her countenance. With increased bitterness of heart, he
      turned from the sight, and shrouded himself beneath the gateway of the
      Norman Tower.
    </p>
    <p>
      Soon after this, the officer appeared, and at once according Wyat
      permission to see the earl, preceded him up the long flight of stone steps
      communicating with the upper part of the keep, and screened by an
      embattled and turreted structure, constituting a covered way to the Round
      Tower.
    </p>
    <p>
      Arrived at the landing, the officer unlocked a door on the left, and
      ushered his companion into the prisoner's chamber.
    </p>
    <p>
      Influenced by the circular shape of the structure in which it was
      situated, and of which it formed a segment, the farther part of this
      chamber was almost lost to view, and a number of cross-beams and wooden
      pillars added to its sombre and mysterious appearance. The walls were of
      enormous thickness, and a narrow loophole, terminating a deep embrasure,
      afforded but scanty light. Opposite the embrasure sat Surrey, at a small
      table covered with books and writing materials. A lute lay beside him on
      the floor, and there were several astrological and alchemical implements
      within reach.
    </p>
    <p>
      So immersed was the youthful prisoner in study, that he was not aware,
      until a slight exclamation was uttered by Wyat, of the entrance of the
      latter. He then arose, and gave him welcome.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nothing material passed between them as long as the officer remained in
      the chamber, but on his departure Surrey observed laughingly to his
      friend, &ldquo;And how doth my fair cousin, the Lady Anne Boleyn?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;She has just ridden forth with the king, to hawk in the park,&rdquo; replied
      Wyat moodily. &ldquo;For myself, l am ordered on a mission to France, but I
      could not depart without entreating your forgiveness for the jeopardy in
      which I have placed you. Would I could take your place.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do not heed me,&rdquo; replied Surrey; &ldquo;I am well content with what has
      happened. Virgil and Homer, Dante and Petrarch, are the companions of my
      confinement; and in good sooth, I am glad to be alone. Amid the
      distractions of the court I could find little leisure for the muse.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your situation is, in many respects, enviable, Surrey,&rdquo; replied Wyat.
      &ldquo;Disturbed by no jealous doubts and fears, you can beguile the tedious
      hours in the cultivation of your poetical tastes, or in study. Still, I
      must needs reproach myself with being the cause of your imprisonment.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I repeat, you have done me a service,&rdquo; rejoined the earl, &ldquo;I would lay
      down my life for my fair cousin, Anne Boleyn, and I am glad to be able to
      prove the sincerity of my regard for you, Wyat. I applaud the king's
      judgment in sending you to France, and if you will be counselled by me,
      you will stay there long enough to forget her who now occasions you so
      much uneasiness.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Will the Fair Geraldine be forgotten when the term of your imprisonment
      shall expire, my lord?&rdquo; asked Wyat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Of a surety not,&rdquo; replied the earl.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And yet, in less than two months I shall return from France,&rdquo; rejoined
      Wyat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Our cases are not alike,&rdquo; said Surrey. &ldquo;The Lady Elizabeth Fitzgerald has
      plighted her troth to me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Anne Boleyn vowed eternal constancy to me,&rdquo; cried Wyat bitterly; &ldquo;and you
      see how she kept her oath. The absent are always in danger; and few women
      are proof against ambition. Vanity&mdash;vanity is the rock they split
      upon. May you never experience from Richmond the wrong I have experienced
      from his father.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have no fear,&rdquo; replied Surrey.
    </p>
    <p>
      As he spoke, there was a slight noise in that part of the chamber which
      was buried in darkness.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Have we a listener here?&rdquo; cried Wyat, grasping his sword.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not unless it be a four-legged one from the dungeons beneath,&rdquo; replied
      Surrey. &ldquo;But you were speaking of Richmond. He visited me this morning,
      and came to relate the particulars of a mysterious adventure that occurred
      to him last night.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And the earl proceeded to detail what had befallen the duke in the forest.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A marvellous story, truly!&rdquo; said Wyat, pondering upon the relation. &ldquo;I
      will seek out the demon huntsman myself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Again a noise similar to that heard a moment before resounded from the
      lower part of the room. Wyat immediately flew thither, and drawing his
      sword, searched about with its point, but ineffectually.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It could not be fancy,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;and yet nothing is to be found.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I do not like jesting about Herne the Hunter,&rdquo; remarked Surrey, &ldquo;after
      what I myself have seen. In your present frame of mind I advise you not to
      hazard an interview with the fiend. He has power over the desperate.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Wyat returned no answer. He seemed lost in gloomy thought, and soon
      afterwards took his leave.
    </p>
    <p>
      On returning to his lodgings, he summoned his attendants, and ordered them
      to proceed to Kingston, adding that he would join them there early the
      next morning. One of them, an old serving-man, noticing the exceeding
      haggardness of his looks, endeavoured to persuade him to go with them; but
      Wyat, with a harshness totally unlike his customary manner, which was
      gracious and kindly in the extreme, peremptorily refused.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You look very ill, Sir Thomas,&rdquo; said the old servant; &ldquo;worse than I ever
      remember seeing you. Listen to my counsel, I beseech you. Plead ill health
      with the king in excuse of your mission to France, and retire for some
      months to recruit your strength and spirits at Allington.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Tush, Adam Twisden! I am well enough,&rdquo; exclaimed Wyat impatiently. &ldquo;Go
      and prepare my mails.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My dear, dear master,&rdquo; cried old Adam, bending the knee before him, and
      pressing his hand to his lips; &ldquo;something tells me that if I leave you now
      I shall never see you again. There is a paleness in your cheek, and a fire
      in your eye, such as I never before observed in you, or in mortal man. I
      tremble to say it, but you look like one possessed by the fiend. Forgive
      my boldness, sir. I speak from affection and duty. I was serving-man to
      your father, good Sir Henry Wyat, before you, and I love you as a son,
      while I honour you as a master. I have heard that there are evil beings in
      the forest&mdash;nay, even within the castle&mdash;who lure men to
      perdition by promising to accomplish their wicked desires. I trust no such
      being has crossed your path.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Make yourself easy, good Adam,&rdquo; replied Wyat; &ldquo;no fiend has tempted me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Swear it, sir,&rdquo; cried the old man eagerly&mdash;&ldquo;swear it by the Holy
      Trinity.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By the Holy Trinity, I swear it,&rdquo; replied Wyat.
    </p>
    <p>
      As the words were uttered, the door behind the arras was suddenly shut
      with violence.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Curses on you, villain! you have left the door open,&rdquo; cried Wyat
      fiercely. &ldquo;Our conversation has been overheard.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will soon see by whom,&rdquo; cried Adam, springing to his feet, and rushing
      towards the door, which opened upon a long corridor.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well!&rdquo; cried Wyat, as Adam returned the next moment, with cheeks almost
      as white as his own&mdash;&ldquo;was it the cardinal?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It was the devil, I believe!&rdquo; replied the old man. &ldquo;I could see no one.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It would not require supernatural power to retreat into an adjoining
      chamber!&rdquo; replied Wyat, affecting an incredulity he was far from feeling.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your worship's adjuration was strangely interrupted,&rdquo; cried the old man,
      crossing himself devoutly. &ldquo;Saint Dunstan and Saint Christopher shield us
      from evil spirits!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A truce to your idle terrors, Adam,&rdquo; said Wyat. &ldquo;Take these packets,&rdquo; he
      added, giving him Henry's despatches, &ldquo;and guard them as you would your
      life. I am going on an expedition of some peril to-night, and do not
      choose to keep them about me. Bid the grooms have my steed in readiness an
      hour before midnight.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I hope your worship is not about to ride into the forest at that hour?&rdquo;
       said Adam, trembling. &ldquo;I was told by the stout archer, whom the king
      dubbed Duke of Shoreditch, that he and the Duke of Richmond ventured
      thither last night, and that they saw a legion of demons mounted on
      coal-black horses, and amongst them Mark Fytton, the butcher, who was
      hanged a few days ago from the Curfew Tower by the king's order, and whose
      body so strangely disappeared. Do not go into the forest, dear Sir
      Thomas!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No more of this!&rdquo; cried Wyat fiercely. &ldquo;Do as I bid you, and if I join
      you not before noon to-morrow, proceed to Rochester, and there await my
      coming.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I never expect to see you again, sir!&rdquo; groaned the old man, as he took
      his leave.
    </p>
    <p>
      The anxious concern evinced in his behalf by his old and trusty servant
      was not without effect on Sir Thomas Wyat, and made him hesitate in his
      design; but by-and-by another access of jealous rage came on, and
      overwhelmed all his better resolutions. He remained within his chamber to
      a late hour, and then issuing forth, proceeded to the terrace at the north
      of the castle, where he was challenged by a sentinel, but was suffered to
      pass on, on giving the watch-word.
    </p>
    <p>
      The night was profoundly dark, and the whole of the glorious prospect
      commanded by the terrace shrouded from view. But Wyat's object in coming
      thither was to gaze, for the last time, at that part of the castle which
      enclosed Anne Boleyn, and knowing well the situation of her apartments, he
      fixed his eyes upon the windows; but although numerous lights streamed
      from the adjoining corridor, all here was buried in obscurity.
    </p>
    <p>
      Suddenly, however, the chamber was illumined, and he beheld Henry and Anne
      Boleyn enter it, preceded by a band of attendants bearing tapers. It
      needed not Wyat's jealousy-sharpened gaze to read, even at that distance,
      the king's enamoured looks, or Anne Boleyn's responsive glances. He saw
      that one of Henry's arms encircled her waist, while the other caressed her
      yielding hand. They paused. Henry bent forward, and Anne half averted her
      head, but not so much so as to prevent the king from imprinting a long and
      fervid kiss upon her lips.
    </p>
    <p>
      Terrible was its effect upon Wyat. An adder's bite would have been less
      painful. His hands convulsively clutched together; his hair stood erect
      upon his head; a shiver ran through his frame; and he tottered back
      several paces. When he recovered, Henry had bidden good-night to the
      object of his love, and, having nearly gained the door, turned and waved a
      tender valediction to her. As soon as he was gone, Anne looked round with
      a smile of ineffable pride and pleasure at her attendants, but a cloud of
      curtains dropping over the window shrouded her from the sight of her
      wretched lover.
    </p>
    <p>
      In a state of agitation wholly indescribable, Wyat staggered towards the
      edge of the terrace&mdash;it might be with the design of flinging himself
      from it&mdash;but when within a few yards of the low parapet wall
      defending its precipitous side, he perceived a tall dark figure standing
      directly in his path, and halted. Whether the object he beheld was human
      or not he could not determine, but it seemed of more than mortal stature.
      It was wrapped in a long black cloak, and wore a high conical cap on its
      head. Before Wyat could speak the figure addressed him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You desire to see Herne the Hunter,&rdquo; said the figure, in a deep,
      sepulchral tone. &ldquo;Ride hence to the haunted beechtree near the marsh, at
      the farther side of the forest, and you will find him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are Herne&mdash;I feel it,&rdquo; cried Wyat. &ldquo;Why go into the forest?
      Speak now.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And he stepped forward with the intention of grasping the figure, but it
      eluded him, and, with a mocking laugh, melted into the darkness.
    </p>
    <p>
      Wyat advanced to the edge of the terrace and looked over the parapet, but
      he could see nothing except the tops of the tall trees springing from the
      side of the moat. Flying to the sentinel, he inquired whether any one had
      passed him, but the man returned an angry denial.
    </p>
    <p>
      Awestricken and agitated, Wyat quitted the terrace, and, seeking his
      steed, mounted him, and galloped into the forest.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If he I have seen be not indeed the fiend, he will scarcely outstrip me
      in the race,&rdquo; he cried, as his steed bore him at a furious pace up the
      long avenue.
    </p>
    <p>
      The gloom was here profound, being increased by the dense masses of
      foliage beneath which he was riding. By the time, however, that he reached
      the summit of Snow Hill the moon struggled through the clouds, and threw a
      wan glimmer over the leafy wilderness around. The deep slumber of the
      woods was unbroken by any sound save that of the frenzied rider bursting
      through them.
    </p>
    <p>
      Well acquainted with the forest, Wyat held on a direct course. His brain
      was on fire, and the fury of his career increased his fearful excitement.
      Heedless of all impediments, he pressed forward&mdash;now dashing beneath
      overhanging boughs at the risk of his neck&mdash;now skirting the edge of
      a glen where a false step might have proved fatal.
    </p>
    <p>
      On&mdash;on he went, his frenzy increasing each moment.
    </p>
    <p>
      At length he reached the woody height overlooking the marshy tract that
      formed the limit of his ride. Once more the moon had withdrawn her lustre,
      and a huge indistinct black mass alone pointed out the position of the
      haunted tree. Around it wheeled a large white owl, distinguishable by its
      ghostly plumage through the gloom, like a sea-bird in a storm, and hooting
      bodingly as it winged its mystic flight. No other sound was heard, nor
      living object seen.
    </p>
    <p>
      While gazing into the dreary expanse beneath him, Wyat for the first time
      since starting experienced a sensation of doubt and dread; and the warning
      of his old and faithful attendant rushed upon his mind. He tried to recite
      a prayer, but the words died away on his lips&mdash;neither would his
      fingers fashion the symbol of a cross.
    </p>
    <p>
      But even these admonitions did not restrain him. Springing from his
      foaming and panting steed, and taking the bridle in his hand, he descended
      the side of the acclivity. Ever and anon a rustling among the grass told
      him that a snake, with which description of reptile the spot abounded, was
      gliding away from him. His horse, which had hitherto been all fire and
      impetuosity, now began to manifest symptoms of alarm, quivered in every
      limb, snorted, and required to be dragged along forcibly.
    </p>
    <p>
      When within a few paces of the tree, its enormous rifted trunk became
      fully revealed to him; but no one was beside it. Wyat then stood still,
      and cried in a loud, commanding tone, &ldquo;Spirit, I summon thee!&mdash;appear!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      At these words a sound like a peal of thunder rolled over head,
      accompanied by screeches of discordant laughter. Other strange and
      unearthly noises were heard, and amidst the din a blue phosphoric light
      issued from the yawning crevice in the tree, while a tall, gaunt figure,
      crested with an antlered helm, sprang from it. At the same moment a swarm
      of horribly grotesque, swart objects, looking like imps, appeared amid the
      branches of the tree, and grinned and gesticulated at Wyat, whose courage
      remained unshaken during the fearful ordeal. Not so his steed. After
      rearing and plunging violently, the affrighted animal broke its hold and
      darted off into the swamp, where it floundered and was lost.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have called me, Sir Thomas Wyat,&rdquo; said the demon, in a sepulchral
      tone. &ldquo;I am here. What would you?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My name being known to you, spirit of darkness, my errand should be
      also,&rdquo; replied Wyat boldly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your errand is known to me,&rdquo; replied the demon. &ldquo;You have lost a
      mistress, and would regain her?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I would give my soul to win her back from my kingly rival,&rdquo; cried Wyat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I accept your offer,&rdquo; rejoined the spirit. &ldquo;Anne Boleyn shall be yours.
      Your hand upon the compact.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Wyat stretched forth his hand, and grasped that of the demon.
    </p>
    <p>
      His fingers were compressed as if by a vice, and he felt himself dragged
      towards the tree, while a stifling and sulphurous vapour rose around him.
      A black veil fell over his head, and was rapidly twined around his brow in
      thick folds.
    </p>
    <p>
      Amid yells of fiendish laughter he was then lifted from the ground, thrust
      into the hollow of the tree, and thence, as it seemed to him, conveyed
      into a deep subterranean cave.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      II.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     In what manner Wolsey put his Scheme into Operation.
</pre>
    <p>
      Foiled in his scheme of making Wyat the instrument of Anne Boleyn's
      overthrow, Wolsey determined to put into immediate operation the plan he
      had conceived of bringing forward a rival to her with the king. If a
      choice had been allowed him, he would have selected some high-born dame
      for the purpose; but as this was out of the question&mdash;and as, indeed,
      Henry had of late proved insensible to the attractions of all the beauties
      that crowded his court except Anne Boleyn&mdash;he trusted to the
      forester's fair granddaughter to accomplish his object. The source whence
      he had received intelligence of the king's admiration of Mabel Lyndwood
      was his jester, Patch&mdash;a shrewd varlet who, under the mask of folly,
      picked up many an important secret for his master, and was proportionately
      rewarded.
    </p>
    <p>
      Before executing the scheme, it was necessary to ascertain whether the
      damsel's beauty was as extraordinary as it had been represented; and with
      this view, Wolsey mounted his mule one morning, and, accompanied by Patch
      and another attendant, rode towards the forest.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a bright and beautiful morning, and preoccupied as he was, the
      plotting cardinal could not be wholly insensible to the loveliness of the
      scene around him. Crossing Spring Hill, he paused at the head of a long
      glade, skirted on the right by noble beech-trees whose silver stems
      sparkled in the sun shine, and extending down to the thicket now called
      Cooke's Hill Wood. From this point, as from every other eminence on the
      northern side of the forest, a magnificent view of the castle was
      obtained.
    </p>
    <p>
      The sight of the kingly pile, towering above its vassal woods, kindled
      high and ambitious thoughts in his breast.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The lord of that proud structure has been for years swayed by me,&rdquo; he
      mused, &ldquo;and shall the royal puppet be at last wrested from me by a woman's
      hand? Not if I can hold my own.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Roused by the reflection, he quickened his pace, and shaping his course
      towards Black Nest, reached in a short time the borders of a wide swamp
      lying between the great lake and another pool of water of less extent
      situated in the heart of the forest. This wild and dreary marsh, the haunt
      of the bittern and the plover, contrasted forcibly and disagreeably with
      the rich sylvan district he had just quitted.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I should not like to cross this swamp at night,&rdquo; he observed to Patch,
      who rode close behind him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nor I, your grace,&rdquo; replied the buffoon. &ldquo;We might chance to be led by a
      will-o'-the-wisp to a watery grave.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Such treacherous fires are not confined to these regions, knave,&rdquo;
       rejoined Wolsey. &ldquo;Mankind are often lured, by delusive gleams of glory and
      power, into quagmires deep and pitfalls. Holy Virgin; what have we here?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The exclamation was occasioned by a figure that suddenly emerged from the
      ground at a little distance on the right. Wolsey's mule swerved so much as
      almost to endanger his seat, and he called out in a loud angry tone to the
      author of the annoyance&mdash;&ldquo;Who are you, knave? and what do you here?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I am a keeper of the forest, an't please your grace, replied the other,
      doffing his cap, and disclosing harsh features which by no means
      recommended him to the cardinal, &ldquo;and am named Morgan Fenwolf. I was
      crouching among the reeds to get a shot at a fat buck, when your approach
      called me to my feet.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By St. Jude! this is the very fellow, your grace, who shot the hart-royal
      the other day,&rdquo; cried Patch.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And so preserved the Lady Anne Boleyn,&rdquo; rejoined the cardinal. &ldquo;Art sure
      of it, knave?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;As sure as your grace is of canonisation,&rdquo; replied Patch. &ldquo;That shot
      should have brought you a rich reward, friend&mdash;either from the king's
      highness or the Lady Anne,&rdquo; remarked Wolsey to the keeper.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It has brought me nothing,&rdquo; rejoined Fenwolf sullenly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hum!&rdquo; exclaimed the cardinal. &ldquo;Give the fellow a piece of gold, Patch.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Methinks I should have better earned your grace's bounty if I had let the
      hart work his will,&rdquo; said Fenwolf, reluctantly receiving the coin.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How, fellow?&rdquo; cried the cardinal, knitting his brows.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay, I mean no offence,&rdquo; replied Fenwolf; &ldquo;but the rumour goes that your
      grace and the Lady Anne are not well affected towards each other.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The rumour is false,&rdquo; rejoined the cardinal, &ldquo;and you can now contradict
      it on your own experience. Harkee, sirrah! where lies Tristram Lyndwood's
      hut?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Fenwolf looked somewhat surprised and confused by the question.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It lies on the other side of yonder rising ground, about half a mile
      hence,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;But if your grace is seeking old Tristram, you will not
      find him. I parted with him, half-an-hour ago, on Hawk's Hill, and he was
      then on his way to the deer-pen at Bray Wood.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If I see his granddaughter Mabel, it will suffice,&rdquo; rejoined the
      cardinal. &ldquo;I am told she is a comely damsel. Is it so?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am but an indifferent judge of beauty,&rdquo; replied Fenwolf moodily.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Lead my mule across this swamp, thou senseless loon,&rdquo; said the cardinal,
      &ldquo;and I will give thee my blessing.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      With a very ill grace Fenwolf complied, and conducted Wolsey to the
      farther side of the marsh.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If your grace pursues the path over the hill,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;and then strikes
      into the first opening on the right, it will bring you to the place you
      seek.&rdquo; And, without waiting for the promised blessing, he disappeared
      among the trees.
    </p>
    <p>
      On reaching the top of the hill, Wolsey descried the hut through an
      opening in the trees at a few hundred yards' distance. It was pleasantly
      situated on the brink of the lake, at the point where its width was
      greatest, and where it was fed by a brook that flowed into it from a large
      pool of water near Sunninghill.
    </p>
    <p>
      From the high ground where Wolsey now stood the view of the lake was
      beautiful. For nearly a mile its shining expanse was seen stretching out
      between banks of varied form, sometimes embayed, sometimes running out
      into little headlands, but everywhere clothed with timber almost to the
      water's edge. Wild fowl skimmed over its glassy surface, or dipped in
      search of its finny prey, and here and there a heron might be detected
      standing in some shallow nook, and feasting on the smaller fry. A flight
      of cawing rooks were settling upon the tall trees on the right bank, and
      the voices of the thrush, the blackbird, and other feathered songsters
      burst in redundant melody from the nearer groves.
    </p>
    <p>
      A verdant path, partly beneath the trees, and partly on the side of the
      lake, led Wolsey to the forester's hut. Constructed of wood and clay, with
      a thatched roof, green with moss, and half overgrown with ivy, the little
      building was in admirable keeping with the surrounding scenery. Opposite
      the door, and opening upon the lake, stood a little boathouse, and beside
      it a few wooden steps, defended by a handrail, ran into the water. A few
      yards beyond the boathouse the brook before mentioned emptied its waters
      into the lake.
    </p>
    <p>
      Gazing with much internal satisfaction at the hut, Wolsey bade Patch
      dismount, and ascertain whether Mabel was within. The buffoon obeyed,
      tried the door, and finding it fastened, knocked, but to no purpose.
    </p>
    <p>
      After a pause of a few minutes, the cardinal was turning away in extreme
      disappointment, when a small skiff, rowed by a female hand, shot round an
      angle of the lake and swiftly approached them. A glance from Patch would
      have told Wolsey, had he required any such information, that this was the
      forester's granddaughter. Her beauty quite ravished him, and drew from him
      an exclamation of wonder and delight. Features regular, exquisitely
      moulded, and of a joyous expression, a skin dyed like a peach by the sun,
      but so as to improve rather than impair its hue; eyes bright, laughing,
      and blue as a summer sky; ripe, ruddy lips, and pearly teeth; and hair of
      a light and glossy brown, constituted the sum of her attractions. Her
      sylph-like figure was charmingly displayed by the graceful exercise on
      which she was engaged, and her small hands, seemingly scarcely able to
      grasp an oar, impelled the skiff forwards with marvellous velocity, and
      apparently without much exertion on her part.
    </p>
    <p>
      Unabashed by the presence of the strangers, though Wolsey's attire could
      leave her in no doubt as to his high ecclesiastical dignity, she sprang
      ashore at the landing-place, and fastened her bark to the side of the
      boathouse.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are Mabel Lyndwood, I presume, fair maiden?&rdquo; inquired the cardinal,
      in his blandest tones.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Such is my name, your grace,&rdquo; she replied; &ldquo;for your garb tells me I am
      addressing Cardinal Wolsey.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The cardinal graciously inclined his head.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Chancing to ride in this part of the forest,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;and having heard
      of your beauty, I came to see whether the reality equalled the
      description, and I find it far transcends it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mabel blushed deeply, and cast down her eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Would that Henry could see her now!&rdquo; thought the cardinal, &ldquo;Anne Boleyn's
      reign were nigh at an end.&mdash;How long have you dwelt in this cottage,
      fair maid?&rdquo; he added aloud.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My grandsire, Tristram Lyndwood, has lived here fifty years and more,&rdquo;
       replied Mabel, &ldquo;but I have only been its inmate within these few weeks.
      Before that time I lived at Chertsey, under the care of one of the lay
      sisters of the monastery there&mdash;Sister Anastasia.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And your parents&mdash;where are they?&rdquo; asked the cardinal curiously.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Alas! your grace, I have none,&rdquo; replied Mabel with a sigh. &ldquo;Tristram
      Lyndwood is my only living relative. He used to come over once a month to
      see me at Chertsey&mdash;and latterly, finding his dwelling lonely, for he
      lost the old dame who tended it for him, he brought me to dwell with him.
      Sister Anastasia was loth to part with me&mdash;and I was grieved to leave
      her&mdash;but I could not refuse my grandsire.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Of a surety not,&rdquo; replied the cardinal musingly, and gazing hard at her.
      &ldquo;And you know nothing of your parents?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Little beyond this,&rdquo; replied Mabel:&mdash;&ldquo;My father was a keeper of the
      forest, and being unhappily gored by a stag, perished of the wound&mdash;for
      a hurt from a hart's horn, as your grace knows, is certain death; and my
      mother pined after him and speedily followed him to the grave. I was then
      placed by my grandsire with Sister Anastasia, as I have just related&mdash;and
      this is all my history.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A simple yet a curious one,&rdquo; said Wolsey, still musing. &ldquo;You are the
      fairest maid of low degree I ever beheld. You saw the king at the chase
      the other day, Mabel?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Truly, did I, your grace,&rdquo; she replied, her eyes brightening and her
      colour rising; &ldquo;and a right noble king he is.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And as gentle and winning as he is goodly to look upon,&rdquo; said Wolsey,
      smiling.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Report says otherwise,&rdquo; rejoined Mabel.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Report speaks falsely,&rdquo; cried Wolsey; &ldquo;I know him well, and he is what I
      describe him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am glad to hear it,&rdquo; replied Mabel; &ldquo;and I must own I formed the same
      opinion myself&mdash;for the smile he threw upon me was one of the
      sweetest and kindliest I ever beheld.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Since you confess so much, fair maiden,&rdquo; rejoined Wolsey, &ldquo;I will be
      equally frank, and tell you it was from the king's own lips I heard of
      your beauty.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your grace!&rdquo; she exclaimed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, well,&rdquo; said Wolsey, smiling, &ldquo;if the king is bewitched, I cannot
      marvel at it. And now, good day, fair maiden; you will hear more of me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your grace will not refuse me your blessing?&rdquo; said Mabel.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Assuredly not, my child,&rdquo; replied Wolsey, stretching his hands over her.
      &ldquo;All good angels and saints bless you, and hold you in their keeping. Mark
      my words: a great destiny awaits you; but in all changes, rest assured you
      will find a friend in Cardinal Wolsey.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your grace overwhelms me with kindness,&rdquo; cried Mabel; &ldquo;nor can I conceive
      how I have found an interest in your eyes&mdash;unless Sister Anastasia or
      Father Anslem, of Chertsey Abbey, may have mentioned me to you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have found a more potent advocate with me than either Sister
      Anastasia or Father Anselm,&rdquo; replied Wolsey; &ldquo;and now, farewell.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And turning the head of his mule, he rode slowly away.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the same day there was a great banquet in the castle, and, as usual,
      Wolsey took his station on the right of the sovereign, while the papal
      legate occupied a place on the left. Watching a favourable opportunity,
      Wolsey observed to Henry that he had been riding that morning in the
      forest, and had seen the loveliest damsel that eyes ever fell upon.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah! by our Lady! and who may she be?&rdquo; asked the king curiously.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;She can boast little in regard to birth, being grandchild to an old
      forester,&rdquo; replied Wolsey; &ldquo;but your majesty saw her at the hunting party
      the other day.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah, now I bethink me of her,&rdquo; said Henry. &ldquo;A comely damsel, in good
      sooth.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I know not where her match is to be found,&rdquo; cried the cardinal. &ldquo;Would
      your majesty had seen her skim over the lake in a fairy boat managed by
      herself, as I beheld her this morning. You would have taken her for a
      water-sprite, except that no water-sprite was half so beautiful.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You speak in raptures, cardinal,&rdquo; cried Henry. &ldquo;I must see this damsel
      again. Where does she dwell? I have heard, but it has slipped my memory.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In a hut near the great lake,&rdquo; replied Wolsey. &ldquo;There is some mystery
      attached to her birth, which I have not yet fathomed.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Leave me to unriddle it,&rdquo; replied the king laughingly.
    </p>
    <p>
      And he turned to talk on other subjects to Campeggio, but Wolsey felt
      satisfied that the device was successful. Nor was he mistaken. As Henry
      retired from the banquet, he motioned the Duke of Suffolk towards him, and
      said, in an undertone&mdash;&ldquo;I shall go forth at dusk to-morrow even in
      disguise, and shall require your attendance.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;On a love affair?&rdquo; asked the duke, in the same tone.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Perchance,&rdquo; replied Henry; &ldquo;but I will explain myself more fully anon.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      This muttered colloquy was overheard by Patch, and faithfully reported by
      him to the cardinal.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      III.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     Of the Visit of the Two Guildford Merchants to the
     Forester's Hut.
</pre>
    <p>
      Tristam Lyndwood did not return home till late in the evening; and when
      informed of the cardinal's visit, he shook his head gravely.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am sorry we went to the hunting party,&rdquo; he observed. &ldquo;Valentine
      Hagthorne said mischief would come of it, and I wish I had attended to his
      advice.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I see no mischief in the matter, grandsire,&rdquo; cried Mabel. &ldquo;On the
      contrary, I think I have met with excellent fortune. The good cardinal
      promises me a high destiny, and says the king himself noticed me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Would his regards had fallen anywhere than on you,&rdquo; rejoined Tristram.
      &ldquo;But I warrant me you told the cardinal your history&mdash;all you know of
      it, at least.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I did so,&rdquo; she replied; &ldquo;nor did I know I was doing any harm.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Answer no such inquiries in future,&rdquo; said Tristram angrily.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But, grandfather, I could not refuse to answer the cardinal,&rdquo; she
      replied, in a deprecating voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No more excuses, but attend to my injunctions,&rdquo; said Tristram. &ldquo;Have you
      seen Morgan Fenwolf to-day?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No; and I care not if I never see him again,&rdquo; she replied pettishly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You dislike him strangely, Mab,&rdquo; rejoined her grandfather; &ldquo;he is the
      best keeper in the forest, and makes no secret of his love for you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The very reason why I dislike him,&rdquo; she returned.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By the same rule, if what the cardinal stated be true&mdash;though, trust
      me, he was but jesting&mdash;you ought to dislike the king. But get my
      supper. I have need of it, for I have fasted long.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mabel hastened to obey, and set a mess of hot pottage and other viands
      before him. Little more conversation passed between them, for the old man
      was weary, and sought his couch early.
    </p>
    <p>
      That night Mabel did nothing but dream of the king&mdash;of stately
      chambers, rich apparel, and countless attendants. She awoke, and finding
      herself in a lowly cottage, and without a single attendant, was, like
      other dreamers of imaginary splendour, greatly discontented.
    </p>
    <p>
      The next morning her grandsire went again to Bray Wood, and she was left
      to muse upon the event of the previous day. While busied about some
      trifling occupation, the door suddenly opened, and Morgan Fenwolf entered
      the cottage. He was followed by a tall man, with a countenance of extreme
      paleness, but a noble and commanding figure. There was something so
      striking in the appearance of the latter person, that it riveted the
      attention of Mabel. But no corresponding effect was produced on the
      stranger, for he scarcely bestowed a look upon her.
    </p>
    <p>
      Morgan Fenwolf hastily asked whether her grandsire was at home, or near at
      hand, and being answered in the negative, appeared much disappointed. He
      then said that he must borrow the skiff for a short while, as he wished to
      visit some nets on the lake. Mabel readily assented, and the stranger
      quitted the house, while Fenwolf lingered to offer some attention to
      Mabel, which was so ill received that he was fain to hurry forth to the
      boathouse, where he embarked with his companion. As soon as the plash of
      oars announced their departure, Mabel went forth to watch them. The
      stranger, who was seated in the stern of the boat, for the first time
      fixed his large melancholy eyes full upon her, and did not withdraw his
      gaze till an angle of the lake hid him from view.
    </p>
    <p>
      Marvelling who he could be, and reproaching herself for not questioning
      Fenwolf on the subject, Mabel resolved to repair the error when the skiff
      was brought back. But the opportunity did not speedily occur. Hours flew
      by, the shades of evening drew on, but neither Fenwolf nor the stranger
      returned.
    </p>
    <p>
      Soon after dusk her grandfather came home. He did not express the least
      astonishment at Fenwolf's prolonged absence, but said that he was sure to
      be back in the course of the evening, and the skiff was not wanted.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He will bring us a fine jack or a carp for dinner to-morrow, I'll warrant
      me,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;If he had returned in time we might have had fish for
      supper. No matter. I must make shift with the mutton pie and a rasher of
      bacon. Morgan did not mention the name of his companion, you say?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He did not,&rdquo; replied Mabel; &ldquo;but I hope he will bring him with him. He is
      the goodliest gentleman I ever beheld.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What! a goodlier gentleman than the king!&rdquo; cried Tristram.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay, they should not be compared,&rdquo; replied Mabel: &ldquo;the one is stout and
      burly; the other slight, long-visaged, and pale, but handsome withal&mdash;very
      handsome.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, I daresay I shall see him anon,&rdquo; said Tristram. &ldquo;And now for
      supper, for I am as sharp-set as a wolf; and so is old Hubert,&rdquo; he added,
      glancing affectionately at the hound by which he was attended.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mabel placed the better part of a huge pie before him, which the old
      forester attacked with great zeal. He then fell to work upon some slices
      of bacon toasted over the embers by his granddaughter, and having washed
      them down with a jug of mead, declared he had supped famously. While
      taking care of himself, he did not forget his hound. From time to time he
      threw him morsels of the pie, and when he had done he gave him a large
      platterful of bones.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Old Hubert has served me faithfully nigh twenty years,&rdquo; he said, patting
      the hound's shaggy neck, &ldquo;and must not be neglected.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Throwing a log of wood on the fire, he drew his chair into the ingle-nook,
      and disposed himself to slumber. Meanwhile, Mabel busied herself about her
      household concern, and was singing a lulling melody to her grandfather, in
      a voice of exquisite sweetness, when a loud tap was heard at the door.
      Tristram roused himself from his doze, and old Hubert growled menacingly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Quiet, Hubert&mdash;quiet!&rdquo; cried Tristram. &ldquo;It cannot be Morgan
      Fenwolf,&rdquo; he added. &ldquo;He would never knock thus. Come in, friend, whoever
      thou art.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      At this invitation two persons darkened the doorway. The foremost was a
      man of bulky frame and burly demeanour. He was attired in a buff jerkin,
      over which he wore a loose great surcoat; had a flat velvet cap on his
      head; and carried a stout staff in his hand. His face was broad and
      handsome, though his features could scarcely be discerned in the doubtful
      light to which they were submitted. A reddish-coloured beard clothed his
      chin. His companion, who appeared a trifle the taller of the two, and
      equally robust, was wrapped in a cloak of dark green camlet.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Give you good e'en, friend,&rdquo; said the foremost stranger to the forester.
      &ldquo;We are belated travellers, on our way from Guildford to Windsor, and,
      seeing your cottage, have called to obtain some refreshment before we
      cross the great park. We do not ask you to bestow a meal upon us, but will
      gladly pay for the best your larder affords.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You shall have it, and welcome, my masters,&rdquo; replied Tristram, &ldquo;but I am
      afraid my humble fare will scarcely suit you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Fear nothing,&rdquo; replied the other; &ldquo;we have good appetites, and are not
      over dainty. Beshrew me, friend,&rdquo; he added, regarding Mabel, &ldquo;you have a
      comely daughter.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;She is my granddaughter, sir,&rdquo; replied Tristram.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, your granddaughter, then,&rdquo; said the other; &ldquo;by the mass, a lovely
      wench. We have none such in Guildford, and I doubt if the king hath such
      in Windsor Castle. What say you, Charles Brandon?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It were treason to agree with you, Harry La Roy,&rdquo; replied Brandon,
      laughing, &ldquo;for they say the king visits with the halter all those who
      disparage the charms of the Lady Anne Boleyn. But, comparisons apart, this
      damsel is very fair.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You will discompose her, my masters, if you praise her thus to her face,&rdquo;
       said Tristram somewhat testily. &ldquo;Here, Mab, bring forth all my scanty
      larder affords, and put some rashers of bacon on the fire.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Cold meat and bread will suffice for us,&rdquo; said Harry: &ldquo;we will not
      trouble the damsel to play the cook.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      With this Mabel, who appeared a good deal embarrassed by the presence of
      the strangers, spread a cloth of snow-white linen on the little table, and
      placed the remains of the pie and a large oven cake before them. The
      new-comers sate down, and ate heartily of the humble viands, he who had
      answered to the name of Harry frequently stopping in the course of his
      repast to compliment his fair attendant.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By our Lady, I have never been so waited on before,&rdquo; he added, rising and
      removing his stool towards the fire, while his companion took up a
      position, with his back against the wall, near the fireplace. &ldquo;And now, my
      pretty Mabel, have you never a cup of ale to wash down the pie?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I can offer you a draught of right good mead, master,&rdquo; said Tristram;
      &ldquo;and that is the only liquor my cottage can furnish.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nothing can be better,&rdquo; replied Harry. &ldquo;The mead, by all means.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      While Mabel went to draw the liquor, Tristram fixed his eyes on Harry,
      whose features were now fully revealed by the light of the fire.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why do you look at me so hard, friend?&rdquo; demanded Harry bluffly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have seen some one very like you, master,&rdquo; replied Tristram, &ldquo;and one
      whom it is no light honour to resemble.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You mean the king,&rdquo; returned Harry, laughing. &ldquo;You are not the first
      person who has thought me like him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are vain of the likeness, I see, master,&rdquo; replied Tristram, joining
      in the laugh. &ldquo;How say you, Mab?&rdquo; he added to his granddaughter, who at
      that moment returned with a jug and a couple of drinking-horns. &ldquo;Whom does
      this gentleman resemble?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No one,&rdquo; returned Mabel, without raising her eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No one,&rdquo; echoed Harry, chucking her under the chin. &ldquo;Look me full in the
      face, and you will find out your mistake. Marry, if I were the royal
      Henry, instead of what I am, a plain Guildford merchant, I should prefer
      you to Anne Boleyn.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Is that said in good sooth, sir?&rdquo; asked Mabel, slightly raising her eyes,
      and instantly dropping them before the ardent gaze of the self-styled
      merchant.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In good sooth and sober truth,&rdquo; replied Henry, rounding his arm and
      placing his hand on his lusty thigh in true royal fashion.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Were you the royal Henry, I should not care for your preference,&rdquo; said
      Mabel more confidently. &ldquo;My grandsire says the king changes his love as
      often as the moon changes&mdash;nay, oftener.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;God's death!&mdash;your grandsire is a false knave to say so! cried
      Harry.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Heaven help us! you swear the king's oaths,&rdquo; said Mabel. &ldquo;And wherefore
      not, sweetheart?&rdquo; said Harry, checking himself. &ldquo;It is enough to make one
      swear, and in a royal fashion too, to hear one's liege lord unjustly
      accused. I have ever heard the king styled a mirror of constancy. How say
      you, Charles Brandon?&mdash;can you not give him a good character?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! an excellent character,&rdquo; said Brandon. &ldquo;He is constancy itself&mdash;while
      the fit lasts,&rdquo; he added, aside.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You hear what my friend says, sweetheart,&rdquo; observed Harry; &ldquo;and I assure
      you he has the best opportunities of judging. But I'll be sworn you did
      not believe your grand-sire when he thus maligned the king.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;She contradicted me flatly,&rdquo; said Tristram. &ldquo;But pour out the mead, girl;
      our guests are waiting for it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      While Mabel, in compliance with her grandsire's directions, filled the
      horn, the door of the cottage was noiselessly opened by Morgan Fenwolf,
      who stepped in, followed by Bawsey. He stared inquisitively at the
      strangers, but both were so much occupied by the damsel that he remained
      unnoticed. A sign from the old forester told him he had better retire:
      jealous curiosity, however, detained him, and he tarried till Harry had
      received the cup from Mabel, and drained it to her health. He then drew
      back, closed the door softly, and joined a dark and mysterious figure,
      with hideous lineaments and an antlered helm upon its brows, lurking
      outside the cottage.
    </p>
    <p>
      Meanwhile, a cup of mead having been offered to Brandon, he observed to
      his companion, &ldquo;We must now be setting forth on our journey. Night is
      advancing, and we have five long miles to traverse across the great park.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I would stay where I am,&rdquo; rejoined Harry, &ldquo;and make a bench near the fire
      serve me in lieu of a couch, but that business requires our presence at
      the castle to-night. There is payment for our meal, friend,&rdquo; he added,
      giving a mark to Tristram, &ldquo;and as we shall probably return to-morrow
      night, we will call and have another supper with you. Provide us a capon,
      and some fish from the lake.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You pay as you swear, good sir, royally,&rdquo; replied Tristram. &ldquo;You shall
      have a better supper to-morrow night.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have a dangerous journey before you, sir,&rdquo; said Mabel. &ldquo;They say
      there are plunderers and evil spirits in the great park.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have no fear of any such, sweetheart,&rdquo; replied Harry. &ldquo;I have a strong
      arm to defend myself, and so has my friend Charles Brandon. And as to evil
      spirits, a kiss from you will shield me from all ill.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And as he spoke, he drew her towards him, and clasping her in his arms,
      imprinted a score of rapid kisses on her lips.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hold! hold, master!&rdquo; cried Tristram, rising angrily; &ldquo;this may not be.
      'Tis an arrant abuse of hospitality.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay, be not offended, good friend,&rdquo; replied Harry, laughing. &ldquo;I am on the
      look-out for a wife, and I know not but I may take your granddaughter with
      me to Guildford.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;She is not to be so lightly won,&rdquo; cried Tristram; &ldquo;for though I am but a
      poor forester, I rate her as highly as the haughtiest noble can rate his
      child.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And with reason,&rdquo; said Harry. &ldquo;Good-night, sweet-heart! By my crown,
      Suffolk!&rdquo; he exclaimed to his companion, as he quitted the cottage, &ldquo;she
      is an angel, and shall be mine.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not if my arm serves me truly,&rdquo; muttered Fenwolf, who, with his
      mysterious companion, had stationed himself at the window of the hut.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do him no injury,&rdquo; returned the other; &ldquo;he is only to be made
      captive-mark that. And now to apprise Sir Thomas Wyat. We must intercept
      them before they reach their horses.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      IV.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     How Herne the Hunter showed the Earl of Surrey the Fair
     Geraldine in a Vision.
</pre>
    <p>
      On the third day after Surrey's imprisonment in the keep, he was removed
      to the Norman Tower. The chamber allotted him was square, tolerably lofty,
      and had two narrow-pointed windows on either side, looking on the one hand
      into the upper quadrangle, and on the other into the middle ward. At the
      same time permission was accorded him to take exercise on the battlements
      of the Round Tower, or within the dry and grassy moat at its foot.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Fair Geraldine, he was informed, had been sent to the royal palace at
      Greenwich; but her absence occasioned him little disquietude, because he
      knew, if she had remained at Windsor, he would not have been allowed to
      see her.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the same day that Surrey was removed to the Norman Tower, the Duke of
      Richmond quitted the castle without assigning any motive for his
      departure, or even taking leave of his friend. At first some jealous
      mistrust that he might be gone to renew his suit to the Fair Geraldine
      troubled the earl; but he strongly combated the feeling, as calculated, if
      indulged, to destroy his tranquillity; and by fixing his thoughts
      sedulously on other subjects, he speedily succeeded in overcoming it.
    </p>
    <p>
      On that night, while occupied in a translation of the Aeneid which he had
      commenced, he remained at his task till a late hour. The midnight bell had
      tolled, when, looking up, he was startled by perceiving a tall figure
      standing silent and motionless beside him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Independently of the difficulty of accounting for its presence, the
      appearance of the figure was in itself sufficiently appalling. It was
      above the ordinary stature, and was enveloped in a long black cloak, while
      a tall, conical black cap, which added to its height, and increased the
      hideousness of its features, covered its head.
    </p>
    <p>
      For a few minutes Surrey remained gazing at the figure in mute
      astonishment, during which it maintained the same motionless posture. At
      length he was able to murmur forth the interrogation, &ldquo;Who art thou?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A friend,&rdquo; replied the figure, in a sepulchral tone.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Are you a man or spirit?&rdquo; demanded Surrey.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It matters not&mdash;I am a friend,&rdquo; rejoined the figure.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;On what errand come you here?&rdquo; asked Surrey.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To serve you,&rdquo; replied the figure; &ldquo;to liberate you. You shall go hence
      with me, if you choose.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;On what condition?&rdquo; rejoined Surrey.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We will speak of that when we are out of the castle, and on the green sod
      of the forest,&rdquo; returned the figure.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You tempt in vain,&rdquo; cried Surrey. &ldquo;I will not go with you. I recognise in
      you the demon hunter Herne.&rdquo; The figure laughed hollowly&mdash;so hollowly
      that Surrey's flesh crept upon his bones.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are right, lord of Surrey,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;I am Herne the Hunter. You must
      join me. Sir Thomas Wyat is already one of my band.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You lie, false fiend!&rdquo; rejoined Surrey. &ldquo;Sir Thomas Wyat is in France.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is you who lie, lord of Surrey,&rdquo; replied Herne; &ldquo;Sir Thomas Wyat is
      now in the great park. You shall see him in a few minutes, if you will
      come with me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I disbelieve you, tempter!&rdquo; cried Surrey indignantly. &ldquo;Wyat is too good a
      Christian, and too worthy a knight, to league with a demon.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Again Herne laughed bitterly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sir Thomas Wyat told you he would seek me out,&rdquo; said the demon. &ldquo;He did
      so, and gave himself to me for Anne Boleyn.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But you have no power over her, demon?&rdquo; cried Surrey, shuddering.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You will learn whether I have or not, in due time,&rdquo; replied Herne. &ldquo;Do
      you refuse to go with me?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I refuse to deliver myself to perdition,&rdquo; rejoined the earl.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;An idle fear,&rdquo; rejoined Herne. &ldquo;I care not for your soul&mdash;you will
      destroy it without my aid. I have need of you. You shall be back again in
      this chamber before the officer visits it in the morning, and no one shall
      be aware of your absence. Come, or I will bear you hence.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You dare not touch me,&rdquo; replied Surrey, placing his hand upon his breast;
      &ldquo;I am armed with a holy relic.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I know it,&rdquo; said Herne; &ldquo;and I feel its power, or I would not have
      trifled with you thus long. But it cannot shield you from a rival. You
      believe the Fair Geraldine constant&mdash;ha?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I know her to be so,&rdquo; said Surrey.
    </p>
    <p>
      A derisive laugh broke from Herne.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Peace, mocking fiend!&rdquo; cried Surrey furiously.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I laugh to think how you are deceived,&rdquo; said Herne. &ldquo;Would you behold
      your mistress now?&mdash;would you see how she conducts herself during
      your absence?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If you choose to try me, I will not oppose the attempt,&rdquo; replied Surrey;
      &ldquo;but it will be futile.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Remove the relic from your person,&rdquo; rejoined Herne. &ldquo;Place it upon the
      table, within your grasp, and you shall see her.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Surrey hesitated; but he was not proof against the low mocking laugh of
      the demon.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No harm can result from it,&rdquo; he cried at length, detaching the relic from
      his neck, and laying it on the table.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Extinguish the light!&rdquo; cried Herne, in a commanding voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      Surrey instantly sprang to his feet, and dashed the lamp off the table.
      &ldquo;Behold!&rdquo; cried the demon.
    </p>
    <p>
      And instantly a vision, representing the form and lineaments of the Fair
      Geraldine to the life, shone forth against the opposite wall of the
      chamber. At the feet of the visionary damsel knelt a shape resembling the
      Duke of Richmond. He was pressing the hand extended to him by the Fair
      Geraldine to his lips, and a smile of triumph irradiated his features.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Such is man's friendship&mdash;such woman's constancy!&rdquo; cried Herne. &ldquo;Are
      you now satisfied?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am, that you have deceived me, false spirit!&rdquo; cried the earl. &ldquo;I would
      not believe the Fair Geraldine inconstant, though all hell told me so.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A terrible laugh broke from the demon, and the vision faded away. All
      became perfect darkness, and for a few moments the earl remained silent.
      He then called to the demon, but receiving no answer, put forth his hand
      towards the spot where he had stood. He was gone.
    </p>
    <p>
      Confounded, Surrey returned to the table, and searched for the relic, but,
      with a feeling of indescribable anguish and self-reproach, found that it
      had likewise disappeared.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      V.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     What befell Sir Thomas Wyat in the Sandstone Cave&mdash;And how
     he drank a maddening Potion.
</pre>
    <p>
      THE cave in which Sir Thomas Wyat found himself, on the removal of the
      bandage from his eyes, was apparently&mdash;for it was only lighted by a
      single torch&mdash;of considerable width and extent, and hewn out of a bed
      of soft sandstone. The roof, which might be about ten feet high, was
      supported by the trunks of three large trees rudely fashioned into
      pillars. There were several narrow lateral passages within it, apparently
      communicating with other caverns; and at the farther end, which was almost
      buried in obscurity, there was a gleam seemingly occasioned by the
      reflection of the torchlight upon water. On the right hand stood a pile of
      huge stones, disposed somewhat in the form of a Druidical altar, on the
      top of which, as on a throne, sat the demon hunter, surrounded by his
      satellites&mdash;one of whom, horned and bearded like a satyr, had
      clambered the roughened sides of the central pillar, and held a torch over
      the captive's head.
    </p>
    <p>
      Half-stifled by the noxious vapour he had inhaled, and blinded by the
      tightness of the bandage, it was some time before Wyat fully recovered his
      powers of sight and utterance.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why am I brought hither, false fiend?&rdquo; he demanded at length.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To join my band,&rdquo; replied the demon harshly and imperiously.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Never!&rdquo; rejoined Wyat. &ldquo;I will have nought to do with you, except as
      regards our compact.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What I require from you is part of our compact,&rdquo; rejoined the demon. &ldquo;He
      who has once closed hands with Herne the Hunter cannot retreat. But I mean
      you fairly, and will not delude you with false expectation. What you seek
      cannot be accomplished on the instant. Ere three days Anne Boleyn shall be
      yours.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Give me some proof that you are not deceiving me, spirit,&rdquo; said Wyat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Come, then!&rdquo; replied Herne. So saying, he sprang from the stone, and,
      taking Wyat's hand, led him towards the lower end of the cave, which
      gradually declined till it reached the edge of a small but apparently deep
      pool of water, the level of which rose above the rock that formed its
      boundary.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Remove the torch!&rdquo; thundered the demon to those behind. &ldquo;Now summon your
      false love, Sir Thomas Wyat,&rdquo; he added, as his orders were obeyed, and the
      light was taken into one of the side passages, so that its gleam no longer
      fell upon the water.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Appear, Anne Boleyn!&rdquo; cried Wyat.
    </p>
    <p>
      Upon this a shadowy resemblance of her he had invoked flitted over the
      surface of the water, with hands outstretched towards him. So moved was
      Wyat by the vision, that he would have flung himself into the pool to
      grasp it if he had not been forcibly detained by the demon. During the
      struggle the figure vanished, and all was buried in darkness.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have said she shall be yours,&rdquo; cried Herne; &ldquo;but time is required for
      the accomplishment of my purpose. I have only power over her when evil is
      predominant in her heart. But such moments are not unfrequent,&rdquo; he added,
      with a bitter laugh. &ldquo;And now to the chase. I promise you it will be a
      wilder and more exciting ride than you ever enjoyed in the king's company.
      To the chase!&mdash;to the chase, I say!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Sounding a call upon his horn, the light instantly reappeared. All was
      stir and confusion amid the impish troop&mdash;and presently afterwards a
      number of coal-black horses, and hounds of the same hue, leashed in
      couples, were brought out of one of the side passages. Among the latter
      were two large sable hounds of Saint Hubert's breed, whom Herne summoned
      to his side by the names of Saturn and Dragon.
    </p>
    <p>
      A slight noise, as of a blow dealt against a tree, was now heard overhead,
      and Herne, imposing silence on the group by a hasty gesture, assumed an
      attitude of fixed attention. The stroke was repeated a second time.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is our brother, Morgan Fenwolf,&rdquo; cried the demon.
    </p>
    <p>
      Catching hold of a chain hanging from the roof, which Wyat had not
      hitherto noticed, he swung himself into a crevice above, and disappeared
      from view. During the absence of their leader the troop remained
      motionless and silent.
    </p>
    <p>
      A few minutes afterwards Herne reappeared at the upper end of the cave. He
      was accompanied by Fenwolf, between whom and Wyat a slight glance of
      recognition passed.
    </p>
    <p>
      The order being given by the demon to mount, Wyat, after an instant's
      hesitation, seized the flowing mane of the horse nearest him&mdash;for it
      was furnished neither with saddle nor bridle-and vaulted upon its back. At
      the same moment Herne uttered a wild cry, and plunging into the pool, sunk
      within it. Wyat's steed followed, and swam swiftly forward beneath the
      water.
    </p>
    <p>
      When Wyat rose to the surface, he found himself in the open lake, which
      was gleaming in the moonlight. Before him he beheld Herne clambering the
      bank, accompanied by his two favourite hounds, while a large white owl
      wheeled round his head, hooting loudly. Behind came the grisly cavalcade,
      with their hounds, swimming from beneath a bank covered by thick
      overhanging trees, which completely screened the secret entrance to the
      cave. Having no control over his steed, Wyat was obliged to surrender
      himself to its guidance, and was soon placed by the side of the demon
      hunter.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Pledge me, Sir Thomas Wyat,&rdquo; said Herne, unslinging a gourd-shaped flask
      from his girdle, and offering it to him. &ldquo;'Tis a rare wine, and will
      prevent you from suffering from your bath, as well as give you spirits for
      the chase.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Chilled to the bone by the immersion he had undergone, Wyat did not refuse
      the offer, but placing the flask to his lips took a deep draught from it.
      The demon uttered a low bitter laugh as he received back the flask, and he
      slung it to his girdle without tasting it.
    </p>
    <p>
      The effect of the potion upon Wyat was extraordinary. The whole scene
      seemed to dance around him;-the impish figures in the lake, or upon its
      bank, assumed forms yet more fantastic; the horses looked like monsters of
      the deep; the hounds like wolves and ferocious beasts; the branches of the
      trees writhed and shot forward like hissing serpents;&mdash;and though
      this effect speedily passed off, it left behind it a wild and maddening
      feeling of excitement.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A noble hart is lying in yon glen,&rdquo; said Morgan Fenwolf, advancing
      towards his leader; &ldquo;I tracked his slot thither this evening.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Haste, and unharbour him,&rdquo; replied Herne, &ldquo;and as soon as you rouse him,
      give the halloa.&rdquo; Fenwolf obeyed; and shortly afterwards a cry was heard
      from the glen.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;List halloa! list halloa!&rdquo; cried Herne, &ldquo;that's he! that's he! hyke!
      Saturn! hyke, Dragon&mdash;Away!&mdash;away, my merry men all.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019">
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    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      VI.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     How Sir Thomas Wyat hunted with Herne.
</pre>
    <p>
      Accompanied by Wyat, and followed by the whole cavalcade, Herne dashed
      into the glen, where Fenwolf awaited him. Threading the hollow, the troop
      descried the hart flying swiftly along a sweeping glade at some two
      hundred yards distance. The glade was passed&mdash;a woody knoll skirted&mdash;a
      valley traversed&mdash;and the hart plunged into a thick grove clothing
      the side of Hawk's Hill. But it offered him no secure retreat. Dragon and
      Saturn were close upon him, and behind them came Herne, crashing through
      the branches of the trees, and heedless of all impediments. By-and-by the
      thicket became more open, and they entered Cranbourne Chase. But the hart
      soon quitted it to return to the great park, and darted down a declivity
      skirted by a line of noble oaks. Here he was so hotly pressed by his
      fierce opponents, whose fangs he could almost feel within his haunches,
      that he suddenly stopped and stood at bay, receiving the foremost of his
      assailants, Saturn, on the points of his horns. But his defence, though
      gallant, was unavailing. In another instant Herne came up, and,
      dismounting, called off Dragon, who was about to take the place of his
      wounded companion. Drawing a knife from his girdle, the hunter threw
      himself on the ground, and, advancing on all fours towards the hart, could
      scarcely be distinguished himself from some denizen of the forest. As he
      approached the hart snorted and bellowed fiercely, and dashed its horns
      against him; but the blow was received by the hunter upon his own antlered
      helm, and at the same moment his knife was thrust to the hilt into the
      stag's throat, and it fell to the ground.
    </p>
    <p>
      Springing to his feet, Herne whooped joyfully, placed his bugle to his
      lips, and blew the dead mot. He then shouted to Fenwolf to call away and
      couple the hounds, and, striking off the deer's right forefoot with his
      knife, presented it to Wyat. Several large leafy branches being gathered
      and laid upon the ground, the hart was placed upon them, and Herne
      commenced breaking him up, as the process of dismembering the deer is
      termed in the language of woodcraft. His first step was to cut off the
      animal's head, which he performed by a single blow with his heavy
      trenchant knife.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Give the hounds the flesh,&rdquo; he said, delivering the trophy to Fenwolf;
      &ldquo;but keep the antlers, for it is a great deer of head.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Placing the head on a hunting-pole, Fenwolf withdrew to an open space
      among the trees, and, halloing to the others, they immediately cast off
      the hounds, who rushed towards him, leaping and baying at the stag's head,
      which he alternately raised and lowered until they were sufficiently
      excited, when he threw it on the ground before them.
    </p>
    <p>
      While this was going forward the rest of the band were occupied in various
      ways&mdash;some striking a light with flint and steel&mdash;some gathering
      together sticks and dried leaves to form a fire&mdash;others producing
      various strange-shaped cooking utensils&mdash;while others were assisting
      their leader in his butcherly task, which he executed with infinite skill
      and expedition.
    </p>
    <p>
      As soon as the fire was kindled, Herne distributed certain portions of the
      venison among his followers, which were instantly thrown upon the embers
      to broil; while a few choice morsels were stewed in a pan with wine, and
      subsequently offered to the leader and Wyat.
    </p>
    <p>
      This hasty repast concluded, the demon ordered the fire to be
      extinguished, and the quarters of the deer to be carried to the cave. He
      then mounted his steed, and, attended by Wyat and the rest of his troop,
      except those engaged in executing his orders, galloped towards Snow Hill,
      where he speedily succeeded in unharbouring another noble hart.
    </p>
    <p>
      Away then went the whole party&mdash;stag, hounds, huntsmen, sweeping like
      a dark cloud down the hill, and crossing the wide moonlit glade, studded
      with noble trees, on the west of the great avenue.
    </p>
    <p>
      For a while the hart held a course parallel with the avenue; he then
      dashed across it, threaded the intricate woods on the opposite side,
      tracked a long glen, and leaping the pales, entered the home park. It
      almost seemed as if he designed to seek shelter within the castle, for he
      made straight towards it, and was only diverted by Herne himself, who,
      shooting past him with incredible swiftness, turned him towards the lower
      part of the park.
    </p>
    <p>
      Here the chase continued with unabated ardour, until, reaching the banks
      of the Thames, the hart plunged into it, and suffered himself to be
      carried noiselessly down the current. But Herne followed him along the
      banks, and when sufficiently near, dashed into the stream, and drove him
      again ashore.
    </p>
    <p>
      Once more they flew across the home park&mdash;once more they leaped its
      pales&mdash;once more they entered the great park&mdash;but this time the
      stag took the direction of Englefield Green. He was not, however, allowed
      to break forth into the open country; but, driven again into the thick
      woods, he held on with wondrous speed till the lake appeared in view. In
      another instant he was swimming across it.
    </p>
    <p>
      Before the eddies occasioned by the affrighted animal's plunge had
      described a wide ring, Herne had quitted his steed, and was cleaving with
      rapid strokes the waters of the lake. Finding escape impossible, the hart
      turned to meet him, and sought to strike him with his horns, but as in the
      case of his ill-fated brother of the wood, the blow was warded by the
      antlered helm of the swimmer. The next moment the clear water was dyed
      with blood, and Herne, catching the gasping animal by the head, guided his
      body to shore.
    </p>
    <p>
      Again the process of breaking up the stag was gone through; and when Herne
      had concluded his task, he once more offered his gourd to Sir Thomas Wyat.
      Reckless of the consequences, the knight placed the flask to his lips, and
      draining it to the last drop, fell from his horse insensible.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      VII.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     How Wyat beheld Mabel Lyndwood&mdash;And how he was rowed by
     Morgan Fenwolf upon the Lake.
</pre>
    <p>
      When perfect consciousness returned to him, Wyat found himself lying upon
      a pallet in what he first took to be the cell of an anchorite; but as the
      recollection of recent events arose more distinctly before him, he guessed
      it to be a chamber connected with the sandstone cave. A small lamp, placed
      in a recess, lighted the cell; and upon a footstool by his bed stood a jug
      of water, and a cup containing some drink in which herbs had evidently
      been infused. Well-nigh emptying the jug, for he felt parched with thirst,
      Wyat attired himself, took up the lamp, and walked into the main cavern.
      No one was there, nor could he obtain any answer to his calls. Evidences,
      however, were not wanting to prove that a feast had recently been held
      there. On one side were the scarcely extinguished embers of a large wood
      fire; and in the midst of the chamber was a rude table, covered with
      drinking-horns and wooden platters, as well as with the remains of three
      or four haunches of venison. While contemplating this scene Wyat heard
      footsteps in one of the lateral passages, and presently afterwards Morgan
      Fenwolf made his appearance.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;So you are come round at last, Sir Thomas,&rdquo; observed the keeper, in a
      slightly sarcastic tone.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What has ailed me?&rdquo; asked Wyat, in surprise.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have had a fever for three days,&rdquo; returned Fenwolf, &ldquo;and have been
      raving like a madman.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Three days!&rdquo; muttered Wyat. &ldquo;The false juggling fiend promised her to me
      on the third day.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Fear not; Herne will be as good as his word,&rdquo; said Fenwolf. &ldquo;But will you
      go forth with me? I am about to visit my nets. It is a fine day, and a row
      on the lake will do you good.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Wyat acquiesced, and followed Fenwolf, who returned along the passage. It
      grew narrower at the sides and lower in the roof as they advanced, until
      at last they were compelled to move forward on their hands and knees. For
      some space the passage, or rather hole (for it was nothing more) ran on a
      level. A steep and tortuous ascent then commenced, which brought them to
      an outlet concealed by a large stone.
    </p>
    <p>
      Pushing it aside, Fenwolf crept forth, and immediately afterwards Wyat
      emerged into a grove, through which, on one side, the gleaming waters of
      the lake were discernible. The keeper's first business was to replace the
      stone, which was so screened by brambles and bushes that it could not,
      unless careful search were made, be detected.
    </p>
    <p>
      Making his way through the trees to the side of the lake, Fenwolf marched
      along the greensward in the direction of Tristram Lyndwood's cottage. Wyat
      mechanically followed him; but he was so pre-occupied that he scarcely
      heeded the fair Mabel, nor was it till after his embarkation in the skiff
      with the keeper, when she came forth to look at them, that he was at all
      struck with her beauty. He then inquired her name from Fenwolf.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;She is called Mabel Lyndwood, and is an old forester's granddaughter,&rdquo;
       replied the other somewhat gruffly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And do you seek her love?&rdquo; asked Wyat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay, and wherefore not?&rdquo; asked Fenwolf, with a look of displeasure.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay, I know not, friend,&rdquo; rejoined Wyat. &ldquo;She is a comely damsel.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What!&mdash;comelier than the Lady Anne?&rdquo; demanded Fenwolf spitefully.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I said not so,&rdquo; replied Wyat; &ldquo;but she is very fair, and looks
      true-hearted.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Fenwolf glanced at him from under his brows; and plunging his oars into
      the water, soon carried him out of sight of the maiden.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was high noon, and the day was one of resplendent loveliness. The lake
      sparkled in the sunshine, and as they shot past its tiny bays and woody
      headlands, new beauties were every moment revealed to them. But while the
      scene softened Wyat's feelings, it filled him with intolerable remorse,
      and so poignant did his emotions become, that he pressed his hands upon
      his eyes to shut out the lovely prospect. When he looked up again the
      scene was changed. The skiff had entered a narrow creek, arched over by
      huge trees, and looking as dark and gloomy as the rest of the lake was
      fair and smiling. It was closed in by a high overhanging bank, crested by
      two tall trees, whose tangled roots protruded through it like monstrous
      reptiles, while their branches cast a heavy shade over the deep, sluggish
      water.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why have you come here?&rdquo; demanded Wyat, looking uneasily round the
      forbidding spot.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You will discover anon,&rdquo; replied Fenwolf moodily.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Go back into the sunshine, and take me to some pleasant bank&mdash;I will
      not land here,&rdquo; said Wyat sternly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Needs must when&mdash;I need not remind you of the proverb,&rdquo; rejoined
      Fenwolf, with a sneer.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Give me the oars, thou malapert knave!&rdquo; cried Wyat fiercely, &ldquo;and I will
      put myself ashore.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Keep quiet,&rdquo; said Fenwolf; &ldquo;you must perforce abide our master's coming.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Wyat gazed at the keeper for a moment, as if with the intention of
      throwing him overboard; but abandoning the idea, he rose up in the boat,
      and caught at what he took to be a root of the tree above. To his surprise
      and alarm, it closed upon him with an iron grasp, and he felt himself
      dragged upwards, while the skiff, impelled by a sudden stroke from Morgan
      Fenwolf, shot from beneath him. All Wyat's efforts to disengage himself
      were vain, and a wild, demoniacal laugh, echoed by a chorus of voices,
      proclaimed him in the power of Herne the Hunter. The next moment he was
      set on the top of the bank, while the demon greeted him with a mocking
      laugh.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;So you thought to escape me, Sir Thomas Wyatt,&rdquo; he cried, in a taunting
      tone; &ldquo;but any such attempt will prove fruitless. The murderer may repent
      the blow when dealt; the thief may desire to restore the gold he has
      purloined; the barterer of his soul may rue his bargain; but they are
      Satan's, nevertheless. You are mine, and nothing can redeem you!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Woe is me that it should be so!&rdquo; groaned Wyat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Lamentation is useless and unworthy of you,&rdquo; rejoined Herne scornfully.
      &ldquo;Your wish will be speedily accomplished. This very night your kingly
      rival shall be placed in your hands.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ha!&rdquo; exclaimed Wyat, the flame of jealousy again rising within his
      breast.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You can make your own terms with him for the Lady Anne,&rdquo; pursued Herne.
      &ldquo;His life will be at your disposal.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do you promise this?&rdquo; cried Wyat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay,&rdquo; replied Herne. &ldquo;Put yourself under the conduct of Fenwolf, and all
      shall happen as you desire. We shall meet again at night. I have other
      business on hand now. Meschines,&rdquo; he added to one of his attendants, &ldquo;go
      with Sir Thomas to the skiff.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The personage who received the command, and who was wildly and
      fantastically habited, beckoned Wyat to follow him, and after many
      twistings and turnings brought them to the edge of the lake, where the
      skiff was lying, with Fenwolf reclining at full length upon its benches.
      He arose, however, quickly at the appearance of Meschines, and asked him
      for some provisions, which the latter promised to bring, and while Wyat
      got into the skiff he disappeared, but returned a few minutes afterwards
      with a basket, which he gave to the keeper.
    </p>
    <p>
      Crossing the lake, Fenwolf then shaped his course towards a verdant bank
      enamelled with wild flowers, where he landed. The basket being opened, was
      found to contain a flask of wine and the better part of a venison pasty,
      of which Wyat, whose appetite was keen enough after his long fasting, ate
      heartily. He then stretched himself on the velvet sod, and dropped into a
      tranquil slumber which lasted to a late hour in the evening.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was roused from it by a hand laid on his shoulder, while a deep voice
      thundered in his ear&mdash;&ldquo;Up, up, Sir Thomas, and follow me, and I will
      place the king in your hands!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      VIII.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     How the King and the Duke of Suffolk were assailed by
     Herne's Band&mdash;And what followed the Attack.
</pre>
    <p>
      Henry and Suffolk, on leaving the forester's hut, took their way for a
      sort space along the side of the lake, and then turned into a path leading
      through the trees up the eminence on the left. The king was in a joyous
      mood, and made no attempt to conceal the passion with which the fair
      damsel had inspired him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I' faith!&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;the cardinal has a quick eye for a pretty wench. I
      have heard that he loves one in secret, and I am therefore the more
      beholden to him for discovering Mabel to me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You forget, my liege, that it is his object to withdraw your regards from
      the Lady Anne Boleyn,&rdquo; remarked Suffolk.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I care not what his motive may be, as long as the result is so
      satisfactory,&rdquo; returned Henry. &ldquo;Confess now, Suffolk, you never beheld a
      figure so perfect, a complexion so blooming, or eyes so bright. As to her
      lips, by my soul, I never tasted such.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And your majesty is not inexperienced in such matters,&rdquo; laughed Suffolk.
      &ldquo;For my own part, I was as much struck by her grace as by her beauty, and
      can scarcely persuade myself she can be nothing more than a mere
      forester's grand-daughter.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Wolsey told me there was a mystery about her birth,&rdquo; rejoined Henry;
      &ldquo;but, pest on it; her beauty drove all recollection of the matter out of
      my head. I will go back, and question her now.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your majesty forgets that your absence from the castle will occasion
      surprise, if not alarm,&rdquo; said Suffolk. &ldquo;The mystery will keep till
      to-morrow.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Tut, tut!&mdash;I will return,&rdquo; said the king perversely. And Suffolk,
      knowing his wilfulness, and that all remonstrance would prove fruitless,
      retraced his steps with him. They had not proceeded far when they
      perceived a female figure at the bottom of the ascent, just where the path
      turned off on the margin of the lake.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;As I live, there she is!&rdquo; exclaimed the king joyfully. &ldquo;She has divined
      my wishes, and is come herself to tell me her history.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And he sprang forward, while Mabel advanced rapidly towards him.
    </p>
    <p>
      They met half-way, and Henry would have caught her in his arms, but she
      avoided him, exclaiming, in a tone of confusion and alarm, &ldquo;Thank Heaven,
      I have found you, sire!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Thank Heaven, too, sweetheart!&rdquo; rejoined Henry. &ldquo;I would not hide when
      you are the seeker. So you know me&mdash;ha?
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I knew you at first,&rdquo; replied Mabel confusedly. &ldquo;I saw you at the great
      hunting party; and, once beheld, your majesty is not easily forgotten.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ha! by Saint George! you turn a compliment as soothly as the most
      practised dame at court,&rdquo; cried Henry, catching her hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Beseech your majesty, release me!&rdquo; returned Mabel, struggling to get
      free. &ldquo;I did not follow you on the light errand you suppose, but to warn
      you of danger. Before you quitted my grandsire's cottage I told you this
      part of the forest was haunted by plunderers and evil beings, and
      apprehensive lest some mischance might befall you, I opened the window
      softly to look after you&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And you overheard me tell the Duke of Suffolk how much smitten I was with
      your beauty, ha?&rdquo; interrupted the king, squeezing her hand&mdash;&ldquo;and how
      resolved I was to make you mine&mdash;ha! sweetheart?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The words I heard were of very different import, my liege,&rdquo; rejoined
      Mabel. &ldquo;You were menaced by miscreants, who purposed to waylay you before
      you could reach your steed.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Let them come,&rdquo; replied Henry carelessly; &ldquo;they shall pay for their
      villainy. How many were there?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Two, sire,&rdquo; answered Mabel; &ldquo;but one of them was Herne, the weird hunter
      of the forest. He said he would summon his band to make you captive. What
      can your strong arm, even aided by that of the Duke of Suffolk, avail
      against numbers?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Captive! ha!&rdquo; exclaimed the king. &ldquo;Said the knave so?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He did, sire,&rdquo; replied Mabel; &ldquo;and I knew it was Herne by his antlered
      helm.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There is reason in what the damsel says, my liege,&rdquo; interposed Suffolk.
      &ldquo;If possible, you had better avoid an encounter with the villains.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My hands itch to give them a lesson,&rdquo; rejoined Henry. &ldquo;But I will be
      ruled by you. God's death! I will return to-morrow, and hunt them down
      like so many wolves.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Where are your horses, sire?&rdquo; asked Mabel.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Tied to a tree at the foot of the hill,&rdquo; replied Henry. &ldquo;But I have
      attendants midway between this spot and Snow Hill.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This way, then!&rdquo; said Mabel, breaking from him, and darting into a narrow
      path among the trees.
    </p>
    <p>
      Henry ran after her, but was not agile enough to overtake her. At length
      she stopped.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If your majesty will pursue this path,&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;you will come to an
      open space amid the trees, when, if you will direct your course towards a
      large beech-tree on the opposite side, you will find another narrow path,
      which will take you where you desire to go.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But I cannot go alone,&rdquo; cried Henry.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mabel, however, slipped past him, and was out of sight in an instant.
    </p>
    <p>
      Henry looked as if he meant to follow her, but Suffolk ventured to arrest
      him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do not tarry here longer, my gracious liege,&rdquo; said the duke. &ldquo;Danger is
      to be apprehended, and the sooner you rejoin your attendants the better.
      Return with them, if you please, but do not expose yourself further now.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Henry yielded, though reluctantly, and they walked on in silence. Ere long
      they arrived at the open space described by Mabel, and immediately
      perceived the large beech-tree, behind which they found the path. By this
      time the moon had arisen, and as they emerged upon the marsh they easily
      discovered a track, though not broader than a sheep-walk, leading along
      its edge. As they hurried across it, Suffolk occasionally cast a furtive
      glance over his shoulder, but he saw nothing to alarm him. The whole tract
      of marshy land on the left was hidden from view by a silvery mist.
    </p>
    <p>
      In a few minutes the king and his companion gained firmer ground, and
      ascending the gentle elevation on the other side of the marsh, made their
      way to a little knoll crowned by a huge oak, which commanded a fine view
      of the lake winding through the valley beyond. Henry, who was a few yards
      in advance of his companion, paused at a short distance from the free, and
      being somewhat over-heated, took off his cap to wipe his brow, laughingly
      observing&mdash;&ldquo;In good truth, Suffolk, we must henceforth be rated as
      miserable faineants, to be scared from our path by a silly wench's tale of
      deerstealers and wild huntsmen. I am sorry I yielded to her entreaties. If
      Herne be still extant, he must be more than a century and a half old, for
      unless the legend is false, he flourished in the time of my predecessor,
      Richard the Second. I would I could see him!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Behold him, then!&rdquo; cried a harsh voice from behind.
    </p>
    <p>
      Turning at the sound, Henry perceived a tall dark figure of hideous
      physiognomy and strange attire, helmed with a huge pair of antlers,
      standing between him and the oak-tree. So sudden was the appearance of the
      figure, that in spite of himself the king slightly started.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What art thou&mdash;ha?&rdquo; he demanded.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What I have said,&rdquo; replied the demon. &ldquo;I am Herne the Hunter. Welcome to
      my domain, Harry of England. You are lord of the castle, but I am lord of
      the forest. Ha! ha!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am lord both of the forest and the castle&mdash;yea, of all this broad
      land, false fiend!&rdquo; cried the king, &ldquo;and none shall dispute it with me. In
      the name of the most holy faith, of which I am the defender, I command
      thee to avoid my path. Get thee backwards, Satan!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The demon laughed derisively.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Harry of England, advance towards me, and you advance upon your peril,&rdquo;
       he rejoined.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Avaunt, I say!&rdquo; cried the king. &ldquo;In the name of the blessed Trinity, and
      of all holy angels and saints, I strike!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And he whirled the staff round his head. But ere the weapon could descend,
      a flash of dazzling fire encircled the demon, amidst which he vanished.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Heaven protect us!&rdquo; exclaimed Henry, appalled.
    </p>
    <p>
      At this juncture the sound of a horn was heard, and a number of wild
      figures in fantastic garbs&mdash;some mounted on swarthy steeds, and
      accompanied by hounds, others on foot-issued from the adjoining covert,
      and hurried towards the spot occupied by the king.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Aha!&rdquo; exclaimed Henry&mdash;&ldquo;more of the same sort. Hell, it would seem,
      has let loose her hosts; but I have no fear of them. Stand by me,
      Suffolk.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To the death, sire,&rdquo; replied the duke, drawing his sword. By this time
      one of the foremost of the impish crew had reached the king, and commanded
      him to yield himself prisoner.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Dost know whom thou askest to yield, dog?&rdquo; cried Henry furiously.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yea,&rdquo; replied the other, &ldquo;thou art the king!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then down on thy knees, traitor!&rdquo; roared Henry; &ldquo;down all of ye, and sue
      for mercy.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;For mercy&mdash;ha! ha!&rdquo; rejoined the other; &ldquo;it is thy turn to sue for
      mercy, tyrant! We acknowledge no other ruler than Herne the Hunter.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then seek him in hell!&rdquo; cried Henry, dealing the speaker a tremendous
      blow on the head with his staff, which brought him senseless to the
      ground.
    </p>
    <p>
      The others immediately closed round him, and endeavoured to seize the
      king.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ha! dogs&mdash;ha! traitors!&rdquo; vociferated Henry, plying his staff with
      great activity, and bringing down an assailant at each stroke; &ldquo;do you
      dare to lay hands upon our sacred person? Back! back!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The determined resistance offered by the king, supported as he was by
      Suffolk, paralysed his assailants, who seemed more bent upon securing his
      person than doing him injury. But Suffolk's attention was presently
      diverted by the attack of a fierce black hound, set upon him by a stout
      fellow in a bearded mask. After a hard struggle, and not before he had
      been severely bitten in the arm, the duke contrived to despatch his
      assailant.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This to avenge poor Bawsey!&rdquo; cried the man who had set on the hound,
      stabbing at Suffolk with his knife.
    </p>
    <p>
      But the duke parried the blow, and, disarming his antagonist, forced him
      to the ground, and tearing off his mask, disclosed the features of Morgan
      Fenwolf.
    </p>
    <p>
      Meanwhile, Henry had been placed in considerable jeopardy. Like Suffolk,
      he had slaughtered a hound, and, in aiming a blow at the villain who set
      it on, his foot slipped, and he lay at his mercy. The wretch raised his
      knife, and was in the act of striking when a sword was passed through his
      body. The blow was decisive; the king instantly arose, and the rest of his
      assailants-horse as well as foot&mdash;disheartened by what had occurred,
      beat a hasty retreat. Harry turned to look for his deliverer, and uttered
      an exclamation of astonishment and anger.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah! God's death!&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;can I believe my eyes? Is it you, Sir Thomas
      Wyat?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay,&rdquo; replied the other.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What do you here? Ha!&rdquo; demanded the king. &ldquo;You should be in Paris.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have tarried for revenge,&rdquo; replied Wyat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Revenge!&mdash;ha!&rdquo; cried Henry. &ldquo;On whom?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;On you,&rdquo; replied Wyat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What!&rdquo; vociferated Henry, foaming with rage. &ldquo;Is it you, traitor, who
      have devised this damnable plot?&mdash;is it you who would make your king
      a captive?&mdash;you who slay him? Have you leagued yourself with fiends?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      But Wyat made no answer; and though he lowered the point of his sword, he
      regarded the king sternly.
    </p>
    <p>
      A female figure now rushed forward, and bending before the king, cried in
      an imploring voice&mdash;&ldquo;Spare him, sire&mdash;spare him! He is no party
      to the attack. I was near him in yon wood, and he stirred not forth till
      he saw your life in danger. He then delivered you from the assassin.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I did so because I reserved him for my own hand,&rdquo; said Wyat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You hear him confess his treason,&rdquo; cried Henry; &ldquo;down on your knees,
      villain, or I will strike you to my feet.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He has just saved your life, my liege,&rdquo; cried the supplicant. &ldquo;Oh, spare
      him!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What make you here, Mabel?&rdquo; cried Henry angrily. &ldquo;I followed your majesty
      unseen,&rdquo; she replied, in some confusion, &ldquo;and reached yon wood just as the
      attack commenced. I did not dare to advance farther.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You should have gone home&mdash;gone home,&rdquo; rejoined the king. &ldquo;Wyat,&rdquo; he
      continued, in a tone of stern reproach, &ldquo;you were once a loyal subject.
      What means this change?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It means that you have robbed me of a mistress,&rdquo; replied Wyat; &ldquo;and for
      this cause I have damned myself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Pardon him!-oh, pardon him, sire,&rdquo; cried Mabel.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I cannot understand you, Wyat,&rdquo; said Henry, after a pause; &ldquo;but I have
      myself suffered from the pangs of jealousy. You have saved my life, and I
      will spare yours.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sire!&rdquo; cried Wyat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Suffolk,&rdquo; exclaimed Henry, looking towards the duke, who was holding
      Fenwolf by the throat, &ldquo;shall I be justified in letting him go free?
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Strike!&mdash;strike!&rdquo; cried a deep voice in Wyat's ear; &ldquo;your rival is
      now in your power.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Far be it from me to thwart your majesty's generous impulses,&rdquo; rejoined
      Suffolk. &ldquo;It is true that Wyat has saved your life; and if he had been
      disposed to take it, you have this moment exposed yourself to him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sir Thomas Wyat,&rdquo; said the king, turning to him, &ldquo;you have my full and
      free pardon. Quit this forest instantly, and make your way to Paris. If
      you are found within it to-morrow you will be lodged in the Tower.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Wyat knelt down, and would have pressed Henry's hand to his lips, but the
      latter pushed him aside.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No&mdash;no! Not now&mdash;on your return.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Thus rebuffed, Wyat strode away, and as he passed the tree he heard a
      voice exclaim, &ldquo;You have escaped him, but think not to escape me!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And now, sweetheart,&rdquo; said Henry, turning to Mabel, &ldquo;since you are so far
      on the way, you shall go with me to the castle.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;On no account, my liege,&rdquo; she returned; &ldquo;my grandsire will wonder what
      has become of me. He must already be in great alarm.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But I will send an attendant to quiet his fears,&rdquo; urged Henry.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That would only serve to increase them,&rdquo; she rejoined. &ldquo;Nay, I must go.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And breaking from him, she darted swiftly down the hill, and glanced
      across the marsh like a moonbeam.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Plague on it!&rdquo; cried Henry, &ldquo;I have again forgotten to question her about
      her birth.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Shall I despatch this knave, my liege?&rdquo; cried Suffolk, pointing with his
      sword to Fenwolf.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By no means,&rdquo; said the king; &ldquo;something may be learnt from him. Hark
      thee, thou felon hound; if thou indeed servest the fiend, thou seest he
      deserts thee, as he does all who put faith in him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I see it,&rdquo; replied Fenwolf, who, finding resistance vain, had folded his
      hands doggedly upon his breast.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then confess thy evil practices,&rdquo; said the king.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Give me my life, and I will,&rdquo; replied Fenwolf. And as he uttered the
      words, he caught sight of the dark figure of Herne, stationed at the side
      of the oak, with its right arm raised menacingly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What seest thou?&rdquo; cried Henry, remarking his fixed gaze towards the tree,
      and glancing in that direction.
    </p>
    <p>
      Fenwolf made no reply.
    </p>
    <p>
      Henry went up to the tree, and walked round it, but he could see nothing.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will scour the forest to-morrow,&rdquo; he muttered, &ldquo;and hang every knave I
      find within it who cannot give a good account of himself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ho! ho! ho!&rdquo; laughed a voice, which seemed to proceed from the branches
      of the tree. Henry looked up, but no one was visible.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;God's death&mdash;derided!&rdquo; he roared. &ldquo;Man or devil, thou shalt feel my
      wrath.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ho! ho! ho!&rdquo; again laughed the voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      Stamping with rage, Henry swore a great oath, and smote the trunk of the
      tree with his sword.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your majesty will search in vain,&rdquo; said Suffolk; &ldquo;it is clearly the fiend
      with whom you have to deal, and the aid of holy priests must be obtained
      to drive him from the forest.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ho! ho! ho!&rdquo; again laughed the voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      A party of horsemen now appeared in view. They proved to be the royal
      attendants, who had ridden forward in search of the king, and were
      instantly hailed by Henry and Suffolk. They were headed by Captain
      Bouchier, who at a sign from the king instantly dismounted.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Give me your horse, Bouchier,&rdquo; said Henry, &ldquo;and do you and half-a-dozen
      of your men remain on guard at this tree till I send a troop of
      arquebusiers to relieve you. When they arrive, station them near it, and
      let them remain here till I return in the morning. If any one appears,
      make him a prisoner.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your majesty's orders shall be faithfully obeyed,&rdquo; replied Bouchier.
    </p>
    <p>
      Bound hand and foot, Fenwolf was thrown upon the back of a horse, and
      guarded by two halberdiers, who were prepared to strike him dead on the
      slightest movement. In this way he was conveyed to the castle, and placed
      in the guard-chamber of the lower gate till further orders should be
      issued respecting him.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      IX.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     Showing how Morgan Fenwolf escaped from the Garter Tower.
</pre>
    <p>
      Half-an-hour afterwards Fenwolf was visited by the Duke of Suffolk and a
      canon of the college; and the guard-chamber being cleared, the duke
      enjoined him to make clear his bosom by confession.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I hold it my duty to tell you, prisoner,&rdquo; said Suffolk, &ldquo;that there is no
      hope of your life. The king's highness is determined to make a fearful
      example of you and all your companions in crime; but he does not seek to
      destroy your soul, and has therefore sent this holy man to you, with the
      desire that you may open your heart to him, and by confession and
      repentance save yourself from eternal perdition.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Confession will profit me nothing,&rdquo; said Fenwolf moodily. &ldquo;I cannot pray
      if I would.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You cannot be so utterly lost, my son,&rdquo; rejoined the canon. &ldquo;Hell may
      have woven her dark chains round you, but not so firmly but that the hand
      of Heaven can burst them.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You waste time in seeking to persuade me,&rdquo; returned Fenwolf.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are not ignorant of the punishment inflicted upon those condemned for
      sorcery, my son?&rdquo; demanded the canon.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is the stake, is it not?&rdquo; replied Fenwolf
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay,&rdquo; replied the canon; &ldquo;but even that fiery trial will fail to purge out
      your offences without penitence. My lord of Suffolk, this wretched man's
      condition demands special attention. It will profit the Church much to win
      his soul from the fiend. Let him, I pray you, be removed to the dungeon
      beneath the Garter Tower, where a priest shall visit him, and pray by his
      side till daybreak.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It will be useless, father,&rdquo; said Fenwolf.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I do not despair, my son,&rdquo; replied the canon; &ldquo;and when I see you again
      in the morning I trust to find you in a better frame of mind.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The duke then gave directions to the guard to remove the prisoner, and
      after some further conference with the canon, returned to the royal
      apartments.
    </p>
    <p>
      Meanwhile, the canon shaped his course towards the Horseshoe Cloisters, a
      range of buildings so designated from their form, and situated at the west
      end of St. George's Chapel, and he had scarcely entered them when he heard
      footsteps behind him, and turning at the sound, beheld a Franciscan friar,
      for so his habit of the coarsest grey cloth, tied with a cord round the
      waist, proclaimed him. The friar was very tall and gaunt, and his cowl was
      drawn over his face so as to conceal his features.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What would you, brother?&rdquo; inquired the canon, halting. &ldquo;I have a request
      to make of you, reverend sir,&rdquo; replied the friar, with a lowly inclination
      of the head. &ldquo;I have just arrived from Chertsey Abbey, whither I have been
      tarrying for the last three days, and while conversing with the guard at
      the gate, I saw a prisoner brought into the castle charged with heinous
      offences, and amongst others, with dealings with the fiend.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have been rightly informed, brother,&rdquo; rejoined the canon.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And have I also been rightly informed that you desire a priest to pass
      the night with him, reverend sir?&rdquo; returned the friar. &ldquo;If so, I would
      crave permission to undertake the office. Two souls, as deeply laden as
      that of this poor wretch, have been snatched from the jaws of Satan by my
      efforts, and I do not despair of success now.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Since you are so confident, brother,&rdquo; said the canon, &ldquo;I commit him
      readily to your hands. I was about to seek other aid, but your offer comes
      opportunely. With Heaven's help I doubt not you will achieve a victory
      over the evil one.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      As the latter words were uttered a sudden pain seemed to seize the friar.
      Staggering slightly, he caught at the railing of the cloisters for
      support, but he instantly recovered himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is nothing, reverend sir,&rdquo; he said, seeing that the good canon
      regarded him anxiously. &ldquo;Long vigils and fasting have made me liable to
      frequent attacks of giddiness, but they pass as quickly as they come. Will
      it please you to go with me, and direct the guard to admit me to the
      prisoner?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The canon assented; and crossing the quadrangle, they returned to the
      gateway.
    </p>
    <p>
      Meanwhile, the prisoner had been removed to the lower chamber of the
      Garter Tower. This fortification, one of the oldest in the castle, being
      coeval with the Curfew Tower, is now in a state of grievous neglect and
      ruin. Unroofed, unfloored, filled with rubbish, masked by the yard walls
      of the adjoining habitations, with one side entirely pulled down, and a
      great breach in front, it is solely owing to the solid and rock-like
      construction of its masonry that it is indebted for partial preservation.
      Still, notwithstanding its dilapidated condition, and that it is the mere
      shell of its former self, its appearance is highly picturesque. The walls
      are of prodigious thickness, and the deep embrasures within them are
      almost perfect; while a secret staircase may still be tracked partly round
      the building. Amid the rubbish choking up its lower chamber grows a young
      tree, green and flourishing-a type, it is to be hoped, of the restoration
      of the structure.
    </p>
    <p>
      Conducted to a low vaulted chamber in this tower, the prisoner was cast
      upon its floor-for he was still hound hand and foot-and left alone and in
      darkness. But he was not destined to continue in this state long. The door
      of the dungeon opened, and the guard ushered in the tall Franciscan friar.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What ho! dog of a prisoner,&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;here is a holy man come to pass
      the night with you in prayer.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He may take his Ave Maries and Paternosters elsewhere-I want them not,&rdquo;
       replied Fenwolf moodily.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You would prefer my bringing Herne the Hunter, no doubt,&rdquo; rejoined the
      guard, laughing at his own jest; &ldquo;but this is a physician for your soul.
      The saints help you in your good work, father; you will have no easy
      task.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Set down the light, my son,&rdquo; cried the friar harshly, &ldquo;and leave us; my
      task will be easily accomplished.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Placing the lamp on the stone floor of the dungeon, the guard withdrew,
      and locked the door after him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do you repent, my son?&rdquo; demanded the friar, as soon as they were alone.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Certes, I repent having put faith in a treacherous fiend, who has
      deserted me-but that is all,&rdquo; replied Fenwolf, with his face turned to the
      ground.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Will you put faith in me, if I promise you deliverance?&rdquo; demanded the
      friar.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You promise more than you can perform, as most of your brethren do,&rdquo;
       rejoined the other.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You will not say so if you look up,&rdquo; said the friar.
    </p>
    <p>
      Fenwolf started at the words, which were pronounced in a different tone
      from that previously adopted by the speaker, and raised himself as far as
      his bonds would permit him. The friar had thrown hack his cowl, and
      disclosed features of appalling hideousness, lighted up by a diabolical
      grin.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You here!&rdquo; cried Fenwolf.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You doubted me,&rdquo; rejoined Herne, &ldquo;but I never desert a follower. Besides,
      I wish to show the royal Harry that my power is equal to his own.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But how are we to get out of this dungeon?&rdquo; asked Fenwolf, gazing round
      apprehensively.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My way out will be easy enough,&rdquo; replied Herne; &ldquo;but your escape is
      attended with more difficulty. You remember how we went to the vaulted
      chamber in the Curfew Tower on the night when Mark Fytton, the butcher,
      was confined within it?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I do,&rdquo; replied Fenwolf; &ldquo;but I can think of nothing while I am tied
      thus.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Heme instantly drew forth a hunting-knife, and cutting Fenwolf's bonds
      asunder, the latter started to his feet.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If that bull-headed butcher would have joined me, I would have liberated
      him as I am about to liberate you,&rdquo; pursued Herne. &ldquo;But to return to the
      matter in hand. You recollect the secret passage we then tracked? There is
      just such another staircase in this tower.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And stepping to the farther side of the chamber, he touched a small knob
      in the wall, and a stone flew hack, disclosing an aperture just large
      enough to allow a man to pass through it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There is your road to freedom,&rdquo; he said, pointing to the hole. &ldquo;Creep
      along that narrow passage, and it will bring you to a small loophole in
      the wall, not many feet from the ground. The loophole is guarded by a bar
      of iron, but it is moved by a spring in the upper part of the stone in
      which it appears to be mortised. This impediment removed, you will easily
      force your way through the loophole. Drop cautiously, for fear of the
      sentinels on the walls; then make your way to the forest, and if you
      'scape the arquebusiers who are scouring it, conceal yourself in the
      sandstone cave below the beech-tree.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And what of you?&rdquo; asked Fenwoif.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have more to do here,&rdquo; replied Herne impatiently-&ldquo;away!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Thus dismissed, Fenwolf entered the aperture, which was instantly closed
      after him by Herne. Carefully following the instructions of his leader,
      the keeper passed through the loophole, let himself drop softly down, and
      keeping close to the walls of the tower till he heard the sentinels move
      off, darted swiftly across the street and made good his escape.
    </p>
    <p>
      Meanwhile Herne drew the cowl over his head, and stepping to the door,
      knocked loudly against it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What would you, father?&rdquo; cried the guard from without.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Enter, my son, and you shall know,&rdquo; replied Herne.
    </p>
    <p>
      The next moment the door was unlocked, and the guard advanced into the
      dungeon.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ha!&rdquo; he exclaimed, snatching up the lamp and looking around, &ldquo;where is
      the prisoner?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Gone,&rdquo; replied Herne.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What! has the fiend flown away with him?&rdquo; cried the man, in mixed
      astonishment and alarm.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He has been set free by Herne the Hunter!&rdquo; cried the demon. &ldquo;Tell all who
      question thee so, and relate what thou now seest.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      At the words a bright blue flame illumined the chamber, in the midst of
      which was seen the tall dark figure of Herne. His Franciscan's gown had
      dropped to his feet, and he appeared habited in his wild deer-skin garb.
      With a loud cry, the guard fell senseless on the ground.
    </p>
    <p>
      A few minutes after this, as was subsequently ascertained, a tall
      Franciscan friar threaded the cloisters behind Saint George's Chapel, and
      giving the word to the sentinels, passed through the outer door
      communicating with the steep descent leading to the town.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      X.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     How Herne the Hunter was himself hunted.
</pre>
    <p>
      On the guard's recovery, information of what had occurred was immediately
      conveyed to the king, who had not yet retired to rest, but was sitting in
      his private chamber with the Dukes of Suffolk and Norfolk. The
      intelligence threw him into a great fury: he buffeted the guard, and
      ordered him to be locked up in the dungeon whence the prisoner had
      escaped; reprimanded the canon; directed the Duke of Suffolk, with a
      patrol, to make search in the neighbourhood of the castle for the fugitive
      and the friar; and bade the Duke of Norfolk get together a band of
      arquebusiers; and as soon as the latter were assembled, he put himself at
      their head and again rode into the forest.
    </p>
    <p>
      The cavalcade had proceeded about a mile along the great avenue, when one
      of the arquebusiers rode up and said that he heard some distant sounds on
      the right. Commanding a halt, Henry listened for a moment, and, satisfied
      that the man was right, quitted the course he was pursuing, and dashed
      across the broad glade now traversed by the avenue called Queen Anne's
      Ride. As he advanced the rapid trampling of horses was heard, accompanied
      by shouts, and presently afterwards a troop of wild-looking horsemen in
      fantastic garbs was seen galloping down the hill, pursued by Bouchier and
      his followers. The king immediately shaped his course so as to intercept
      the flying party, and, being in some measure screened by the trees, he
      burst unexpectedly upon them at a turn of the road.
    </p>
    <p>
      Henry called to the fugitives to surrender, but they refused, and,
      brandishing their long knives and spears, made a desperate resistance. But
      they were speedily surrounded and overpowered. Bouchier inquired from the
      king what should be done with the prisoners.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hang them all upon yon trees!&rdquo; cried Henry, pointing to two sister oaks
      which stood near the scene of strife.
    </p>
    <p>
      The terrible sentence was immediately carried into execution. Cords were
      produced, and in less than half-an-hour twenty breathless bodies were
      swinging from the branches of the two trees indicated by the king.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This will serve to deter others from like offences,&rdquo; observed Henry, who
      had watched the whole proceedings with savage satisfaction. &ldquo;And now,
      Bouchier, how came you to let the leader of these villains escape?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I did not know he had escaped, my liege,&rdquo; replied Bouchier, in
      astonishment.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yea, marry, but he has escaped,&rdquo; rejoined Henry; &ldquo;and he has had the
      audacity to show himself in the castle within this hour, and the cunning,
      moreover, to set the prisoner free.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And he proceeded to relate what had occurred.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This is strange indeed, my liege,&rdquo; replied Bouchier, at the close of the
      king's recital, &ldquo;and to my thinking, is proof convincing that we have to
      do with a supernatural being.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Supernatura!&mdash;pshaw!&mdash;banish the idle notion,&rdquo; rejoined Henry
      sternly. &ldquo;We are all the dupes of some jugglery. The caitiff will
      doubtless return to the forest. Continue your search, therefore, for him
      throughout the night. If you catch him, I promise you a royal reward.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      So saying, he rode back to the castle, somewhat appeased by the wholesale
      vengeance he had taken upon the offenders.
    </p>
    <p>
      In obedience to the orders he had received, Bouchier, with his followers,
      continued riding about the forest during the whole night, but without
      finding anything to reward his search, until about dawn it occurred to him
      to return to the trees on which the bodies were suspended. As he
      approached them he fancied he beheld a horse standing beneath the nearest
      tree, and immediately ordered his followers to proceed as noiselessly as
      possible, and to keep under the cover of the wood. A nearer advance
      convinced him that his eyes had not deceived him. It was a swart,
      wild-looking horse that he beheld, with eyes that flamed like carbuncles,
      while a couple of bodies, evidently snatched from the branches, were laid
      across his back. A glance at the trees, too, showed Bouchier that they had
      been considerably lightened of their hideous spoil.
    </p>
    <p>
      Seeing this, Bouchier dashed forward. Alarmed by the noise, the wild horse
      neighed loudly, and a dark figure instantly dropped from the tree upon its
      back, and proceeded to disencumber it of its load. But before this could
      be accomplished, a bolt from a cross-bow, shot by one of Bouchier's
      followers, pierced the animal's brain. Rearing aloft, it fell backwards in
      such manner as would have crushed an ordinary rider, but Herne slipped off
      uninjured, and with incredible swiftness darted among the trees. The
      others started in pursuit, and a chase commenced in which the demon
      huntsman had to sustain the part of the deer&mdash;nor could any deer have
      afforded better sport.
    </p>
    <p>
      Away flew the pursued and pursuers over broad glade and through tangled
      glen, the woods resounding with their cries. Bouchier did not lose sight
      of the fugitive for a moment, and urged his men to push on; but, despite
      his alternate proffers and menaces, they gained but little on Herne, who,
      speeding towards the home park, cleared its high palings with a single
      bound.
    </p>
    <p>
      Over went Bouchier and his followers, and they then descried him making
      his way to a large oak standing almost alone in the centre of a wide
      glade. An instant afterwards he reached the tree, shook his arm menacingly
      at his pursuers, and vanished.
    </p>
    <p>
      The next moment Bouchier came up, flung himself from his panting steed,
      and, with his drawn sword in hand, forced himself through a rift in its
      side into the tree. There was a hollow within it large enough to allow a
      man to stand upright, and two funnel-like holes ran upwards into the
      branches. Finding nothing, Bouchier called for a hunting-spear, and thrust
      it as far as he could into the holes above. The point encountered no
      obstruction except such as was offered by the wood itself. He stamped upon
      the ground, and sounded it on all sides with the spear, but with no better
      success.
    </p>
    <p>
      Issuing forth he next directed his attention to the upper part of the
      tree, which, while he was occupied inside, had been very carefully watched
      by his followers, and not content with viewing it from below, he clambered
      into the branches. But they had nothing to show except their own leafy
      covering.
    </p>
    <p>
      The careful examination of the ground about the tree at length led to the
      discovery of a small hole among its roots, about half a dozen yards from
      the trunk, and though this hole seemed scarcely large enough to serve for
      an entrance to the burrow of a fox, Bouchier deemed it expedient to keep a
      careful watch over it.
    </p>
    <p>
      His investigation completed, he dispatched a sergeant of the guard to the
      castle to acquaint the king with what had occurred.
    </p>
    <p>
      Disturbed by the events of the night, Henry obtained little sleep, and at
      an early hour summoned an attendant, and demanded whether there were any
      tidings from the forest The attendant replied that a sergeant of the guard
      was without, sent by Captain Bouchier with a message for his majesty. The
      sergeant was immediately admitted to the royal presence, and on the close
      of his marvellous story the king, who had worked himself into a tremendous
      fury during its relation, roared out, &ldquo;What! foiled again? ha! But he
      shall not escape, if I have to root up half the trees in the forest.
      Bouchier and his fellows must be bewitched. Harkye, knaves: get together a
      dozen of the best woodmen and yeomen in the castle&mdash;instantly, as you
      value your lives; bid them bring axe and saw, pick and spade. D'ye mark
      me? ha! Stay, I have not done. I must have fagots and straw, for I will
      burn this tree to the ground&mdash;burn it to a char. Summon the Dukes of
      Suffolk and Norfolk&mdash;the rascal archer I dubbed the Duke of
      Shoreditch and his mates&mdash;the keepers of the forest and their hounds&mdash;summon
      them quickly, and bid a band of the yeomen of the guard get ready.&rdquo; And he
      sprang from his couch.
    </p>
    <p>
      The king's commands were executed with such alacrity, that by the time he
      was fully attired the whole of the persons he had ordered to be summoned
      were assembled. Putting himself at their head, he rode forth to the home
      park, and found Bouchier and his followers grouped around the tree.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We are still at fault, my liege,&rdquo; said Bouchier.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;So I see, Sir,&rdquo; replied the king angrily. &ldquo;Hew down the tree instantly,
      knaves,&rdquo; he added to the woodmen. &ldquo;Fall to&mdash;fall to.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Ropes were then fastened to the head of the tree, and the welkin resounded
      with the rapid strokes of the hatchets. It was a task of some difficulty,
      but such zeal and energy were displayed by the woodmen that ere long the
      giant trunk lay prostrate on the ground. Its hollows were now fully
      exposed to view, but they were empty.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Set fire to the accursed piece of timber!&rdquo; roared the king, &ldquo;and burn it
      to dust, and scatter it to the wind!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      At these orders two yeomen of the guard advanced, and throwing down a heap
      of fagots, straw, and other combustibles on the roots of the tree, soon
      kindled a fierce fire.
    </p>
    <p>
      Meanwhile a couple of woodmen, stripped of their jerkins, and with their
      brawny arms bared to the shoulder, mounted on the trunk, and strove to
      split it asunder. Some of the keepers likewise got into the branches, and
      peered into every crack and crevice, in the hope of making some discovery.
      Amongst the latter was Will Sommers, who had posted himself near a great
      arm of the tree, which he maintained when lopped off would be found to
      contain the demon.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nor were other expedients neglected. A fierce hound had been sent into the
      hole near the roots of the tree by Gabriel Lapp, but after a short absence
      he returned howling and terrified, nor could all the efforts of Gabriel,
      seconded by a severe scourging with his heavy dog-whip, induce him to
      enter it again.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the hound had come forth, a couple of yeomen advanced to enlarge the
      opening, while a third with a pick endeavoured to remove the root, which
      formed an impediment to their efforts.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;They may dig, but they'll never catch him,&rdquo; observed Shoreditch, who
      stood by, to his companions. &ldquo;Hunting a spirit is not the same thing as
      training and raising a wolf, or earthing and digging out a badger.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not so loud, duke,&rdquo; said Islington; &ldquo;his majesty may think thy jest
      irreverent.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have an arrow blessed by a priest,&rdquo; said Paddington, &ldquo;which I shall let
      fly at the spirit if he appears.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Here he is&mdash;here he is!&rdquo; cried Will Sommers, as a great white horned
      owl, which had been concealed in some part of the tree, flew forth.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It may be the demon in that form&mdash;shoot! shoot!&rdquo; cried Shoreditch.
    </p>
    <p>
      Paddington bent his bow. The arrow whistled through the air, and in
      another moment the owl fell fluttering to the ground completely
      transfixed; but it underwent no change, as was expected by the credulous
      archer.
    </p>
    <p>
      Meanwhile the fire, being kept constantly supplied with fresh fagots, and
      stirred by the yeomen of the guard, burnt bravely. The lower part of the
      tree was already consumed, and the flames, roaring through the hollow
      within with a sound like that of a furnace, promised soon to reduce it to
      charcoal.
    </p>
    <p>
      The mouth of the hole having now been widened, another keeper, who had
      brought forward a couple of lurchers, sent them into it; but in a few
      moments they returned, as the hound had done, howling and with scared
      looks. Without heeding their enraged master, they ran off, with their
      tails between their legs, towards the castle.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I see how it is, Rufus,&rdquo; said Gabriel, patting his hound, who looked
      wistfully and half-reproachfully at him. &ldquo;Thou wert not to blame, poor
      fellow! The best dog that ever was whelped cannot be expected to face the
      devil.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Though long ere this it had become the general opinion that it was useless
      to persevere further in the search, the king, with his characteristic
      obstinacy, would not give it up. In due time the whole of the trunk of the
      enormous tree was consumed, and its branches cast into the fire. The roots
      were rent from the ground, and a wide and deep trench digged around the
      spot. The course of the hole was traced for some distance, but it was
      never of any size, and was suddenly lost by the falling in of the earth.
    </p>
    <p>
      At length, after five hours' close watching, Henry's patience was
      exhausted, and he ordered the pit to be filled up, and every crevice and
      fissure in the ground about to be carefully stopped.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If we cannot unkennel the fox,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;we will at least earth him up.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;For all your care, gossip Henry,&rdquo; muttered Will Sommers, as he rode after
      his royal master to the castle, &ldquo;the fox will work his way out.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      THUS ENDS THE SECOND BOOK OF THE CHRONICLE OF WINDSOR CASTLE <a
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    <h2>
      BOOK III. THE HISTORY OF THE CASTLE
    </h2>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025">
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    <h2>
      I.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     Comprising the First Two Epochs in the History of Windsor
     Castle.
</pre>
    <p>
      Amid the gloom hovering over the early history of Windsor Castle appear
      the mighty phantoms of the renowned King Arthur and his knights, for whom
      it is said Merlin reared a magic fortress upon its heights, in a great
      hall whereof, decorated with trophies of war and of the chase, was placed
      the famous Round Table. But if the antique tale is now worn out, and no
      longer part of our faith, it is pleasant at least to record it, and
      surrendering ourselves for a while to the sway of fancy, to conjure up the
      old enchanted castle on the hill, to people its courts with warlike and
      lovely forms, its forests with fays and giants.
    </p>
    <p>
      Windsor, or Wyndleshore, so called from the winding banks of the river
      flowing past it, was the abode of the ancient Saxon monarchs; and a legend
      is related by William of Malmesbury of a woodman named Wulwin, who being
      stricken with blindness, and having visited eighty-seven churches and
      vainly implored their tutelary saints for relief, was at last restored to
      sight by the touch of Edward the Confessor, who further enhanced the boon
      by making him keeper of his palace at Windsor. But though this story may
      be doubted, it is certain that the pious king above mentioned granted
      Windsor to the abbot and monks of Saint Peter at Westminster, &ldquo;for the
      hope of eternal reward, the remission of his sins, the sins of his father,
      mother, and all his ancestors, and to the praise of Almighty God, as a
      perpetual endowment and inheritance.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      But the royal donation did not long remain in the hands of the priesthood.
      Struck by the extreme beauty of the spot, &ldquo;for that it seemed exceeding
      profitable and commodious, because situate so near the Thames, the wood
      fit for game, and many other particulars lying there, meet and necessary
      for kings&mdash;yea, a place very convenient for his reception,&rdquo; William
      the Conqueror prevailed upon Abbot Edwin to accept in exchange for it
      Wakendune and Feringes, in Essex, together with three other tenements in
      Colchester; and having obtained possession of the coveted hill, he
      forthwith began to erect a castle upon it&mdash;occupying a space of about
      half a hide of land. Around it he formed large parks, to enable him to
      pursue his favourite pastime of hunting; and he enacted and enforced
      severe laws for the preservation of the game.
    </p>
    <p>
      As devoted to the chase as his father, William Rufus frequently hunted in
      the forests of Windsor, and solemnised some of the festivals of the Church
      in the castle.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the succeeding reign&mdash;namely, that of Henry the First&mdash;the
      castle was entirely rebuilt and greatly enlarged&mdash;assuming somewhat
      of the character of a palatial residence, having before been little more
      than a strong hunting-seat. The structure then erected in all probability
      occupied the same site as the upper and lower wards of the present pile;
      but nothing remains of it except perhaps the keep, and of that little
      beyond its form and position. In 1109 Henry celebrated the feast of
      Pentecost with great state and magnificence within the castle. In 1122 he
      there espoused his second wife, Adelicia, daughter of Godfrey, Duke of
      Louvain; and failing in obtaining issue by her, assembled the barons at
      Windsor, and causing them, together with David, King of Scotland, his
      sister Adela, and her son Stephen, afterwards King of England, to do
      homage to his daughter Maud, widow of the Emperor Henry the Fifth.
    </p>
    <p>
      Proof that Windsor Castle was regarded as the second fortress in the realm
      is afforded by the treaty of peace between the usurper Stephen and the
      Empress Maud, in which it is coupled with the Tower of London under the
      designation of Mota de Windsor. At the signing of the treaty it was
      committed to the custody of Richard de Lucy, who was continued in the
      office of keeper by Henry the Second.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the reign of this monarch many repairs were made in the castle, to
      which a vineyard was attached&mdash;the cultivation of the grape being at
      this time extensively practised throughout England. Strange as the
      circumstance may now appear, Stow mentions that vines grew in abundance in
      the home park in the reign of Richard the Second, the wine made from them
      being consumed at the king's table, and even sold.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is related by Fabian that Henry, stung by the disobedience and
      ingratitude of his sons, caused an allegorical picture to be painted,
      representing an old eagle assailed by four young ones, which he placed in
      one of the chambers of the castle. When asked the meaning of the device,
      he replied, &ldquo;I am the old eagle, and the four eaglets are my sons, Who
      cease not to pursue my death. The youngest bird, who is tearing out its
      parent's eyes, is my son John, my youngest and best-loved son, and who yet
      is the most eager for my destruction.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      On his departure for the holy wars Richard Coeur de Lion entrusted the
      government of the castle to Hugh de Pudsey, Bishop of Durham and Earl of
      Northumberland; but a fierce dispute arising between the warrior-prelate
      and his ambitious colleague, William Longchamp, Bishop of Ely, he was
      seized and imprisoned by the latter, and compelled to surrender the
      castle. After an extraordinary display of ostentation, Longchamp was
      ousted in his turn. On the arrival of the news of Richard's capture and
      imprisonment in Austria, the castle was seized by Prince John; but it was
      soon afterwards taken possession of in the king's behalf by the barons,
      and consigned to the custody of Eleanor, the queen-dowager.
    </p>
    <p>
      In John's reign the castle became the scene of a foul and terrible event
      William de Braose, a powerful baron, having offended the king, his wife
      Maud was ordered to deliver up her son a hostage for her husband. But
      instead of complying with the injunction, she rashly returned for answer&mdash;&ldquo;that
      she would not entrust her child to the person who could slay his own
      nephew.&rdquo; Upon which the ruthless king seized her and her son, and
      enclosing them in a recess in the wall of the castle, built them up within
      it.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sorely pressed by the barons in 1215, John sought refuge within the
      castle, and in the same year signed the two charters, Magna Charta and
      Charta de Foresta, at Runnymede&mdash;a plain between Windsor and Staines.
      A curious account of his frantic demeanour, after divesting himself of so
      much power and extending so greatly the liberties of the subject, is given
      by Holinshed:&mdash;&ldquo;Having acted so far contrary to his mind, the king
      was right sorrowful in heart, cursed his mother that bare him, and the
      hour in which he was born; wishing that he had received death by violence
      of sword or knife instead of natural nourishment. He whetted his teeth,
      and did bite now on one staff, now on another, as he walked, and oft brake
      the same in pieces when he had done, and with such disordered behaviour
      and furious gestures he uttered his grief, that the noblemen very well
      perceived the inclination of his inward affection concerning these things
      before the breaking-up of the council, and therefore sore lamented the
      state of the realm, guessing what would follow of his impatience, and
      displeasant taking of the matter.&rdquo; The faithless king made an attempt to
      regain his lost power, and war breaking out afresh in the following year,
      a numerous army, under the command of William de Nivernois, besieged the
      castle, which was stoutly defended by Inglehard de Achie and sixty
      knights. The barons, however, learning that John was marching through
      Norfolk and Suffolk, and ravaging the country, hastily raised the siege
      and advanced to meet him. But he avoided them, marched to Stamford and
      Lincoln, and from thence towards Wales. On his return from this expedition
      he was seized with the distemper of which he died.
    </p>
    <p>
      Henry the Third was an ardent encourager of architecture, and his reign
      marks the second great epoch in the annals of the castle. In 1223 eight
      hundred marks were paid to Engelhard de Cygony, constable of the castle,
      John le Draper, and William the clerk of Windsor, masters of the works,
      and others, for repairs and works within the castle; the latter, it is
      conjectured, referring to the erection of a new great hall within the
      lower ward, there being already a hall of small dimensions in the upper
      court. The windows of the new building were filled with painted glass, and
      at the upper end, upon a raised dais, was a gilt throne sustaining a
      statue of the king in his robes. Within this vast and richly decorated
      chamber, in 1240, on the day of the Nativity, an infinite number of poor
      persons were collected and fed by the king's command.
    </p>
    <p>
      During the greater part of Henry's long and eventful reign the works
      within the castle proceeded with unabated activity. Carpenters were
      maintained on the royal establishment; the ditch between the hall and the
      lower ward was repaired; a new kitchen was built; the bridges were
      repaired with timber procured from the neighbouring forests; certain
      breaches in the wall facing the garden were stopped; the fortifications
      were surveyed, and the battlements repaired. At the same time the queen's
      chamber was painted and wainscoted, and iron bars were placed before the
      windows of Prince Edward's chamber. In 1240 Henry commenced building an
      apartment for his own use near the wall of the castle, sixty feet long and
      twenty-eight high; another apartment for the queen contiguous to it; and a
      chapel, seventy feet long and twenty-eight feet wide, along the same wall,
      but with a grassy space between it and the royal apartments. The chapel,
      as appears from an order to Walter de Grey, Archbishop of York, had a
      Galilee and a cloister, a lofty wooden roof covered with lead, and a stone
      turret in front holding three or four bells. Withinside it was made to
      appear like stone-work with good ceiling and painting, and it contained
      four gilded images.
    </p>
    <p>
      This structure is supposed to have been in existence, under the
      designation of the Old College Church, in the latter part of the reign of
      Henry the Seventh, by whom it was pulled down to make way for the
      tomb-house. Traces of its architecture have been discovered by diligent
      antiquarian research in the south ambulatory of the Dean's Cloister, and
      in the door behind the altar in St. George's Chapel, the latter of which
      is conceived to have formed the principal entrance to the older structure,
      and has been described as exhibiting &ldquo;one of the most beautiful specimens
      which time and innovation have respected of the elaborate ornamental work
      of the period.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      In 1241 Henry commenced operations upon the outworks of the castle, and
      the three towers on the western side of the lower ward&mdash;now known as
      the Curfew, the Garter, and the Salisbury Towers&mdash;were erected by
      him. He also continued the walls along the south side of the lower ward,
      traces of the architecture of the period being discoverable in the inner
      walls of the houses of the alms-knights as far as the tower now bearing
      his name. From thence it is concluded that the ramparts ran along the east
      side of the upper ward to a tower occupying the site of the Wykeham or
      Winchester Tower.
    </p>
    <p>
      The three towers at the west end of the lower ward, though much
      dilapidated, present unquestionable features of the architecture of the
      thirteenth century. The lower storey of the Curfew Tower, which has been
      but little altered, consists of a large vaulted chamber, twenty-two feet
      wide, with walls of nearly thirteen feet in thickness, and having arched
      recesses terminated by loopholes. The walls are covered with the
      inscriptions of prisoners who have been confined within it. The Garter
      Tower, though in a most ruinous condition, exhibits high architectural
      beauty in its moulded arches and corbelled passages. The Salisbury Tower
      retains only externally, and on the side towards the town, its original
      aspect. The remains of a fourth tower are discernible in the Governor of
      the Alms-Knights' Tower; and Henry the Third's Tower, as before observed,
      completes what remains of the original chain of fortifications.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the 24th of November 1244 Henry issued a writ enjoining &ldquo;the clerks of
      the works at Windsor to work day and night to wainscot the high chamber
      upon the wall of the castle near our chapel in the upper bailey, so that
      it may be ready and properly wainscoted on Friday next [the 24th occurring
      on a Tuesday, only two days were allowed for the task], when we come
      there, with boards radiated and coloured, so that nothing be found
      reprehensible in that wainscot; and also to make at each gable of the said
      chamber one glass window, on the outside of the inner window of each
      gable, so that when the inner window shall be closed the glass windows may
      be seen outside.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The following year the works were suspended, but they were afterwards
      resumed and continued, with few interruptions; the keep was new
      constructed; a stone bench was fixed in the wall near the grass-plot by
      the king's chamber; a bridge was thrown across the ditch to the king's
      garden, which lay outside the walls; a barbican was erected, to which a
      portcullis was subsequently attached; the bridges were defended by strong
      iron chains; the old chambers in the upper ward were renovated; a conduit
      and lavatory were added; and a fountain was constructed in the garden.
    </p>
    <p>
      In this reign, in all probability, the Norman Tower, which now forms a
      gateway between the middle and the upper ward, was erected. This tower, at
      present allotted to the house keeper of the castle, Lady Mary Fox, was
      used as a prison-lodging during the civil wars of Charles the First's
      time; and many noble and gallant captives have left mementoes of their
      loyalty and ill fate upon its walls.
    </p>
    <p>
      In 1260 Henry received a visit to Windsor from his daughter Margaret, and
      her husband, Alexander the Third, King of Scotland. The queen gave birth
      to a daughter during her stay at the castle.
    </p>
    <p>
      In 1264, during the contest between Henry and the barons, the valiant
      Prince Edward, his son, returning from a successful expedition into Wales,
      surprised the citizens of London, and carrying off their military chest,
      in which was much treasure, retired to Windsor Castle and strongly
      garrisoned it. The Queen Eleanor, his mother, would fain have joined him
      there, but she was driven back by the citizens at London Bridge, and
      compelled to take sanctuary in the palace of the Bishop of London, at St.
      Paul's.
    </p>
    <p>
      Compelled at length to surrender the castle to the barons, and to depart
      from it with his consort, Eleanor of Castile, the brave prince soon
      afterwards recovered it, but was again forced to deliver it up to Simon de
      Montford, Earl of Leicester, who appointed Geoffrey de Langele governor.
      But though frequently wrested from him at this period, Windsor Castle was
      never long out of Henry's possession; and in 1265 the chief citizens of
      London were imprisoned till they had paid the heavy fine imposed upon them
      for their adherence to Simon de Montford, who had been just before slain
      at the battle of Evesham.
    </p>
    <p>
      During this reign a terrific storm of wind and thunder occurred, which
      tore up several great trees in the park, shook the castle, and blew down a
      part of the building in which the queen and her family were lodged, but
      happily without doing them injury.
    </p>
    <p>
      Four of the children of Edward the First, who was blessed with a numerous
      offspring, were born at Windsor; and as he frequently resided at the
      castle, the town began to increase in importance and consideration. By a
      charter granted in 1276 it was created a free borough, and various
      privileges were conferred on its inhabitants. Stow tells us that in 1295,
      on the last day of February, there suddenly arose such a fire in the
      castle of Windsor that many offices were therewith consumed, and many
      goodly images, made to beautify the buildings, defaced and deformed.
    </p>
    <p>
      Edward the Second, and his beautiful but perfidious queen, Isabella of
      France, made Windsor Castle their frequent abode; and here, on the 13th
      day of November 1312 at forty minutes past five in the morning, was born a
      prince, over whose nativity the wizard Merlin must have presided. Baptized
      within the old chapel by the name of Edward, this prince became afterwards
      the third monarch of the name, and the greatest, and was also styled, from
      the place of his birth, EDWARD OF WINDSOR.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      II.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     Comprising the Third Great Epoch in the History of the
     Castle&mdash;And showing how the Most Noble Order of the Garter
     was instituted.
</pre>
    <p>
      Strongly attached to the place of his birth, Edward the Third, by his
      letters patent dated from Westminster, in the twenty-second year of his
      reign, now founded the ancient chapel established by Henry the First, and
      dedicated it to the Virgin, Saint George of Cappadocia, and Saint Edward
      the Confessor; ordaining that to the eight canons appointed by his
      predecessor there should be added one custos, fifteen more canons, and
      twenty-four alms-knights; the whole to be maintained out of the revenues
      with which the chapel was to be endowed. The institution was confirmed by
      Pope Clement the Sixth, by a bull issued at Avignon the 13th of November
      1351.
    </p>
    <p>
      In 1349, before the foundation of the college had been confirmed, as above
      related, Edward instituted the Order of the Garter. The origin of this
      illustrious Order has been much disputed. By some writers it has been
      ascribed to Richard Coeur de Lion, who is said to have girded a leathern
      band round the legs of his bravest knights in. Palestine. By others it has
      been asserted that it arose from the word &ldquo;garter&rdquo; having been used as a
      watchword by Edward at the battle of Cressy. Others again have stoutly
      maintained that its ringlike form bore mysterious reference to the Round
      Table. But the popular legend, to which, despite the doubts thrown upon
      it, credence still attaches, declares its origin to be as follows: Joan,
      Countess of Salisbury, a beautiful dame, of whom Edward was enamoured,
      while dancing at a high festival accidentally slipped her garter, of blue
      embroidered velvet. It was picked up by her royal partner, who, noticing
      the significant looks of his courtiers on the occasion, used the words to
      them which afterwards became the motto of the Order&mdash;&ldquo;Honi soit qui
      mal y pense;&rdquo; adding that &ldquo;in a short time they should see that garter
      advanced to so high honour and estimation as to account themselves happy
      to wear it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      But whatever may have originated the Order, it unquestionably owes its
      establishment to motives of policy. Wise as valiant, and bent upon
      prosecuting his claim to the crown of France, Edward, as a means of
      accomplishing his object, resolved to collect beneath his standard the
      best knights in Europe, and to lend a colour to the design, he gave forth
      that he intended a restoration of King Arthur's Round Table, and
      accordingly commenced constructing within the castle a large circular
      building of two hundred feet in diameter, in which he placed a round
      table. On the completion of the work, he issued proclamations throughout
      England, Scotland, France, Burgundy, Flanders, Brabant, and the Empire,
      inviting all knights desirous of approving their valour to a solemn feast
      and jousts to be holden within the castle of Windsor on Saint George's
      Day, 1345. The scheme was completely successful. The flower of the
      chivalry of Europe&mdash;excepting that of Philip the Sixth of France,
      who, seeing through the design, interdicted the attendance of his
      knights-were present at the tournament, which was graced by Edward and his
      chief nobles, together with his queen and three hundred of her fairest
      dames, &ldquo;adorned with all imaginable gallantry.&rdquo; At this chivalrous
      convocation the institution of the Order of the Garter was arranged; but
      before its final establishment Edward assembled his principal barons and
      knights, to determine upon the regulations, when it was decided that the
      number should be limited to twenty-six.
    </p>
    <p>
      The first installation took place on the anniversary of Saint George, the
      patron of the Order, 1349, when the king, accompanied by the twenty-five
      knights'-companions, attired in gowns of russet, with mantles of fine blue
      woollen cloth, powdered with garters, and hearing the other insignia of
      the Order, marched bareheaded in solemn procession to the chapel of Saint
      George, then recently rebuilt, where mass was performed by William
      Edington, Bishop of Winchester, after which they partook of a magnificent
      banquet. The festivities were continued for several days. At the jousts
      held on this occasion, David, King of Scotland, the Lord Charles of Blois,
      and Ralph, Earl of Eu and Guisnes, and Constable of France, to whom the
      chief prize of the day was adjudged, with others, then prisoners,
      attended. The harness of the King of Scotland, embroidered with a pale of
      red velvet, and beneath it a red rose, was provided at Edward's own
      charge. This suit of armour was, until a few years back, preserved in the
      Round Tower, where the royal prisoner was confined. Edward's device was a
      white swan, gorged, or, with the &ldquo;daring and inviting&rdquo; motto&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      Hay hay the wythe swan By God's soul I am thy man.
    </p>
    <p>
      The insignia of the Order in the days of its founder were the garter,
      mantle, surcoat, and hood, the George and collar being added by Henry the
      Eighth. The mantle, as before intimated, was originally of fine blue
      woollen cloth; but velvet, lined with taffeta, was substituted by Henry
      the Sixth, the left shoulder being adorned with the arms of Saint George,
      embroidered within a garter. Little is known of the materials of which the
      early garter was composed; but it is supposed to have been adorned with
      gold, and fastened with a buckle of the same metal. The modern garter is
      of blue velvet, bordered with gold wire, and embroidered with the motto,
      &ldquo;Honi soit qui mal y pense.&rdquo; It is worn on the left leg, a little below
      the knee. The most magnificent garter that ever graced a sovereign was
      that presented to Charles the First by Gustavus Adolphus, King of Sweden,
      each letter in the motto of which was composed of diamonds. The collar is
      formed of pieces of gold fashioned like garters, with a blue enamelled
      ground. The letters of the motto are in gold, with a rose enamelled red in
      the centre of each garter. From the collar hangs the George, an ornament
      enriched with precious stones, and displaying the figure of the saint
      encountering the dragon.
    </p>
    <p>
      The officers of the Order are the prelate, represented by the Bishop of
      Winchester; the Chancellor, by the Bishop of Oxford; the registrar, dean,
      garter king-at-arms, and the usher of the black rod. Among the foreign
      potentates who have been invested with the Order are eight emperors of
      Germany, two of Russia, five kings of France, three of Spain, one of
      Arragon, seven of Portugal, one of Poland, two of Sweden, six of Denmark,
      two of Naples, one of Sicily and Jerusalem, one of Bohemia, two of
      Scotland, seven princes of Orange, and many of the most illustrious
      personages of different ages in Europe.
    </p>
    <p>
      Truly hath the learned Selden written, &ldquo;that the Order of the Garter hath
      not only precedency of antiquity before the eldest rank of honour of that
      kind anywhere established, but it exceeds in majesty, honour, and fame all
      chivalrous orders in the world.&rdquo; Well also hath glorious Dryden, in the
      &ldquo;Flower and the Leaf,&rdquo; sung the praises of the illustrious Institution:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Behold an order yet of newer date, Doubling their number, equal in their
      state; Our England's ornament, the crown's defence, In battle brave,
      protectors of their prince: Unchanged by fortune, to their sovereign true,
      For which their manly legs are bound with blue. These of the Garter
      call'd, of faith unstain'd, In fighting fields the laurel have obtain'd,
      And well repaid the laurels which they gained.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      In 1357 John, King of France, defeated at the battle of Poitiers by Edward
      the Black Prince, was brought captive to Windsor; and on the festival of
      Saint George in the following year; 1358, Edward outshone all his former
      splendid doings by a tournament which he gave in honour of his royal
      prisoner. Proclamation having been made as before, and letters of safe
      conduct issued, the nobles and knighthood of Almayne, Gascoigne, Scotland,
      and other countries, flocked to attend it, The Queen of Scotland, Edward's
      sister, was present at the jousts; and it is said that John, commenting
      upon the splendour of the spectacle, shrewdly observed &ldquo;that he never saw
      or knew such royal shows and feastings without some after-reckoning.&rdquo; The
      same monarch replied to his kingly captor, who sought to rouse him from
      dejection, on another occasion&mdash;&ldquo;Quomodo cantabimus canticum in terra
      aliena!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      That his works might not be retarded for want of hands, Edward in the
      twenty-fourth year of his reign appointed John de Sponlee master of the
      stonehewers, with a power not only &ldquo;to take and keep, as well within the
      liberties as without, as many masons and other artificers as were
      necessary, and to convey them to Windsor, but to arrest and imprison such
      as should disobey or refuse; with a command to all sheriffs, mayors,
      bailiffs, etc., to assist him.&rdquo; These powers were fully acted upon at a
      later period, when some of the workmen, having left their employment, were
      thrown into Newgate; while the place of others, who had been carried off
      by a pestilence then raging in the castle, was supplied by impressment.
    </p>
    <p>
      In 1356 WILLIAM OF WYKEHAM was constituted superintendent of the works,
      with the same powers as John de Sponlee, and his appointment marks an
      important era in the annals of the castle. Originally secretary to Edward
      the Third, this remarkable man became Bishop of Winchester and prelate of
      the Garter. When he solicited the bishopric, it is said that Edward told
      him he was neither a priest nor a scholar; to which he replied that he
      would soon be the one, and in regard to the other, he would make more
      scholars than all the bishops of England ever did. He made good his word
      by founding the collegiate school at Winchester, and erecting New College
      at Oxford. When the Winchester Tower was finished, he caused the words,
      HOC FECIT WYKEHAM, to be carved upon it; and the king, offended at his
      presumption, Wykeham turned away his displeasure by declaring that the
      inscription meant that the castle had made him, and not that he had made
      the castle. It is a curious coincidence that this tower, after a lapse of
      four centuries and a half, should become the residence of an architect
      possessing the genius of Wykeham, and who, like him, had rebuilt the
      kingly edifice&mdash;SIR JEFFRY WYATVILLE.
    </p>
    <p>
      William of Wykeham retired from office, loaded with honours, in 1362, and
      was succeeded by William de Mulso. He was interred in the cathedral at
      Winchester. His arms were argent, two chevrons, sable, between three
      roses, gules, with the motto&mdash;&ldquo;Manners maketh man.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      In 1359 Holinshed relates that the king &ldquo;set workmen in hand to take down
      much old buildings belonging to the castle, and caused divers other fine
      and sumptuous works to be set up in and about the same castle, so that
      almost all the masons and carpenters that were of any account in the land
      were sent for and employed about the same works.&rdquo; The old buildings here
      referred to were probably the remains of the palace and keep of Henry the
      First in the middle ward.
    </p>
    <p>
      As the original chapel dedicated to Saint George was demolished by Edward
      the Fourth, its position and form cannot be clearly determined, But a
      conjecture has been hazarded that it occupied the same ground as the choir
      of the present chapel, and extended farther eastward.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Upon the question of its style,&rdquo; says Mr. Poynter, from whose valuable
      account of the castle much information has been derived, &ldquo;there is the
      evidence of two fragments discovered near this site, a corbel and a
      piscina, ornamented with foliage strongly characteristic of the Decorated
      English Gothic, and indicating, by the remains of colour on their
      surfaces, that they belonged to an edifice adorned in the polychromatic
      style, so elaborately developed in the chapel already built by Edward the
      Third at Westminster.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The royal lodgings, Saint George's Hall, the buildings on the east and
      north sides of the upper ward, the Round Tower, the canons' houses in the
      lower ward, and the whole circumference of the castle, exclusive of the
      towers erected in Henry the Third's reign, were now built. Among the
      earlier works in Edward's reign is the Dean's Cloister. The square of the
      upper ward, added by this monarch, occupied a space of four hundred and
      twenty feet, and encroached somewhat upon the middle ward. Externally the
      walls presented a grim, regular appearance, broken only by the buttresses,
      and offering no other apertures than the narrow loopholes and gateways.
      Some traces of the architecture of the period may still be discerned in
      the archway and machecoulis of the principal gateway adjoining the Round
      Tower; the basement chamber of the Devil Tower, or Edward the Third's
      Tower; and in the range of groined and four-centred vaulting, extending
      along the north side of the upper quadrangle, from the kitchen gateway to
      King John's Tower.
    </p>
    <p>
      In 1359 Queen Philippa, consort of Edward the Third, breathed her last in
      Windsor Castle.
    </p>
    <p>
      Richard the Second, grandson of Edward the Third, frequently kept his
      court at Windsor. Here, in 1382, it was determined by council that war
      should be declared against France; and here, sixteen years later, on a
      scaffold erected within the castle, the famous appeal for high treason was
      made by Henry of Lancaster, Duke of Hereford, against Thomas Mowbray, Duke
      of Norfolk, the latter of whom defied his accuser to mortal combat. The
      duel was stopped by the king, and the adversaries banished; but the Duke
      of Lancaster afterwards returned to depose his banisher. About the same
      time, the citizens of London having refused Richard a large loan, he
      summoned the lord mayor, sheriffs, aldermen, and twenty-four of the
      principal citizens, to his presence, and after rating them soundly,
      ordered them all into custody, imprisoning the lord mayor in the castle.
    </p>
    <p>
      In this reign Geoffrey Chaucer, &ldquo;the father of English poetry,&rdquo; was
      appointed clerk to the works of Saint George's Chapel, at a salary of two
      shillings per day (a sum equal to 657 pounds per annum of modern money),
      with the same arbitrary power as had been granted to previous surveyors to
      impress carpenters and masons. Chaucer did not retain his appointment more
      than twenty months, and was succeeded by John Gedney.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was at Windsor that Henry the Fourth, scarcely assured of the crown he
      had seized, received intelligence of a conspiracy against his life from
      the traitorous Aumerle, who purchased his own safety at the expense of his
      confederates. The timely warning enabled the king to baffle the design. It
      was in Windsor also that the children of Mortimer, Earl of March, the
      rightful successor to the throne, were detained as hostages for their
      father. Liberated by the Countess-dowager of Gloucester, who contrived to
      open their prison door with false keys, the youthful captives escaped to
      the marshes of Wales, where, however, they were overtaken by the
      emissaries of Henry, and brought back to their former place of
      confinement.
    </p>
    <p>
      A few years later another illustrious prisoner was brought to Windsor&mdash;namely,
      Prince James, the son of King Robert the Third, and afterwards James the
      First of Scotland. This prince remained a captive for upwards of eighteen
      years; not being released till 1424, in the second of Henry the Sixth, by
      the Duke of Bedford, then regent. James's captivity, and his love for Jane
      of Beaufort, daughter of the Duke of Somerset, and granddaughter to John
      of Gaunt, to whom he was united, have breathed a charm over the Round
      Tower, where he was confined; and his memory, like that of the chivalrous
      and poetical Surrey, whom he resembled in character and accomplishments,
      will be ever associated with it.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the &ldquo;King's Quair,&rdquo; the royal poet has left an exquisite picture of a
      garden nook, contrived within the dry moat of the dungeon.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Now was there made, fast by the tower's wall, A garden faire, and in the
      corners set An arbour green with wandis long and small Railed about, and
      so with leaves beset Was all the place, and hawthorn hedges knet, That lyf
      was none, walking there forbye, That might within scarce any wight espy.
      So thick the branches and the leave's green Beshaded all the alleys that
      there were. And midst of every harbour might be seen The sharpe, green,
      sweet juniper, Growing so fair with branches here and there, That as it
      seemed to a lyf without The boughs did spread the arbour all about.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And he thus describes the first appearance of the lovely Jane, and the
      effect produced upon him by her charms:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And therewith cast I down mine eye again, Where as I saw walking under
      the tower, Full secretly, new comyn her to plain, The fairest and the
      freshest younge flower That e'er I saw, methought, before that hour; For
      which sudden abate, anon did start The blood of all my body to my heart.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Henry the Fifth occasionally kept his court at Windsor, and in 1416
      entertained with great magnificence the Emperor Sigismund, who brought
      with him an invaluable relic&mdash;the heart of Saint George&mdash;which
      he bestowed upon the chapter. The emperor was at the same time invested
      with the Order.
    </p>
    <p>
      In 1421 the unfortunate Henry the Sixth was born within the castle, and in
      1484 he was interred within it.
    </p>
    <p>
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      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      III.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     Comprising the Fourth Epoch in the History of the Castle&mdash;
     And showing how Saint George's Chapel was rebuilt by King
     Edward the Fourth.
</pre>
    <p>
      Finding the foundation and walls of Saint George's Chapel much dilapidated
      and decayed, Edward the Fourth resolved to pull down the pile, and build a
      larger and statelier structure in its place. With this view, he
      constituted Richard Beauchamp, Bishop of Salisbury, surveyor of the works,
      from whose designs arose the present beautiful edifice. To enable the
      bishop to accomplish the work, power was given him to remove all
      obstructions, and to enlarge the space by the demolition of the three
      buildings then commonly called Clure's Tower, Berner's Tower, and the
      Almoner's Tower.
    </p>
    <p>
      The zeal and assiduity with which Beauchamp prosecuted his task is
      adverted to in the patent of his appointment to the office of chancellor
      of the Garter, the preamble whereof recites, &ldquo;that out of mere love
      towards the Order, he had given himself the leisure daily to attend the
      advancement and progress of this goodly fabric.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The chapel, however, was not completed in one reign, or by one architect.
      Sir Reginald Bray, prime minister of Henry the Seventh, succeeded Bishop
      Beauchamp as surveyor of the works, and it was by him that the matchless
      roof of the choir and other parts of the fabric were built. Indeed, the
      frequent appearance of Bray's arms, sometimes single, sometimes impaling
      his alliances, in many parts of the ceiling and windows, has led to the
      supposition that he himself contributed largely to the expense of the
      work. The groined ceiling of the chapel was not commenced till the
      twenty-seventh year of the reign of Henry the Seventh, when the pinnacles
      of the roof were decorated with vanes, supported by gilt figures of lions,
      antelopes, greyhounds, and dragons, the want of which is still a detriment
      to the external beauty of the structure.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The main vaulting of St. George's Chapel,&rdquo; says Mr. Poynter, &ldquo;is perhaps,
      without exception, the most beautiful specimen of the Gothic stone roof in
      existence; but it has been very improperly classed with those of the same
      architectural period in the chapels of King's College, Cambridge, and
      Henry the Seventh, at Westminster. The roofing of the aisle and the centre
      compartment of the body of the building are indeed in that style, but the
      vault of the nave and choir differ essentially from fan vaulting, both in
      drawing and construction. It is, in fact, a waggon-headed vault, broken by
      Welsh groins&mdash;that is to say, groins which cut into the main arch
      below the apex. It is not singular in the principle of its design, but it
      is unique in its proportions, in which the exact mean seems to be attained
      between the poverty and monotony of a waggon-headed ceiling and the
      ungraceful effect of a mere groined roof with a depressed roof or large
      span&mdash;to which may be added, that with a richness of effect scarcely,
      if at all, inferior to fan tracery, it is free from those abrupt junctions
      of the lines and other defects of drawing inevitable when the length and
      breadth of the compartments of fan vaulting differ very much, of which
      King's College Chapel exhibits some notable instances.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Supported by these exquisite ribs and groins, the ceiling is decorated
      with heraldic insignia, displaying the arms of Edward the Confessor,
      Edward the Third, Edward the Black Prince, Henry the Sixth, Edward the
      Fourth, Henry the Seventh, and Henry the Eighth; with the arms of England
      and France quartered, the holy cross, the shield or cross of Saint George,
      the rose, portcullis, lion rampant, unicorn, fleur-de-lis, dragon, and
      prince's feathers, together with the arms of a multitude of noble
      families. In the nave are emblazoned the arms of Henry the Eighth, and of
      several knights-companions, among which are those of Charles the Fifth,
      Francis the First, and Ferdinand, Infant of Spain. The extreme lightness
      and graceful proportions of the pillars lining the aisles contribute
      greatly to the effect of this part of the structure.
    </p>
    <p>
      Beautiful, however, as is the body of the chapel, it is not comparable to
      the choir. Here, and on either side, are ranged the stalls of the knights,
      formerly twenty-six in number, but now increased to thirty-two,
      elaborately carved in black oak, and covered by canopies of the richest
      tabernacle-work, supported by slender pillars. On the pedestals is
      represented the history of the Saviour, and on the front of the stalls at
      the west end of the choir is carved the legend of Saint George; while on
      the outside of the upper seat is cut, in old Saxon characters, the
      twentieth Psalm in Latin. On the canopies of the stalls are placed the
      mantle, helmet, coat, and sword of the knights-companions; and above them
      are hung their emblazoned banners. On the back of each stall are fixed
      small enamelled plates, graven with the titles of the knights who have
      occupied it. The ancient stall of the sovereign was removed in 1788, and a
      new seat erected.
    </p>
    <p>
      The altar was formerly adorned with costly hangings of crimson velvet and
      gold, but these, together with the consecrated vessels of great value,
      were seized by order of Parliament in 1642 amid the general plunder of the
      foundation. The service of the altar was replaced by Charles the Second.
    </p>
    <p>
      The sovereign's stall is immediately on the right on the entrance to the
      choir, and the prince's on the left. The queen's closet is on the north
      side above the altar. Beneath it is the beautiful and elaborately-wrought
      framework of iron, representing a pair of gates between two Gothic towers,
      designed as a screen to the tomb of Edward the Fourth, and which, though
      popularly attributed to Quentin Matsys, has with more justice been
      assigned to Master John Tressilian.
    </p>
    <p>
      One great blemish to the chapel exists in the window over the altar, the
      mullions and tracery of which have been removed to make way for dull
      colourless copies in painted glass of West's designs. Instead of &mdash;&ldquo;blushing
      with the blood of kings, And twilight saints, and dim emblazonings&rdquo;&mdash;steeping
      the altar in rich suffusion, chequering the walls and pavement with
      variegated hues, and filling the whole sacred spot with a warm and
      congenial glow, these panes produce a cold, cheerless, and most
      disagreeable effect.
    </p>
    <p>
      The removal of this objectionable feature, and the restoration of
      framework and compartments in the style of the original, and enriched with
      ancient mellow-toned and many-hued glass in keeping with the place, are
      absolutely indispensable to the completeness and unity of character of the
      chapel. Two clerestory windows at the east end of the choir, adjoining the
      larger window, have been recently filled with stained glass in much better
      taste.
    </p>
    <p>
      The objections above made may be urged with equal force against the east
      and west windows of the south aisle of the body of the fane, and the west
      window of the north aisle. The glorious west window, composed of eighty
      compartments, embellished with figures of kings, patriarchs, and bishops,
      together with the insignia of the Garter and the arms of the prelates&mdash;the
      wreck gathered from all the other windows&mdash;and streaming with the
      radiance of the setting sun upon the broad nave and graceful pillars of
      the aisles&mdash;this superb window, an admirable specimen of the
      architecture of the age in which it was designed, had well-nigh shared the
      fate of the others, and was only preserved from desecration by the
      circumstance of the death of the glass-painter. The mullions of this
      window being found much decayed, were carefully and consistently restored
      during the last year by Mr. Blore, and the ancient stained glass replaced.
    </p>
    <p>
      Not only does Saint George's Chapel form a house of prayer and a temple of
      chivalry, but it is also the burial-place of kings. At the east end of the
      north aisle of the choir is a plain flag, bearing the words&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      King Edward IIII. And his Queen Elizabeth Widville.
    </p>
    <p>
      The coat of mail and surcoat, decorated with rubies and precious stones,
      together with other rich trophies once ornamenting this tomb, were carried
      off by the Parliamentary plunderers. Edward's queen, Elizabeth Woodville,
      it was thought, slept beside him; but when the royal tomb was opened in
      1789, and the two coffins within it examined, the smaller one was found
      empty. The queen's body was subsequently discovered in a stone coffin by
      the workmen employed in excavating the vault for George the Third.
      Edward's coffin was seven feet long, and contained a perfect skeleton. On
      the opposite aisle, near the choir door, as already mentioned, rests the
      ill-fated Henry the Sixth, beneath an arch sumptuously embellished by
      Henry the Eighth, on the key-stone of which may still be seen his arms,
      supported by two antelopes connected by a golden chain. Henry's body was
      removed from Chertsey, where it was first interred, and reburied in 1484,
      with much solemnity, in this spot. Such was the opinion entertained of his
      sanctity that miracles were supposed to be wrought upon his tomb, and
      Henry the Seventh applied to have him canonised, but the demands of the
      Pope were too exorbitant. The proximity of Henry and Edward in death
      suggested the following lines to Pope&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Here, o'er the martyr-king the marble weeps, And fast beside him
      once-fear'd Edward sleeps; The grave unites, where e'en the grave finds
      rest, And mingled here the oppressor and the opprest.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      In the royal vault in the choir repose Henry the Eighth and his third
      queen Jane Seymour, together with the martyred Charles the First.
    </p>
    <p>
      Space only permits the hasty enumeration of the different chapels and
      chantries adorning this splendid fane. These are Lincoln Chapel, near
      which Richard Beauchamp, Bishop of Salisbury, is buried; Oxenbridge
      Chapel; Aldworth Chapel; Bray Chapel, where rests the body of Sir Reginald
      de Bray, the architect of the pile; Beaufort Chapel, containing sumptuous
      monuments of the noble family of that name; Rutland Chapel; Hastings
      Chapel; and Urswick Chapel, in which is now placed the cenotaph of the
      Princess Charlotte, sculptured by Matthew Wyatt.
    </p>
    <p>
      In a vault near the sovereign's stall lie the remains of the Duke of
      Gloucester, who died in 1805, and of his duchess, who died two years after
      him. And near the entrance of the south door is a slab of grey marble,
      beneath which lies \one who in his day filled the highest offices of the
      realm, and was the brother of a king and the husband of a queen. It is
      inscribed with the great name of Charles Brandon.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the east end of the north aisle is the chapter-house, in which is a
      portrait and the sword of state of Edward the Third.
    </p>
    <p>
      Adjoining the chapel on the east stands the royal tombhouse. Commenced by
      Henry the Seventh as a mausoleum, but abandoned for the chapel in
      Westminster Abbey, this structure was granted by Henry the Eighth to
      Wolsey, who, intending it as a place of burial for himself, erected within
      it a sumptuous monument of black and white marble, with eight large brazen
      columns placed around it, and four others in the form of candlesticks.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the time of the cardinal's disgrace, when the building reverted to the
      crown, the monument was far advanced towards completion&mdash;the vast sum
      of 4280 ducats having been paid to Benedetto, a Florentine sculptor, for
      work, and nearly four hundred pounds for gilding part of it. This tomb was
      stripped of its ornaments and destroyed by the Parliamentary rebels in
      1646; but the black marble sarcophagus forming part of it, and intended as
      a receptacle for Wolsey's own remains, escaped destruction, and now covers
      the grave of Nelson in a crypt of Saint Paul's Cathedral.
    </p>
    <p>
      Henry the Eighth was not interred in this mausoleum, but in Saint George's
      Chapel, as has just been mentioned, and as he himself directed, &ldquo;midway
      between the state and the high altar.&rdquo; Full instructions were left by him
      for the erection of a monument which, if it had been completed, would have
      been truly magnificent. The pavement was to be of oriental stones, with
      two great steps upon it of the same material. The two pillars of the
      church between which the tomb was to be set were to be covered with
      bas-reliefs, representing the chief events of the Old Testament, angels
      with gilt garlands, fourteen images of the prophets, the apostles, the
      evangelists, and the four doctors of the Church, and at the foot of every
      image a little child with a basket full of red and white roses enamelled
      and gilt. Between these pillars, on a basement of white marble, the
      epitaphs of the king and queen were to be written in letters of gold.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the same basement were to be two tombs of black touchstone supporting
      the images of the king and queen, not as dead, but sleeping, &ldquo;to show,&rdquo; so
      runs the order, &ldquo;that famous princes leaving behind them great fame do
      never die.&rdquo; On the right hand, at either corner of the tomb, was to be an
      angel holding the king's arms, with a great candlestick, and at the
      opposite corners two other angels hearing the queen's arms and
      candlesticks. Between the two black tombs was to rise a high basement,
      like a sepulchre, surmounted by a statue of the king on horseback, in
      armour&mdash;both figures to be &ldquo;of the whole stature of a goodly man and
      a large horse.&rdquo; Over this statue was to be a canopy, like a triumphal
      arch, of white marble, garnished with oriental stones of divers colours,
      with the history of Saint John the Baptist wrought in gilt brass upon it,
      with a crowning group of the Father holding the soul of the king in his
      right hand and the soul of the queen in his left, and blessing them. The
      height of the monument was to be twenty-eight feet.
    </p>
    <p>
      The number of statues was to be one hundred and thirty-four, with
      forty-four bas-reliefs. It would be matter of infinite regret that this
      great design was never executed, if its destruction by the Parliamentary
      plunderers would not in that case have been also matter of certainty.
    </p>
    <p>
      Charles the First intended to fit up this structure as a royal mausoleum,
      but was diverted from the plan by the outbreak of the civil war. It was
      afterwards used as a chapel by James the Second, and mass was publicly
      performed in it. The ceiling was painted by Verrio, and the walls highly
      ornamented; but the decorations were greatly injured by the fury of an
      anti-Catholic mob, who assailed the building, and destroyed its windows,
      on the occasion of a banquet given to the Pope's nuncio by the king.
    </p>
    <p>
      In this state it continued till the commencement of the present century,
      when the exterior was repaired by George the Third, and a vault, seventy
      feet in length, twenty-eight in width, and fourteen in depth, constructed
      within it, for the reception of the royal family. Catacombs, formed of
      massive octangular pillars, and supporting ranges of shelves, line the
      walls on either side.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the eastern extremity there are five niches, and in the middle twelve
      low tombs. A subterranean passage leads from the vault beneath the choir
      of Saint George's altar to the sepulchre. Within it are deposited the
      bodies of George the Third and Queen Charlotte, the Princesses Amelia and
      Charlotte, the Dukes of Kent and York, and the last two sovereigns, George
      the Fourth and William the Fourth.
    </p>
    <p>
      But to return to the reign of Edward the Fourth, from which the desire to
      bring down the history of Saint George's Chapel to the present time has
      led to the foregoing digression. About the same time that the chapel was
      built, habitations for the dean and canons were erected on the north-east
      of the fane, while another range of dwellings for the minor canons was
      built at its west end, disposed in the form of a fetterlock, one of the
      badges of Edward the Fourth, and since called the Horse-shoe Cloisters.
      The ambulatory of these cloisters once displayed a fine specimen of the
      timber architecture of Henry the Seventh's time, when they were repaired,
      but little of their original character can now be discerned.
    </p>
    <p>
      In 1482 Edward, desirous of advancing his popularity with the citizens of
      London, invited the lord mayor and aldermen to Windsor, where he feasted
      them royally, and treated them to the pleasures of the chase, sending them
      back to their spouses loaded with game.
    </p>
    <p>
      In 1484 Richard the Third kept the feast of Saint George at Windsor, and
      the building of the chapel was continued during his reign.
    </p>
    <p>
      The picturesque portion of the castle on the north side of the upper ward,
      near the Norman Gateway, and which is one of the noblest Gothic features
      of the proud pile, was built by Henry the Seventh, whose name it still
      bears. The side of this building looking towards the terrace was
      originally decorated with two rich windows, but one of them has
      disappeared, and the other has suffered much damage.
    </p>
    <p>
      In 1500 the deanery was rebuilt by Dean Urswick. At the lower end of the
      court, adjoining the canons' houses behind the Horse-shoe Cloisters,
      stands the Collegiate Library, the date of which is uncertain, though it
      may perhaps be referred to this period. The establishment was enriched in
      later times by a valuable library, bequeathed to it by the Earl of
      Ranelagh.
    </p>
    <p>
      In 1506 Windsor was the scene of great festivity, in consequence of the
      unexpected arrival of Philip, King of Castile, and his queen, who had been
      driven by stress of weather into Weymouth. The royal visitors remained for
      several weeks at the castle, during which it continued a scene of revelry,
      intermixed with the sports of the chase. At the same time Philip was
      invested with the Order of the Garter, and installed in the chapel of St.
      George.
    </p>
    <p>
      The great gateway to the lower ward was built in the commencement of the
      reign of Henry the Eighth; it is decorated with his arms and devices&mdash;the
      rose, portcullis, and fleur-de-lis, and with the bearings of Catherine of
      Arragon. In 1522 Charles the Fifth visited Windsor, and was installed I
      knight of the Garter.
    </p>
    <p>
      During a period of dissension in the council, Edward the Sixth was removed
      for safety to Windsor by the Lord Protector Somerset, and here, at a later
      period, the youthful monarch received a letter from the council urging the
      dismissal of Somerset, with which, by the advice of the Arch-bishop of
      Canterbury, he complied.
    </p>
    <p>
      In this reign an undertaking to convey water to the castle from Blackmore
      Park, near Wingfield, a distance of five miles, was commenced, though it
      was not till 1555, in the time of Mary, that the plan was accomplished,
      when a pipe was brought into the upper ward, &ldquo;and there the water
      plenteously did rise thirteen feet high.&rdquo; In the middle of the court was
      erected a magnificent fountain, consisting of a canopy raised upon
      columns, gorgeously decorated with heraldic ornaments, and surmounted by a
      great vane, with the arms of Philip and Mary impaled upon it, and
      supported by a lion and an eagle, gilt and painted. The water was
      discharged by a great dragon, one of the supporters of the Tudor arms,
      into the cistern beneath, whence it was conveyed by pipes to every part of
      the castle.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mary held her court at Windsor soon after her union with Philip of Spain.
      About this period the old habitations of the alms-knights on the south
      side of the lower quadrangle were taken down, and others erected in their
      stead.
    </p>
    <p>
      Fewer additions were made to Windsor Castle by Elizabeth than might have
      been expected from her predilection for it as a place of residence. She
      extended and widened the north terrace, where, when lodging within the
      castle, she daily took exercise, whatever might be the weather. The
      terrace at this time, as it is described by Paul Hentzner, and as it
      appears in Norden's view, was a sort of balcony projecting beyond the
      scarp of the hill, and supported by great cantilevers of wood.
    </p>
    <p>
      In 1576 the gallery still bearing her name, and lying between Henry the
      Seventh's buildings and the Norman Tower, was erected by Elizabeth. This
      portion of the castle had the good fortune to escape the alterations and
      modifications made in almost every other part of the upper ward after the
      restoration of Charles the Second. It now forms the library. A large
      garden was laid out by the same queen, and a small gateway on Castle Hill
      built by her&mdash;which afterwards became one of the greatest
      obstructions to the approach, and it was taken down by George the Fourth.
    </p>
    <p>
      Elizabeth often hunted in the parks, and exhibited her skill in archery,
      which was by no means inconsiderable, at the butts. Her fondness for
      dramatic performances likewise induced her to erect a stage within the
      castle, on which plays and interludes were performed. And to her
      admiration of the character of Falstaff, and her love of the locality, the
      world is indebted for the &ldquo;Merry Wives of Windsor.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      James the First favoured Windsor as much as his predecessors; caroused
      within its halls, and chased the deer in its parks; Christian the Fourth
      of Denmark was sumptuously entertained by him at Windsor. In this reign a
      curious dispute occurred between the king and the dean and chapter
      respecting the repair of a breach in the wall, which was not brought to
      issue for three years, when, after much argument, it was decided in favour
      of the clergy.
    </p>
    <p>
      Little was done at Windsor by Charles the First until the tenth year of
      his reign, when a banqueting-house erected by Elizabeth was taken down,
      and the magnificent fountain constructed by Queen Mary demolished. Two
      years after wards &ldquo;a pyramid or lantern,&rdquo; with a clock, hell, and dial,
      was ordered to be set up in front of the castle, and a balcony was erected
      before the room where Henry the Sixth was born.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the early part of the year 1642 Charles retired to Windsor to shield
      himself from the insults of the populace, and was followed by a committee
      of the House of Commons, who prevailed upon him to desist from the
      prosecution of the impeached members. On the 23rd of October in the same
      year, Captain Fogg, at the head of a Parliamentarian force, demanded the
      keys of the college treasury, and, not being able to obtain them, forced
      open the doors, and carried off the whole of the plate.
    </p>
    <p>
      The plunder of the college was completed by Vane, the Parliamentary
      governor of the castle, who seized upon the whole of the furniture and
      decorations of the choir, rifled the tomb of Edward the Fourth, stripped
      off all the costly ornaments from Wolsey's tomb, defaced the emblazonings
      over Henry the Sixth's grave, broke the rich painted glass of the windows,
      and wantonly destroyed the exquisite woodwork of the choir.
    </p>
    <p>
      Towards the close of the year 1648 the ill-fated Charles was brought a
      prisoner to Windsor, where he remained while preparations were made for
      the execrable tragedy soon afterwards enacted. After the slaughter of the
      martyr-monarch the castle became the prison of the Earl of Norwich, Lord
      Capel, and the Duke of Hamilton, and other royalists and cavaliers.
    </p>
    <p>
      Cromwell frequently resided within the castle, and often took a moody and
      distrustful walk upon the terrace. It was during the Protectorate, in
      1677, that the ugly buildings appropriated to the naval knights, and
      standing between the Garter Tower and Chancellor's Tower, were erected by
      Sir Francis Crane.
    </p>
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    <h2>
      IV.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     Containing the History of the Castle from the Reign of
     Charles the Second to that of George the Third&mdash;With a few
     Particulars concerning the Parks and the Forest. Windsor
     Castle.
</pre>
    <p>
      ON the Restoration the castle resumed its splendour, and presented a
      striking contrast to the previous gloomy period. The terrace, with its
      festive groups, resembled a picture by Watteau, the courts resounded with
      laughter, and the velvet sod of the home park was as often pressed by the
      foot of frolic beauty as by that of the tripping deer.
    </p>
    <p>
      Seventeen state apartments were erected by Sir Christopher Wren, under the
      direction of Sir John Denham. The ceilings were painted by Verrio, and the
      walls decorated with exquisite carvings by Grinling Gibbons. A grand
      staircase was added at the same time. Most of the chambers were hung with
      tapestry, and all adorned with pictures and costly furniture. The addition
      made to the castle by Charles was the part of the north front, then called
      the &ldquo;Star Building,&rdquo; from the star of the Order of the Garter worked in
      colours in the front of it, but now denominated the &ldquo;Stuart Building,&rdquo;
       extending eastward along the terrace from Henry the Seventh's building one
      hundred and seventy feet. In 1676 the ditch was filled up, and the terrace
      carried along the south and east fronts of the castle.
    </p>
    <p>
      Meanwhile the original character of the castle was completely destroyed
      and Italianised. The beautiful and picturesque irregularities of the walls
      were removed, the towers shaved off, the windows transformed into
      commonplace circular-headed apertures. And so the castle remained for more
      than a century.
    </p>
    <p>
      Edward the Third's Tower, indifferently called the Earl Marshal's Tower
      and the Devil Tower, and used as a place of confinement for state
      prisoners, was now allotted to the maids of honour. It was intended by
      Charles to erect a monument in honour of his martyred father on the site
      of the tomb-house, which he proposed to remove, and 70,000 pounds were
      voted by Parliament for this purpose. The design, however, was abandoned
      under the plea that the body could not be found, though it was perfectly
      well known where it lay. The real motive, probably, was that Charles had
      already spent the money.
    </p>
    <p>
      In 1680 an equestrian statue of Charles the Second, executed by Strada, at
      the expense of Tobias Rustat, formerly housekeeper at Hampton Court, was
      placed in the centre of the upper ward. It now stands at the lower end of
      the same court. The sculptures on the pedestal were designed by Grinling
      Gibbons; and Horace Walpole pleasantly declared that the statue had no
      other merit than to attract attention to them.
    </p>
    <p>
      In old times a road, forming a narrow irregular avenue, ran through the
      woods from the foot of the castle to Snow Hill but this road having been
      neglected during a long series of years, the branches of the trees and
      underwood had so much encroached upon it as to render it wholly
      impassable. A grand avenue, two hundred and forty feet wide, was planned
      by Charles in its place, and the magnificent approach called the Long Walk
      laid out and planted.
    </p>
    <p>
      The only material incident connected with the castle during the reign of
      James the Second has been already related.
    </p>
    <p>
      Windsor was not so much favoured as Hampton Court by William the Third,
      though he contemplated alterations within it during the latter part of his
      life which it may be matter of rejoicing were never accomplished.
    </p>
    <p>
      Queen Anne's operations were chiefly directed towards the parks, in
      improving which nearly 40,000 pounds were expended. In 1707 the extensive
      avenue running almost parallel with the Long Walk, and called the &ldquo;Queen's
      Walk,&rdquo; was planted by her; and three years afterwards a carriage road was
      formed through the Long Walk. A garden was also planned on the north side
      of the castle. In this reign Sir James Thornhill commenced painting
      Charles the Second's staircase with designs from Ovid's Metamorphoses, but
      did not complete his task till after the accession of George the First.
      This staircase was removed in 1800, to make way for the present Gothic
      entrance erected by the elder Wyatt.
    </p>
    <p>
      The first two monarchs of the house of Hanover rarely used Windsor as a
      residence, preferring Hampton Court and Kensington; and even George the
      Third did not actually live in the castle, but in the Queen's Lodge&mdash;a
      large detached building, with no pretension to architectural beauty, which
      he himself erected opposite the south terrace, at a cost of nearly 44,000
      pounds. With most praiseworthy zeal, and almost entirely at his own
      expense, this monarch undertook the restoration of Saint George's Chapel.
      The work was commenced in 1787, occupied three years, and was executed by
      Mr. Emlyn, a local architect. The whole building was repaved, a new
      altar-screen and organ added, and the carving restored.
    </p>
    <p>
      In 1796 Mr. James Wyatt was appointed surveyor-general of the royal
      buildings, and effected many internal arrangements. Externally he restored
      Wren's round-headed windows to their original form, and at the same time
      gothicized a large portion of the north and south sides of the upper ward.
    </p>
    <p>
      Before proceeding further, a word must be said about the parks. The home
      park, which lies on the east and north sides of the castle, is about four
      miles in circumference, and was enlarged and enclosed with a brick wall by
      William the Third. On the east, and nearly on the site of the present sunk
      garden, a bowling-green was laid out by Charles the Second. Below, on the
      north, were Queen Anne's gardens, since whose time the declivity of the
      hill has been planted with forest trees. At the east angle of the north
      terrace are the beautiful slopes, with a path skirting the north side of
      the home park and leading through charming plantations in the direction of
      the royal farm and dairy, the ranger's lodge, and the kennel for the
      queen's harriers. This park contains many noble trees; and the grove of
      elms in the south-east, near the spot where the scathed oak assigned to
      Herne stands, is traditionally asserted to have been a favourite walk of
      Queen Elizabeth. It still retains her name.
    </p>
    <p>
      The great park is approached by the magnificent avenue called the Long
      Walk, laid out, as has been stated, by Charles the Second, and extending
      to the foot of Snow Hill, the summit of which is crowned by the colossal
      equestrian statue of George the Third, by Westmacott. Not far from this
      point stands Cumberland Lodge, which derives its name from William, Duke
      of Cumberland, to whom it was granted in 1744. According to Norden's
      survey, in 1607, this park contained 3050 acres; but when surveyed by
      George the Third it was found to consist of 3800 acres, of which 200 were
      covered with water. At that time the park was over grown with fern and
      rushes, and abounded in bogs and swamps, which in many places were
      dangerous and almost impassable. It contained about three thousand head of
      deer in bad condition. The park has since been thoroughly drained,
      smoothed, and new planted in parts; and two farms have been introduced
      upon it, under the direction of Mr. Kent, at which the Flemish and Norfolk
      modes of husbandry have been successfully practised.
    </p>
    <p>
      Boasting every variety of forest scenery, and commanding from its knolls
      and acclivities magnificent views of the castle, the great park is
      traversed, in all directions, by green drives threading its long vistas,
      or crossing its open glades, laid out by George the Fourth. Amid the
      groves at the back of Spring Hill, in a charmingly sequestered situation,
      stands a small private chapel, built in the Gothic style, and which was
      used as a place of devotion by George the Fourth during the progress of
      the improvements at the castle, and is sometimes attended by the present
      queen.
    </p>
    <p>
      Not the least of the attractions of the park is Virginia Water, with its
      bright and beautiful expanse, its cincture of green banks, soft and smooth
      as velvet, its screen of noble woods, its Chinese fishing-temple, its
      frigates, its ruins, its cascade, cave, and Druidical temple, its obelisk
      and bridges, with numberless beauties besides, which it would be
      superfluous to describe here. This artificial mere covers pretty nearly
      the same surface of ground as that occupied by the great lake of olden
      times.
    </p>
    <p>
      Windsor forest once comprehended a circumference of a hundred and twenty
      miles, and comprised part of Buckinghamshire, a considerable portion of
      Surrey, and the whole south-east side of Berkshire, as far as Hungerford.
      On the Surrey side it included Chobham and Chertsey, and extended along
      the side of the Wey, which marked its limits as far as Guildford. In the
      reign of James the First, when it was surveyed by Norden, its circuit was
      estimated at seventy-seven miles and a half, exclusive of the liberties
      extending into Buckinghamshire. There were fifteen walks within it, each
      under the charge of a head keeper, and the whole contained upwards of
      three thousand head of deer. It is now almost wholly enclosed.
    </p>
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    <h2>
      V.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     The Last Great Epoch in the History of the Castle.
</pre>
    <p>
      A prince of consummate taste and fine conceptions, George the Fourth
      meditated, and, what is better, accomplished the restoration of the castle
      to more than its original grandeur. He was singularly fortunate in his
      architect. Sir Jeffry Wyatville was to him what William of Wykeham had
      been to Edward the Third. All the incongruities of successive reigns were
      removed: all, or nearly all, the injuries inflicted by time repaired; and
      when the work so well commenced was finished, the structure took its place
      as the noblest and most majestic palatial residence in existence.
    </p>
    <p>
      To enter into a full detail of Wyatville's achievements is beyond the
      scope of the present work; but a brief survey may be taken of them. Never
      was lofty design more fully realised. View the castle on the north, with
      its grand terrace of nearly a thousand feet in length, and high embattled
      walls; its superb facade, comprehending the stately Brunswick Tower; the
      Cornwall Tower, with its gorgeous window; George the Fourth's Tower,
      including the great oriel window of the state drawing-room; the restored
      Stuart buildings, and those of Henry the Seventh and of Elizabeth; the
      renovated Norman Tower; the Powder Tower, with the line of walls as far as
      the Winchester Tower;&mdash;view this, and then turn to the east, and
      behold another front of marvellous beauty extending more than four hundred
      feet from north to south, and displaying the Prince of Wales's Tower, the
      Chester, Clarence, and Victoria Towers&mdash;all of which have been raised
      above their former level, and enriched by great projecting windows;&mdash;behold
      also the beautiful sunken garden, with its fountain and orangery, its
      flights of steps, and charming pentagonal terrace;&mdash;proceed to the
      south front, of which the Victoria Tower, with its machicolated
      battlements and oriel window, forms so superb a feature at the eastern
      corner, the magnificent gateway receiving its name from George the Fourth,
      flanked by the York and Lancaster Towers, and opening in a continued line
      from the Long Walk; look at Saint George's Gate, Edward the Third's
      renovated tower, and the octagon tower beyond it; look at all these, and
      if they fail to excite a due appreciation of the genius that conceived
      them, gaze at the triumph of the whole, and which lords over all the rest&mdash;the
      Round Tower&mdash;gaze at it, and not here alone, but from the heights of
      the great park, from the vistas of the home park, from the bowers of Eton,
      the meads of Clewer and Datchet, from the Brocas, the gardens of the naval
      knights&mdash;from a hundred points; view it at sunrise when the royal
      standard is hoisted, or at sunset when it is lowered, near or at a
      distance, and it will be admitted to be the work of a prodigious
      architect!
    </p>
    <p>
      But Wyatville's alterations have not yet been fully considered. Pass
      through Saint George's Gateway, and enter the grand quadrangle to which it
      leads. Let your eye wander round it, beginning with the inner sides of
      Edward the Third's Tower and George the Fourth's Gateway, and proceeding
      to the beautiful private entrance to the sovereign's apartments, the grand
      range of windows of the eastern corridor, the proud towers of the gateway
      to the household, the tall pointed windows of Saint George's Hall, the
      state entrance tower, with its noble windows, until it finally rests upon
      the Stuart buildings and King John's Tower, at the angle of the pile.
    </p>
    <p>
      Internally the alterations made by the architects have been of
      corresponding splendour and importance. Around the south and east sides of
      the court at which you are gazing, a spacious corridor has been
      constructed, five hundred and fifty feet in length, and connected with the
      different suites of apartments on these sides of the quadrangle; extensive
      alterations have been made in the domestic offices; the state apartments
      have been repaired and rearranged; Saint George's Hall has been enlarged
      by the addition of the private chapel (the only questionable change), and
      restored to the Gothic style; and the Waterloo Chamber built to contain
      George the Fourth's munificent gift to the nation of the splendid
      collection of portraits now occupying it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The first and most remarkable characteristic of operations of Sir Jeffry
      Wyatville on the exterior,&rdquo; observes Mr. Poynter, &ldquo;is the judgment with
      which he has preserved the castle of Edward the Third. Some additions have
      been made to it, and with striking effect&mdash;as the Brunswick Tower,
      and the western tower of George the Fourth's Gate-way which so nobly
      terminates the approach from the great park. The more modern buildings on
      the north side have also been assimilated to the rest; but the architect
      has yielded to no temptation to substitute his own design for that of
      William of Wykeham, and no small difficulties have been combated and
      overcome for the sake of preserving the outline of the edifice, and
      maintaining the towers in their original position.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Winchester Tower, originally inhabited by William of Wykeham, was
      bestowed upon Sir Jeffry Wyatville as a residence by George the Fourth;
      and, on the resignation of the distinguished architect, was continued to
      him for life by the present queen.
    </p>
    <p>
      The works within the castle were continued during the reign of William the
      Fourth, and at its close the actual cost of the buildings had reached the
      sum of 771,000, pounds and it has been asserted that the general
      expenditure up to the present time has exceeded a million and a half of
      money.
    </p>
    <p>
      The view from the summit of the Round Tower is beyond description
      magnificent, and commands twelve counties&mdash;namely, Middlesex, Essex,
      Hertford, Berks, Bucks, Oxford, Wilts, Hants, Surrey, Sussex, Kent, and
      Bedford; while on a clear day the dome of Saint Paul's may be
      distinguished from it. This tower was raised thirty-three feet by Sir
      Jeffry Wyatville, crowned with a machicolated battlement, and surmounted
      with a flag-tower.
    </p>
    <p>
      The circumference of the castle is 4180 feet; the length from east to
      west, 1480 feet; and the area, exclusive of the terraces, about twelve
      acres.
    </p>
    <p>
      For the present the works are suspended. But it is to be hoped that the
      design of Sir Jeffry Wyatville will be fully carried out in the lower
      ward, by the removal of such houses on the north as would lay Saint
      George's Chapel open to view from this side; by the demolition of the old
      incongruous buildings lying westward of the bastion near the Hundred
      Steps, by the opening out of the pointed roof of the library; the repair
      and reconstruction in their original style of the Curfew, the Garter, and
      the Salisbury Towers; and the erection of a lower terrace extending
      outside the castle, from the bastion above mentioned to the point of
      termination of the improvements, and accessible from the town; the
      construction of which terrace would necessitate the removal of the
      disfiguring and encroaching houses on the east side of Thames Street. This
      accomplished, Crane's ugly buildings removed, and the three western towers
      laid open to the court, the Horse-shoe Cloisters consistently repaired,
      Windsor Castle would indeed be complete. And fervently do we hope that
      this desirable event may be identified with the reign of VICTORIA.
    </p>
    <p>
      THUS ENDS THE THIRD BOOK OF THE CHRONICLE OF WINDSOR CASTLE <a
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    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      BOOK IV. CARDINAL WOLSEY
    </h2>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031">
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    <div style="height: 4em;">
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    </div>
    <h2>
      I.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     Of the Interview between Henry and Catherine of Arragon in
     the Urswick Chapel&mdash;And how it was interrupted.
</pre>
    <p>
      IT was now the joyous month of June; and where is June so joyous as within
      the courts and halls of peerless Windsor? Where does the summer sun shine
      so brightly as upon its stately gardens and broad terraces, its matchless
      parks, its silver belting river and its circumference of proud and regal
      towers? Nowhere in the world. At all seasons Windsor is magnificent:
      whether, in winter, she looks upon her garnitures of woods stripped of
      their foliage&mdash;her river covered with ice&mdash;or the wide expanse
      of country around her sheeted with snow&mdash;or, in autumn, gazes on the
      same scene&mdash;a world of golden-tinted leaves, brown meadows, or
      glowing cornfields. But summer is her season of beauty&mdash;June is the
      month when her woods are fullest and greenest; when her groves are
      shadiest; her avenues most delicious; when her river sparkles like a
      diamond zone; when town and village, mansion and cot, church and tower,
      hill and vale, the distant capital itself&mdash;all within view&mdash;are
      seen to the highest advantage. At such a season it is impossible to behold
      from afar the heights of Windsor, crowned, like the Phrygian goddess, by a
      castled diadem, and backed by lordly woods, and withhold a burst of
      enthusiasm and delight. And it is equally impossible, at such a season, to
      stand on the grand northern terrace, and gaze first at the proud pile
      enshrining the sovereign mistress of the land, and then gaze on the
      unequalled prospect spread out before it, embracing in its wide range
      every kind of beauty that the country can boast, and not be struck with
      the thought that the perfect and majestic castle&mdash;&ldquo;In state as
      wholesome as in state 'tis fit Worthy the owner, and the owner it,&rdquo;&mdash;together
      with the wide, and smiling, and populous district around it, form an apt
      representation of the British sovereign and her dominions. There stands
      the castle, dating back as far as the Conquest, and boasting since its
      foundation a succession of royal inmates, while at its foot lies a region
      of unequalled fertility and beauty-full of happy homes, and loving, loyal
      hearts&mdash;a miniature of the old country and its inhabitants. What
      though the smiling landscape may he darkened by a passing cloud!&mdash;what
      though a momentary gloom may gather round the august brow of the proud
      pile!&mdash;the cloud will speedily vanish, the gloom disperse, and the
      bright and sunny scene look yet brighter and sunnier from the contrast.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was the chance of the writer of these lines upon one occasion to behold
      his sovereign under circumstances which he esteems singularly fortunate.
      She was taking rapid exercise with the prince upon the south side of the
      garden-terrace. All at once the royal pair paused at the summit of the
      ascent leading from George the Fourth's gateway. The prince disappeared
      along the eastern terrace, leaving the queen alone. And there she stood,
      her slight, faultless figure sharply defined against the clear sky.
      Nothing was wanting to complete the picture: the great bay-windows of the
      Victoria Tower on the one hand&mdash;the balustrade of the terrace on the
      other&mdash;the home park beyond. It was thrilling to feel that that
      small, solitary figure comprehended all the might and majesty of England&mdash;and
      a thousand kindling aspirations were awakened by the thought.
    </p>
    <p>
      But it was, as has been said, the merry month of June, and Windsor Castle
      looked down in all its magnificence upon the pomp of woods, and upon the
      twelve fair and smiling counties lying within its ken. A joyous stir was
      within its courts&mdash;the gleam of arms and the fluttering of banners
      was seen upon its battlements and towers, and the ringing of bells, the
      beating of drums, and the fanfares of trumpets, mingled with the shouting
      of crowds and the discharge of ordnance.
    </p>
    <p>
      Amidst this tumult a grave procession issued from the deanery, and took
      its way across the lower quadrangle, which was thronged with officers and
      men-at-arms, in the direction of the lower gate. Just as it arrived there
      a distant gun was heard, and an answering peal was instantly fired from
      the culverins of the Curfew Tower, while a broad standard, emblazoned with
      the arms of France and England within the garter, and having for
      supporters the English lion crowned and the red dragon sinister, was
      reared upon the keep. All these preparations betokened the approach of the
      king, who was returning to the castle after six weeks' absence.
    </p>
    <p>
      Though information of the king's visit to the castle had only preceded him
      by a few hours, everything was ready for his reception, and the greatest
      exertions were used to give splendour to it.
    </p>
    <p>
      In spite of his stubborn and tyrannical nature, Henry was a popular
      monarch, and never showed himself before his subjects but he gained their
      applauses; his love of pomp, his handsome person, and manly deportment,
      always winning him homage from the multitude. But at no period was he in a
      more critical position than the present. The meditated divorce from
      Catherine of Arragon was a step which found no sympathy from the better
      portion of his subjects, while the ill-assorted union of Anne Boleyn, an
      avowed Lutheran, which it was known would follow it, was equally
      objectionable. The seeds of discontent had been widely sown in the
      capital; and tumults had occurred which, though promptly checked, had
      nevertheless alarmed the king, coupled as they were with the
      disapprobation of his ministers, the sneering remonstrances of France, the
      menaces of the Papal See, and the open hostilities of Spain. But the
      characteristic obstinacy of his nature kept him firm to his point, and he
      resolved to carry it, be the consequences what they might.
    </p>
    <p>
      All his efforts to win over Campeggio proved fruitless. The legate was
      deaf to his menaces or promises, well knowing that to aid Anne Boleyn
      would be to seriously affect the interests of the Church of Rome.
    </p>
    <p>
      The affair, however, so long and so artfully delayed, was now drawing to a
      close. A court was appointed by the legates to be holden on the 18th of
      June, at Blackfriars, to try the question. Gardiner had been recalled from
      Rome to act as counsel for Henry; and the monarch, determining to appear
      by proxy at the trial, left his palace at Bridewell the day before it was
      to come on, and set out with Anne Boleyn and his chief attendants for
      Windsor Castle.
    </p>
    <p>
      Whatever secret feelings might be entertained against him, Henry was
      received by the inhabitants of Windsor with every demonstration of loyalty
      and affection. Deafening shouts rent the air as he approached; blessings
      and good wishes were showered upon him; and hundreds of caps were flung
      into the air. But noticing that Anne Boleyn was received with evil looks
      and in stern silence, and construing this into an affront to himself,
      Henry not only made slight and haughty acknowledgment of the welcome given
      him, but looked out for some pretext to manifest his displeasure. Luckily
      none was afforded him, and he entered the castle in a sullen mood.
    </p>
    <p>
      The day was spent in gentle exercise within the home park and on the
      terrace, and the king affected the utmost gaiety and indifference; but
      those acquainted with him could readily perceive he was ill at ease. In
      the evening he remained for some time alone in his closet penning
      despatches, and then summoning an attendant, ordered him to bring Captain
      Bouchier into his presence.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, Bouchier,&rdquo; he said, as the officer made his appearance, &ldquo;have you
      obeyed my instructions in regard to Mabel Lyndwood?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have, my liege,&rdquo; replied Bouchier. &ldquo;In obedience to your majesty's
      commands, immediately after your arrival at the castle I rode to the
      forester's hut, and ascertained that the damsel was still there.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And looking as beautiful as ever, I'll be sworn!&rdquo; said the king.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It was the first time I had seen her, my liege,&rdquo; replied Bouchier; &ldquo;but I
      do not think she could have ever looked more beautiful.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am well assured of it,&rdquo; replied Henry. &ldquo;The pressure of affairs during
      my absence from the castle had banished her image from my mind; but now it
      returns as forcibly as before. And you have so arranged it that she will
      be brought hither to-morrow night?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Bouchier replied in the affirmative.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is well,&rdquo; pursued Henry; &ldquo;but what more?&mdash;for you look as if you
      had something further to declare.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your majesty will not have forgotten how you exterminated the band of
      Herne the Hunter?&rdquo; said Bouchier.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mother of Heaven, no!&rdquo; cried the king, starting up; &ldquo;I have not forgotten
      it. What of them?&mdash;Ha! have they come to life again?&mdash;do they
      scour the parks once more? That were indeed a marvel!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What I have to relate is almost as great a marvel,&rdquo; returned Bouchier. &ldquo;I
      have not heard of the resurrection of the band though for aught I know it
      may have occurred. But Herne has been seen again in the forest. Several of
      the keepers have been scared by him&mdash;travellers have been affrighted
      and plundered&mdash;and no one will now cross the great park after
      nightfall.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Amazement!&rdquo; cried Henry, again seating himself; &ldquo;once let the divorce be
      settled, and I will effectually check the career of this lawless and
      mysterious being.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Pray heaven your majesty may be able to do so!&rdquo; replied Bouchier. &ldquo;But I
      have always been of opinion that the only way to get rid of the demon
      would be by the aid of the Church. He is unassailable by mortal weapons.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It would almost seem so,&rdquo; said the king. &ldquo;And yet I do not like to yield
      to the notion.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I shrewdly suspect that old Tristram Lyndwood, the grandsire of the
      damsel upon whom your majesty has deigned to cast your regards, is in some
      way or other leagued with Herne,&rdquo; said Bouchier. &ldquo;At all events, I saw him
      with a tall hideous-looking personage, whose name I understand to be
      Valentine Hagthorne, and who, I feel persuaded, must be one of the
      remnants of the demon hunter's band.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why did you not arrest him?&rdquo; inquired Henry.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I did not like to do so without your majesty's authority,&rdquo; replied
      Bouchier. &ldquo;Besides, I could scarcely arrest Hagthorne without at the same
      time securing the old forester, which might have alarmed the damsel. But I
      am ready to execute your injunctions now.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Let a party of men go in search of Hagthorne to-night,&rdquo; replied Henry;
      &ldquo;and while Mabel is brought to the castle to-morrow, do you arrest old
      Tristram, and keep him in custody till I have leisure to examine him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It shall be done as you desire, my liege,&rdquo; replied Bouchier, bowing and
      departing.
    </p>
    <p>
      Shortly after this Henry, accompanied by Anne Boleyn, proceeded with his
      attendants to Saint George's Chapel, and heard vespers performed. Just as
      he was about to return, an usher advanced towards him, and making a
      profound reverence, said that a masked dame, whose habiliments proclaimed
      her of the highest rank, craved a moment's audience of him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Where is she?&rdquo; demanded Henry.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In the north aisle, an't please your majesty,&rdquo; replied the usher, &ldquo;near
      the Urswick Chapel. I told her that this was not the place for an audience
      of your majesty, nor the time; but she would not be said nay, and
      therefore, at the risk of incurring your sovereign displeasure, I have
      ventured to proffer her request.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The usher omitted to state that his chief inducement to incur the risk was
      a valuable ring, given him by the lady.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, I will go to her,&rdquo; said the king. &ldquo;I pray you, excuse me for a
      short space, fair mistress,&rdquo; he added to Anne Boleyn.
    </p>
    <p>
      And quitting the choir, he entered the northern aisle, and casting his
      eyes down the line of noble columns by which it is flanked, and seeing no
      one, he concluded that the lady must have retired into the Urswick Chapel.
      And so it proved; for on reaching this exquisite little shrine he
      perceived a tall masked dame within it, clad in robes of the richest black
      velvet. As he entered the chapel, the lady advanced towards him, and
      throwing herself on her knees, removed her mask&mdash;disclosing features
      stamped with sorrow and suffering, but still retaining an expression of
      the greatest dignity. They were those of Catherine of Arragon.
    </p>
    <p>
      Uttering an angry exclamation, Henry turned on his heel and would have
      left her, but she clung to the skirts of his robe.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hear me a moment, Henry&mdash;my king&mdash;my husband&mdash;one single
      moment&mdash;hear me!&rdquo; cried Catherine, in tones of such passionate
      anguish that he could not resist the appeal.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Be brief, then, Kate,&rdquo; he rejoined, taking her hand to raise her.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Blessings on you for the word!&rdquo; cried the queen, covering his hand with
      kisses. &ldquo;I am indeed your own true Kate&mdash;your faithful, loving,
      lawful wife!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Rise, madam!&rdquo; cried Henry coldly; &ldquo;this posture beseems not Catherine of
      Arragon.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I obey you now as I have ever done,&rdquo; she replied, rising; &ldquo;though if I
      followed the prompting of my heart, I should not quit my knees till I had
      gained my suit.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have, done wrong in coming here, Catherine, at this juncture,&rdquo; said
      Henry, &ldquo;and may compel me to some harsh measure which I would willingly
      have avoided.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No one knows I am here,&rdquo; replied the queen, &ldquo;except two faithful
      attendants, who are vowed to secrecy; and I shall depart as I came.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am glad you have taken these precautions,&rdquo; replied Henry. &ldquo;Now speak
      freely, but again I must bid you be brief.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will be as brief as I can,&rdquo; replied the queen; &ldquo;but I pray you bear
      with me, Henry, if I unhappily weary you. I am full of misery and
      affliction, and never was daughter and wife of king wretched as I am. Pity
      me, Henry&mdash;pity me! But that I restrain myself, I should pour forth
      my soul in tears before you. Oh, Henry, after twenty years' duty and to be
      brought to this unspeakable shame&mdash;to be cast from you with dishonour&mdash;to
      be supplanted by another&mdash;it is terrible!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If you have only come here to utter reproaches, madam, I must put an end
      to the interview,&rdquo; said Henry, frowning.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I do not reproach you, Henry,&rdquo; replied Catherine meekly, &ldquo;I only wish to
      show you the depth and extent of my affection. I only implore you to do me
      right and justice&mdash;not to bring shame upon me to cover your own
      wrongful action. Have compassion upon the princess our daughter&mdash;spare
      her, if you will not spare me!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You sue in vain, Catherine,&rdquo; replied Henry. &ldquo;I lament your condition, but
      my eyes are fully opened to the sinful state in which I have so long
      lived, and I am resolved to abandon it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;An unworthy prevarication,&rdquo; replied Catherine, &ldquo;by which you seek to work
      my ruin, and accomplish your union with Anne Boleyn. And you will no doubt
      succeed; for what can I, a feeble woman, and a stranger in your country,
      do to prevent it? You will succeed, I say&mdash;you will divorce me and
      place her upon the throne. But mark my words, Henry, she will not long
      remain there.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The king smiled bitterly
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;She will bring dishonour upon you,&rdquo; pursued Catherine. &ldquo;The woman who has
      no regard for ties so sacred as those which bind us will not respect other
      obligations.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No more of this!&rdquo; cried Henry. &ldquo;You suffer your resentment to carry you
      too far.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Too far!&rdquo; exclaimed Catherine. &ldquo;Too far!&mdash;Is to warn you that you
      are about to take a wanton to your bed&mdash;and that you will bitterly
      repent your folly when too late, going too far? It is my duty, Henry, no
      less than my desire, thus to warn you ere the irrevocable step be taken.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Have you said all you wish to say, madam?&rdquo; demanded the king.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, my dear liege, not a hundredth part of what my heart prompts me to
      utter,&rdquo; replied Catherine. &ldquo;I conjure you by my strong and tried affection&mdash;by
      the tenderness that has for years subsisted between us&mdash;by your hopes
      of temporal prosperity and spiritual welfare&mdash;by all you hold dear
      and sacred&mdash;to pause while there is yet time. Let the legates meet
      to-morrow&mdash;let them pronounce sentence against me and as surely as
      those fatal words are uttered, my heart will break.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Tut, tut!&rdquo; exclaimed Henry impatiently, &ldquo;you will live many years in
      happy retirement.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will die as I have lived&mdash;a queen,&rdquo; replied Catherine; &ldquo;but my
      life will not be long. Now, answer me truly&mdash;if Anne Boleyn plays you
      false&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;She never will play me false!&rdquo; interrupted Henry.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I say if she does,&rdquo; pursued Catherine, &ldquo;and you are satisfied of her
      guilt, will you be content with divorcing her as you divorce me?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, by my father's head!&rdquo; cried Henry fiercely. &ldquo;If such a thing were to
      happen, which I hold impossible, she should expiate her offence on the
      scaffold.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Give me your hand on that,&rdquo; said Catherine.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I give you my hand upon it,&rdquo; he replied.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Enough,&rdquo; said the queen: &ldquo;if I cannot have right and justice I shall at
      least have vengeance, though it will come when I am in my tomb. But it
      will come, and that is sufficient.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This is the frenzy of jealousy, Catherine,&rdquo; said Henry.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, Henry; it is not jealousy,&rdquo; replied the queen, with dignity. &ldquo;The
      daughter of Ferdinand of Spain and Isabella of Castile, with the best
      blood of Europe in her veins, would despise herself if she could entertain
      so paltry a feeling towards one born so much beneath her as Anne Boleyn.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;As you will, madam,&rdquo; rejoined Henry. &ldquo;It is time our interview
      terminated.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not yet, Henry&mdash;for the love of Heaven, not yet!&rdquo; implored
      Catherine. &ldquo;Oh, bethink you by whom we were joined together!&mdash;by your
      father, Henry the Seventh&mdash;one of the wisest princes that ever sat on
      a throne; and by the sanction of my own father, Ferdinand the Fifth, one
      of the justest. Would they have sanctioned the match if it had been
      unlawful? Were they destitute of good counsellors? Were they indifferent
      to the future?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You had better reserve these arguments for the legates' ears tomorrow,
      madam,&rdquo; said Henry sternly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I shall urge them there with all the force I can,&rdquo; replied Catherine,
      &ldquo;for I will leave nought untried to hinder an event so fraught with
      misery. But I feel the struggle will be hopeless.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then why make it?&rdquo; rejoined Henry.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Because it is due to you&mdash;to myself&mdash;to the princess our
      daughter&mdash;to our illustrious progenitors&mdash;and to our people, to
      make it,&rdquo; replied Catherine. &ldquo;I should be unworthy to be your consort if I
      acted otherwise&mdash;and I will never, in thought, word, or deed, do
      aught derogatory to that title. You may divorce me, but I will never
      assent to it; you may wed Anne Boleyn, but she will never be your lawful
      spouse; and you may cast me from your palace, but I will never go
      willingly.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I know you to be contumacious, madam,&rdquo; replied Henry. &ldquo;And now, I pray
      you, resume your mask, and withdraw. What I have said will convince you
      that your stay is useless.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I perceive it,&rdquo; replied Catherine. &ldquo;Farewell, Henry&mdash;farewell, loved
      husband of my heart&mdash;farewell for ever!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your mask&mdash;your mask, madam!&rdquo; cried Henry impatiently. &ldquo;God's death!
      footsteps are approaching. Lot no one enter here!&rdquo; he cried aloud.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will come in,&rdquo; said Anne Boleyn, stepping into the chapel just as
      Catherine had replaced her mask. &ldquo;Ah! your majesty looks confused. I fear
      I have interrupted some amorous conference.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Come with me, Anne,&rdquo; said Henry, taking her arm, and trying to draw her
      away&mdash;&ldquo;come with me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not till I learn who your lady&mdash;love is,&rdquo; replied Anne pettishly.
      &ldquo;You affect to be jealous of me, my liege, but I have much more reason to
      be jealous of you. When you were last at Windsor, I heard you paid a
      secret visit to a fair maiden near the lake in the park, and now you are
      holding an interview with a masked dame here. Nay, I care not for your
      gestures of silence. I will speak.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are distraught, sweetheart,&rdquo; cried the king. &ldquo;Come away.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; replied Anne. &ldquo;Lot this dame be dismissed.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I shall not go at your bidding, minion!&rdquo; cried Catherine fiercely.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; cried Anne, starting, &ldquo;whom have we here?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;One you had better have avoided,&rdquo; whispered Henry.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The queen!&rdquo; exclaimed Anne, with a look of dismay.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay, the queen!&rdquo; echoed Catherine, unmasking. &ldquo;Henry, if you have any
      respect left for me, I pray you order this woman from my presence. Lot me
      depart in peace.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Lady Anne, I pray you retire,&rdquo; said Henry. But Anne stood her ground
      resolutely.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay, let her stay, then,&rdquo; said the queen; &ldquo;and I promise you she shall
      repent her rashness. And do you stay too, Henry, and regard well her whom
      you are about to make your spouse. Question your sister Mary, somewhile
      consort to Louis the Twelfth and now Duchess of Suffolk&mdash;question her
      as to the character and conduct of Anne Boleyn when she was her attendant
      at the court of France&mdash;ask whether she had never to reprove her for
      levity&mdash;question the Lord Percy as to her love for him&mdash;question
      Sir Thomas Wyat, and a host of others.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;All these charges are false and calumnious!&rdquo; cried Anne Boleyn.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Let the king inquire and judge for himself,&rdquo; rejoined Catherine; &ldquo;and if
      he weds you, let him look well to you, or you will make him a scoff to all
      honourable men. And now, as you have come between him and me&mdash;as you
      have divided husband and wife&mdash;for the intent, whether successful or
      not, I denounce you before Heaven, and invoke its wrath upon your head.
      Night and day I will pray that you may be brought to shame; and when I
      shall be called hence, as I maybe soon, I will appear before the throne of
      the Most High, and summon you to judgment.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Take me from her, Henry!&rdquo; cried Anne faintly; &ldquo;her violence affrights
      me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, you shall stay,&rdquo; said Catherine, grasping her arm and detaining her;
      &ldquo;you shall hear your doom. You imagine your career will be a brilliant
      one, and that you will be able to wield the sceptre you wrongfully wrest
      from me; but it will moulder into dust in your hand&mdash;the crown
      unjustly placed upon your brow will fall to the ground, and it will bring
      the head with it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Take me away, Henry, I implore you!&rdquo; cried Anne.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You shall hear me out,&rdquo; pursued Catherine, exerting all her strength, and
      maintaining her grasp, &ldquo;or I will follow you down yon aisles, and pour
      forth my malediction against you in the hearing of all your attendants.
      You have braved me, and shall feel my power. Look at her, Henry&mdash;see
      how she shrinks before the gaze of an injured woman. Look me in the face,
      minion&mdash;you cannot!&mdash;you dare not!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, Henry!&rdquo; sobbed Anne.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have brought it upon yourself,&rdquo; said the king.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;She has,&rdquo; replied Catherine; &ldquo;and, unless she pauses and repents, she
      will bring yet more upon her head. You suffer now, minion, but how will
      you feel when, in your turn, you are despised, neglected, and supplanted
      by a rival&mdash;when the false glitter of your charms having passed away,
      Henry will see only your faults, and will open his eyes to all I now tell
      him?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A sob was all the answer Anne could return.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You will feel as I feel towards you,&rdquo; pursued the queen&mdash;&ldquo;hatred
      towards her; but you will not have the consolations I enjoy. You will have
      merited your fate, and you will then think upon me and my woes, and will
      bitterly, but unavailingly, repent your conduct. And now, Henry,&rdquo; she
      exclaimed, turning solemnly to him, &ldquo;you have pledged your royal word to
      me, and given me your hand upon it, that if you find this woman false to
      you she shall expiate her offence on the block. I call upon you to ratify
      the pledge in her presence.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I do so, Catherine,&rdquo; replied the king. &ldquo;The mere suspicion of her guilt
      shall be enough.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Henry!&rdquo; exclaimed Anne.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have said it,&rdquo; replied the king.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Tremble, then, Anne Boleyn!&rdquo; cried Catherine, &ldquo;tremble! and when you are
      adjudged to die the death of an adulteress, bethink you of the prediction
      of the queen you have injured. I may not live to witness your fate, but we
      shall meet before the throne of an eternal Judge.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, Henry, this is too much!&rdquo; gasped Anne, and she sank fainting into his
      arms.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Begone!&rdquo; cried the king furiously. &ldquo;You have killed her!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It were well for us both if I had done so,&rdquo; replied Catherine. &ldquo;But she
      will recover to work my misery and her own. To your hands I commit her
      punishment. May God bless you, Henry!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      With this she replaced her mask, and quitted the chapel.
    </p>
    <p>
      Henry, meanwhile, anxious to avoid the comments of his attendants, exerted
      himself to restore Anne Boleyn to sensibility, and his efforts were
      speedily successful.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Is it then reality?&rdquo; gasped Anne, as she gazed around. &ldquo;I hoped it was a
      hideous dream. Oh, Henry, this has been frightful! But you will not kill
      me, as she predicted? Swear to me you will not!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why should you be alarmed?&rdquo; rejoined the king. &ldquo;If you are faithful, you
      have nothing to fear.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But you said suspicion, Henry&mdash;you said suspicion!&rdquo; cried Anne.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You must put the greater guard upon your conduct,&rdquo; rejoined the king
      moodily. &ldquo;I begin to think there is some truth in Catherine's
      insinuations.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh no, I swear to you there is not,&rdquo; said Anne&mdash;&ldquo;I have trifled with
      the gallants of Francis's court, and have listened, perhaps too
      complacently, to the love-vows of Percy and Wyat, but when your majesty
      deigned to cast eyes upon me, all others vanished as the stars of night
      before the rising of the god of day. Henry, I love you deeply, devotedly&mdash;but
      Catherine's terrible imprecations make me feel more keenly than I have
      ever done before the extent of the wrong I am about to inflict upon her&mdash;and
      I fear that retributive punishment will follow it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You will do her no wrong,&rdquo; replied Henry. &ldquo;I am satisfied of the justice
      of the divorce, and of its necessity; and if my purposed union with you
      were out of the question, I should demand it. Be the fault on my head.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your words restore me in some measure, my liege,&rdquo; said Anne. &ldquo;I love you
      too well not to risk body and soul for you. I am yours for ever&mdash;ah!&rdquo;
       she exclaimed, with a fearful look.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What ails you, sweetheart?&rdquo; exclaimed the king.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I thought I saw a face at the window,&rdquo; she replied&mdash;&ldquo;a black and
      hideous face like that of a fiend.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It was mere fancy,&rdquo; replied the king. &ldquo;Your mind is disturbed by what has
      occurred. You had better join your attendants, and retire to your own
      apartments.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, Henry!&rdquo; cried Anne&mdash;&ldquo;do not judge me unheard&mdash;do not
      believe what any false tongue may utter against me. I love only you and
      can love only you. I would not wrong you, even in thought, for worlds.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I believe you, sweetheart,&rdquo; replied the king tenderly.
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, he led her down the aisle to her attendants. They then
      proceeded together to the royal lodgings, where Anne retired to her own
      apartments, and Henry withdrew to his private chamber.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      II.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     How Herne the Hunter appeared to Henry on the Terrace.
</pre>
    <p>
      Henry again sat down to his despatches, and employed himself upon them to
      a late hour. At length, feeling heated and oppressed, he arose, and opened
      a window. As he did so, he was almost blinded by a vivid flash of forked
      lightning. Ever ready to court danger, and convinced, from the intense
      gloom without, that a fearful storm was coming on, Henry resolved to go
      forth to witness it. With this view he quitted the closet, and passed
      through a small door opening on the northern terrace. The castle clock
      tolled the hour of midnight as he issued forth, and the darkness was so
      profound that he could scarcely see a foot before him. But he went on.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Who goes there?&rdquo; cried a voice, as he advanced, and a partisan was placed
      at his breast.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The king!&rdquo; replied Henry, in tones that would have left no doubt of the
      truth of the assertion, even if a gleam of lightning had not at the moment
      revealed his figure and countenance to the sentinel.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I did not look for your majesty at such a time,&rdquo; replied the man,
      lowering his pike. &ldquo;Has your majesty no apprehension of the storm? I have
      watched it gathering in the valley, and it will be a dreadful one. If I
      might make bold to counsel you, I would advise you to seek instant shelter
      in the castle.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have no fear, good fellow,&rdquo; laughed the king. &ldquo;Get thee in yon porch,
      and leave the terrace to me. I will warn thee when I leave it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      As he spoke a tremendous peal of thunder broke overhead, and seemed to
      shake the strong pile to its foundations. Again the lightning rent the
      black canopy of heaven in various places, and shot down in forked flashes
      of the most dazzling brightness. A rack of clouds, heavily charged with
      electric fluid, hung right over the castle, and poured down all their
      fires upon it.
    </p>
    <p>
      Henry paced slowly to and fro, utterly indifferent to the peril he ran&mdash;now
      watching the lightning as it shivered some oak in the home park, or
      lighted up the wide expanse of country around him&mdash;now listening to
      the roar of heaven's artillery; and he had just quitted the western
      extremity of the terrace, when the most terrific crash he had yet heard
      burst over him. The next instant a dozen forked flashes shot from the sky,
      while fiery coruscations blazed athwart it; and at the same moment a bolt
      struck the Wykeham Tower, beside which he had been recently standing.
      Startled by the appalling sound, he turned and beheld upon the
      battlemented parapet on his left a tall ghostly figure, whose antlered
      helm told him it was Herne the Hunter. Dilated against the flaming sky,
      the proportions of the demon seemed gigantic. His right hand was stretched
      forth towards the king, and in his left he held a rusty chain. Henry
      grasped the handle of his sword, and partly drew it, keeping his gaze
      fixed upon the figure.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You thought you had got rid of me, Harry of England,&rdquo; cried Herne, &ldquo;but
      were you to lay the weight of this vast fabric upon me, I would break from
      under it&mdash;ho! ho!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What wouldst thou, infernal spirit?&rdquo; cried Henry.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am come to keep company with you, Harry,&rdquo; replied the demon; &ldquo;this is a
      night when only you and I should be abroad. We know how to enjoy it. We
      like the music of the loud thunder, and the dance of the blithe
      lightning.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Avaunt, fiend!&rdquo; cried Henry. &ldquo;I will hold no converse with thee. Back to
      thy native hell!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have no power over me, Harry,&rdquo; rejoined the demon, his words mingling
      with the rolling of the thunder, &ldquo;for your thoughts are evil, and you are
      about to do an accursed deed. You cannot dismiss me. Before the commission
      of every great crime&mdash;and many great crimes you will commit&mdash;I
      will always appear to you. And my last appearance shall he three days
      before your end&mdash;ha! ha!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Darest thou say this to me!&rdquo; cried Henry furiously.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I laugh at thy menaces,&rdquo; rejoined Herne, amid another peal of thunder&mdash;&ldquo;but
      I have not yet done. Harry of England! your career shall be stained in
      blood. Your wrath shall descend upon the heads of those who love you, and
      your love shall be fatal. Better Anne Boleyn fled this castle, and sought
      shelter in the lowliest hovel in the land, than become your spouse. For
      you will slay her&mdash;and not her alone. Another shall fall by your
      hand; and so, if you had your own will, would all!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What meanest thou by all?&rdquo; demanded the king.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You will learn in due season,&rdquo; laughed the fiend. &ldquo;But now mark me, Harry
      of England, thou fierce and bloody kin&mdash;thou shalt be drunken with
      the blood of thy wives; and thy end shall be a fearful one. Thou shalt
      linger out a living death&mdash;a mass of breathing corruption shalt thou
      become&mdash;and when dead the very hounds with which thou huntedst me
      shall lick thy blood!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      These awful words, involving a fearful prophecy, which was afterwards, as
      will be shown, strangely fulfilled, were so mixed up with the rolling of
      the thunder that Henry could scarcely distinguish one sound from the
      other. At the close of the latter speech a flash of lightning of such
      dazzling brilliancy shot down past him, that he remained for some moments
      almost blinded; and when he recovered his powers of vision the demon had
      vanished.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      III.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     How Mabel Lyndwood was taken to the Castle by Nicholas
     Clamp&mdash;And how they encountered Morgan Fenwolf by the way.
</pre>
    <p>
      THE storm which had fallen so heavily on the castle had likewise visited
      the lake, and alarmed the inmates of the little dwelling on its banks.
      Both the forester and his grand-daughter were roused from their beds, and
      they sat together in the chief apartment of the cottage, listening to the
      awful rolling of the thunder, and watching the blue flashing of the
      lightning. The storm was of unusually long duration, and continued for
      more than an hour with unintermitted violence. It then paused; the thunder
      rolled off, and the flashes of lightning grew fainter and less frequent.
      During the storm Mabel continued on her knees, addressing the most earnest
      prayers to the Virgin for her preservation and that of her grandfather;
      but the old forester, though evidently much alarmed, uttered not a single
      supplication, but remained sitting in his chair with a sullen, scared
      look. As the thunder died away, he recovered his composure, and addressed
      himself to soothe the fears of his granddaughter. In this he had partially
      succeeded, and was urging her again to seek her couch, when the storm
      recommenced with fresh fury. Mabel once more fell on her knees, and the
      old man resumed his sullen posture. Another dreadful half-hour, marked by
      a succession of terrible peals and vivid flashes, succeeded, when, amidst
      an awful pause, Mabel ventured to address her old relative.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why do you not pray, grandfather?&rdquo; she said, regarding him uneasily.
      &ldquo;Sister Anastasia and good Father Anselm always taught me to utter an Ave
      and cross myself during a thunderstorm. Why do you not pray, grandfather?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do not trouble me. I have no fear.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But your cheeks and lips are blanched,&rdquo; rejoined Mabel; &ldquo;and I observed
      you shudder during that last awful crash. Pray, grandfather, pray!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Peace, wench, and mind your own business!&rdquo; returned the old man angrily.
      &ldquo;The storm will soon be over&mdash;it cannot last long in this way.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The saints preserve us!&rdquo; cried Mabel, as a tremendous concussion was
      heard overhead, followed by a strong sulphureous smell. &ldquo;The cottage is
      struck!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is&mdash;it is!&rdquo; cried Tristram, springing to his feet and rushing
      forth.
    </p>
    <p>
      For a few minutes Mabel continued in a state of stupefaction. She then
      staggered to the door, and beheld her grandfather occupied with two dark
      figures, whom she recognised as Valentine Hagthorne and Morgan Fenwolf, in
      extinguishing the flames, which were bursting from the thatched roof of
      the hut. Surprise and terror held her silent, and the others were so
      busily engaged that they did not notice her.
    </p>
    <p>
      At last, by their united efforts, the fire was got under without material
      damage to the little building, and Mabel retired, expecting her grandsire
      to return; but as he did not do so, and as almost instantly afterwards the
      plash of oars was heard en the lake, she flew to the window, and beheld
      him, by the gleam of the lightning, seated in the skiff with Morgan
      Fenwolf, while Valentine Hagthorne had mounted a black horse, and was
      galloping swiftly away. Mabel saw no more. Overcome by fright, she sank on
      the ground insensible. When she recovered the storm had entirely ceased. A
      heavy shower had fallen, but the sky was now perfectly clear, and day had
      begun to dawn. Mabel went to the door of the hut, and looked forth for her
      grandfather, but he was nowhere to be seen. She remained gazing at the now
      peaceful lake till the sun had fairly risen, when, feeling more composed,
      she retired to rest, and sleep, which had been banished from them during
      the greater part of the night, now fell upon her lovely eyelids.
    </p>
    <p>
      When she awoke, the day was far advanced, but still old Tristram had not
      returned; and with a heavy heart she set about her household concerns. The
      thought, however, of her anticipated visit to the castle speedily
      dispelled her anxiety, and she began to make preparations for setting out,
      attiring herself with unusual care. Bouchier had not experienced much
      difficulty in persuading her to obey the king's behest, and by his artful
      representations he had likewise induced her grandfather to give his
      consent to the visit&mdash;the old forester only stipulating that she
      should be escorted there and back by a falconer, named Nicholas Clamp, in
      whom he could put trust; to which proposition Bouchier readily assented.
    </p>
    <p>
      At length five o'clock, the appointed hour, arrived, and with it came
      Nicholas Clamp. He was a tall, middle-aged man, with yellow hair, clipped
      closely over his brows, and a beard and moustaches to match. His attire
      resembled that of a keeper of the forest, and consisted of a doublet and
      hose of green cloth; but he did not carry a bugle or hunting-knife. His
      sole weapon was a stout quarter-staff. After some little hesitation Mabel
      consented to accompany the falconer, and they set forth together.
    </p>
    <p>
      The evening was delightful, and their way through the woods was marked by
      numberless points of beauty. Mabel said little, for her thoughts were
      running upon her grandfather, and upon his prolonged and mysterious
      absence; but the falconer talked of the damage done by the thunderstorm,
      which he declared was the most awful he had ever witnessed; and he pointed
      out to her several trees struck by the lightning. Proceeding in this way,
      they gained a road leading from Blacknest, when, from behind a large oak,
      the trunk of which had concealed him from view, Morgan Fenwolf started
      forth, and planted himself in their path. The gear of the proscribed
      keeper was wild and ragged, his locks matted and disordered, his demeanour
      savage, and his whole appearance forbidding and alarming.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have been waiting for you for some time, Mabel Lyndwood,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You
      must go with me to your grandfather.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My grandfather would never send you for me,&rdquo; replied Mabel; &ldquo;but if he
      did, I will not trust myself with you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The saints preserve us!&rdquo; cried Nicholas Clamp. &ldquo;Can I believe my eyes!&mdash;do
      I behold Morgan Fenwolf!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Come with me, Mabel,&rdquo; cried Fenwolf, disregarding him.
    </p>
    <p>
      But she returned a peremptory refusal.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;She shall not stir an inch!&rdquo; cried the falconer. &ldquo;It is thou, Morgan
      Fenwolf, who must go with me. Thou art a proscribed felon, and thy life is
      forfeit to the king. Yield thee, dog, as my prisoner!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Thy prisoner!&rdquo; echoed Fenwolf scornfully. &ldquo;It would take three such as
      thou art to make me captive! Mabel Lyndwood, in your grandfather's name, I
      command you to come with me, and let Nick Clamp look to himself if he
      dares to hinder you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nick will do something more than hinder her,&rdquo; rejoined the falconer,
      brandishing his staff, and rushing upon the other. &ldquo;Felon hound! I command
      thee to yield!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Before the falconer could reach him, Morgan Fenwolf plucked a long
      hunting-knife from his girdle, and made a desperate stab at his assailant.
      But Clamp avoided the blow, and striking Fenwolf on the shins, immediately
      afterwards closed with him.
    </p>
    <p>
      The result was still doubtful, when the struggle was suddenly interrupted
      by the trampling of horse approaching from the side of Windsor; and at the
      sound Morgan Fenwolf disengaged himself from his antagonist and plunged
      into the adjoining wood. The next moment Captain Bouchier rode up,
      followed by a small band of halberdiers, and receiving information from
      the falconer of what had occurred, darted with his men into the wood in
      search of the fugitive. Nicholas Clamp and his companion did not await the
      issue of the search, but proceeded on their way.
    </p>
    <p>
      As they walked at a brisk pace, they reached the long avenue in about
      half-an-hour, and took their way down it. When within a mile of the castle
      they were overtaken by Bouchier and his followers, and the falconer was
      much disappointed to learn that they had failed in tracking Morgan Fenwolf
      to his lair. After addressing a few complimentary words to the maiden,
      Bouchier rode on.
    </p>
    <p>
      Soon after this the pair quitted the great park, and passing through a row
      of straggling houses, divided by gardens and closes, which skirted the
      foot of Castle Hill, presently reached the lower gate. They were admitted
      without difficulty; but just as they entered the lower ward the falconer
      was hailed by Shoreditch and Paddington, who at the moment issued from the
      doorway of the guard-room.
    </p>
    <p>
      Clamp obeyed the call and went towards them, and it was evident, from the
      gestures of the archers, that they were making inquiries about Mabel,
      whose appearance seemed to interest them greatly. After a brief
      conversation with the falconer they approached her, and, respectfully
      addressing her, begged leave to attend her to the royal lodgings, whither
      they understood she was going. No objection being made to the proposal by
      Mabel, the party directed their course towards the middle ward.
    </p>
    <p>
      Passing through the gateway of the Norman Tower, they stopped before a low
      portal in a picturesque Gothic wing of the castle, with projecting walls
      and bay-windows, which had been erected in the preceding reign of Henry
      the Seventh, and was consequently still in all its freshness and beauty.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      IV.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     How Mabel was received by the Party in the Kitchen&mdash;And of
     the Quarrel between the two Jesters.
</pre>
    <p>
      Addressing himself to a stout-built yeoman of the guard, who was standing
      within the doorway, Nicholas Clamp demanded admittance to the kitchen, and
      the man having detained them for a few moments, during which he regarded
      Mabel with a very offensive stare, ushered them into a small hall, and
      from thence into a narrow passage connected with it. Lighted by narrow
      loopholes pierced through the walls, which were of immense thickness, this
      passage described the outer side of the whole upper quadrangle, and
      communicated with many other lateral passages and winding stairs leading
      to the chambers allotted to the household or to the state apartments.
      Tracking it for some time, Nicholas Clamp at length turned off on the
      right, and, crossing a sort of ante-room, led the way into a large chamber
      with stone walls and a coved and groined roof, lighted by a great window
      at the lower end. This was the royal kitchen, and in it yawned no fewer
      than seven huge arched fireplaces, in which fires were burning, and before
      which various goodly joints were being roasted, while a number of cooks
      and scullions were congregated round them. At a large table in the centre
      of the kitchen were seated some half-dozen yeomen of the guard, together
      with the clerk of the kitchen, the chief bargeman, and the royal cutler,
      or bladesmith, as he was termed.
    </p>
    <p>
      These worthies were doing ample justice to a chine of beef, a wild-boar
      pie, a couple of fat capons, a peacock pasty, a mess of pickled lobsters,
      and other excellent and inviting dishes with which the board was loaded.
      Neither did they neglect to wash down the viands with copious draughts of
      ale and mead from great pots and flagons placed beside them. Behind this
      party stood Giovanni Joungevello, an Italian minstrel, much in favour with
      Anne Boleyn, and Domingo Lamellino, or Lamelyn&mdash;as he was familiarly
      termed&mdash;a Lombard, who pretended to some knowledge of chirurgery,
      astrology, and alchemy, and who was a constant attendant on Henry. At the
      head of the bench, on the right of the table, sat Will Sommers. The jester
      was not partaking of the repast, but was chatting with Simon Quanden, the
      chief cook, a good-humoured personage, round-bellied as a tun, and blessed
      with a spouse, yclept Deborah, as fond of good cheer, as fat, and as
      good-humoured as himself. Behind the cook stood the cellarman, known by
      the appellation of Jack of the Bottles, and at his feet were two playful
      little turnspits, with long backs, and short forelegs, as crooked almost
      as sickles.
    </p>
    <p>
      On seeing Mabel, Will Sommers immediately arose, and advancing towards her
      with a mincing step, bowed with an air of mock ceremony, and said in an
      affected tone, &ldquo;Welcome, fair mistress, to the king's kitchen. We are all
      right glad to see you; are we not, mates?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay, that we are!&rdquo; replied a chorus of voices.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By my troth, the wench is wondrously beautiful!&rdquo; said Kit Coo, one of the
      yeomen of the guard.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No wonder the king is smitten with her,&rdquo; said Launcelot Rutter, the
      bladesmith; &ldquo;her eyes shine like a dagger's point.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And she carries herself like a wafter on the river,&rdquo; said the bargeman.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Her complexion is as good as if I had given her some of my sovereign
      balsam of beauty,&rdquo; said Domingo Lamelyn.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Much better,&rdquo; observed Joungevello, the minstrel; &ldquo;I shall write a
      canzonet in her praise, and sing it before the king.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And get flouted for thy pains by the Lady Anne,&rdquo; said Kit Coo.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The damsel is not so comely as I expected to find her,&rdquo; observed Amice
      Lovekyn, one of the serving-women, to Hector Cutbeard, the clerk of the
      kitchen.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, if you come to that, she is not to be compared to you, pretty
      Amice,&rdquo; said Cutbeard, who was a red-nosed, red-faced fellow, with a
      twinkling merry eye.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay, I meant not that,&rdquo; replied Amice, retreating.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Excuse my getting up to receive you, fair mistress,&rdquo; cried Simon Quanden,
      who seemed fixed to his chair; &ldquo;I have been bustling about all day, and am
      sore fatigued&mdash;sore fatigued. But will you not take something? A
      sugared cate, and a glass of hypocras jelly, or a slice of capon? Go to
      the damsel, dame, and prevail on her to eat.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That will I,&rdquo; replied Deborah. &ldquo;What shall it be, sweetheart? We have a
      well-stored larder here. You have only to ask and have.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I thank you, but I am in want of nothing,&rdquo; replied Mabel.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay, that is against all rule, sweetheart,&rdquo; said Deborah; &ldquo;no one enters
      the king's kitchen without tasting his royal cheer.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am sorry I must prove an exception, then,&rdquo; returned Mabel, smiling;
      &ldquo;for I have no appetite.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, well, I will not force you to eat against your will,&rdquo; replied the
      good dame &ldquo;But a cup of wine will do you good after your walk.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will wait upon her,&rdquo; said the Duke of Shoreditch.' who vied with
      Paddington and Nick Clamp in attention to the damsel.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Let me pray you to cast your eyes upon these two dogs, fair Mabel,&rdquo; said
      Will Sommers, pointing to the two turn-spits, &ldquo;they are special favourites
      of the king's highness. They are much attached to the cook, their master;
      but their chief love is towards each other, and nothing can keep them
      apart.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Will Sommers speaks the truth,&rdquo; rejoined Simon Quanden. &ldquo;Hob and Nob, for
      so they are named, are fast friends. When Hob gets into the box to turn
      the spit, Nob will watch beside it till his brother is tired, and then he
      will take his place. They always eat out of the same platter, and drink
      out of the same cup. I once separated them for a few hours to see what
      would happen, but they howled so piteously, that I was forced to bring
      them together again. It would have done your heart good to witness their
      meeting, and to see how they leaped and rolled with delight. Here, Hob,&rdquo;
       he added, taking a cake from his apron pocket, &ldquo;divide this with thy
      brother.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Placing his paws upon his master's knees, the nearest turnspit took the
      cake in his mouth, and proceeding towards Nob, broke it into two pieces,
      and pushed the larger portion towards him.
    </p>
    <p>
      While Mabel was admiring this display of sagacity and affection a bustling
      step was heard behind her, and turning, she beheld a strange figure in a
      parti-coloured gown and hose, with a fool's cap and bells on his head,
      whom she immediately recognised as the cardinal's jester, Patch. The
      new-comer recognised her too, stared in astonishment, and gave a leering
      look at Will Sommers.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What brings you here, gossip Patch?&rdquo; cried Will Sommers. &ldquo;I thought you
      were in attendance upon your master, at the court at Blackfriars.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;So I have been,&rdquo; replied Patch, &ldquo;and I am only just arrived with his
      grace.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What! is the decision pronounced?&rdquo; cried Will Sommers eagerly. &ldquo;Is the
      queen divorced? Is the king single again? Let us hear the sentence.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay, the sentence!&mdash;the sentence!&rdquo; resounded on all hands.
    </p>
    <p>
      Stimulated by curiosity, the whole of the party rose from the table; Simon
      Quanden got out of his chair; the other cooks left their joints to scorch
      at the fire; the scullions suspended their work; and Hob and Nob fixed
      their large inquiring black eyes upon the jester.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I never talk thirsting,&rdquo; said Patch, marching to the table, and filling
      himself a flagon of mead. &ldquo;Here's to you, fair maiden,&rdquo; he added, kissing
      the cup to Mabel, and swallowing its contents at a draught. &ldquo;And now be
      seated, my masters, and you shall hear all I have to relate, and it will
      be told in a few words. The court is adjourned for three days, Queen
      Catherine having demanded that time to prepare her allegations, and the
      delay has been granted her.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Pest on it!&mdash;the delay is some trick of your crafty and
      double-dealing master,&rdquo; cried Will Sommers. &ldquo;Were I the king, I know how I
      would deal with him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What wouldst thou do, thou scurril knave?&rdquo; cried Patch angrily.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I would strip him of his ill-gotten wealth, and leave him only thee&mdash;a
      fitting attendant&mdash;of all his thousand servitors,&rdquo; replied Will.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This shall to his grace's ears,&rdquo; screamed Patch, amid the laughter of the
      company&mdash;&ldquo;and see whether your back does not smart for it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I fear him not,&rdquo; replied Will Sommers. &ldquo;I have not yet told the king my
      master of the rare wine we found in his cellar.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What wine was that, Will?&rdquo; cried Jack of the Bottles.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You shall hear,&rdquo; replied Will Sommers, enjoying the disconcerted look of
      the other jester. &ldquo;I was at the palace at Hampton, when this scant-witted
      knave invited me to taste some of his master's wine, and accordingly to
      the cellar we went. 'This wine will surprise you,' quoth he, as we
      broached the first hogshead. And truly it did surprise me, for no wine
      followed the gimlet. So we went on to another, and another, and another,
      till we tried half a score of them, and all with the same result. Upon
      this I seized a hammer which was lying by and sounded the casks, but none
      of them seeming empty, I at last broke the lid of one&mdash;and what do
      you think it contained?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A variety of responses were returned by the laughing assemblage, during
      which Patch sought to impose silence upon his opponent. But Will Sommers
      was not to be checked.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It contained neither vinegar, nor oil, nor lead,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;but gold; ay,
      solid bars of gold-ingots. Every hogshead was worth ten thousand pounds,
      and more.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Credit him not, my masters,&rdquo; cried Patch, amid the roars of the company;
      &ldquo;the whole is a mere fable&mdash;an invention. His grace has no such
      treasure. The truth is, Will Sommers got drunk upon some choice Malmsey,
      and then dreamed he had been broaching casks of gold.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is no fable, as you and your master will find when the king comes to
      sift the matter,&rdquo; replied Will. &ldquo;This will be a richer result to him than
      was ever produced by your alchemical experiments, good Signor Domingo
      Lamelyn.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is false!&mdash;I say false!&rdquo; screamed Patch, &ldquo;let the cellars be
      searched, and I will stake my head nothing is found.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Stake thy cap, and there may be some meaning in it,&rdquo; said Will, plucking
      Patch's cap from his head and elevating it on his truncheon. &ldquo;Here is an
      emblem of the Cardinal of York,&rdquo; he cried, pointing to it.
    </p>
    <p>
      A roar of laughter from the company followed this sally, and Hob and Nob
      looked up in placid wonderment.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I shall die with laughing,&rdquo; cried Simon Quanden, holding his fat sides,
      and addressing his spouse, who was leaning upon his shoulder.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the meantime Patch sprang to his feet, and, gesticulating with rage and
      fury, cried, &ldquo;Thou hast done well to steal my cap and bells, for they
      belong of right to thee. Add my folly to thy own, and thou wilt be a
      fitting servant to thy master; or e'en give him the cap, and then there
      will be a pair of ye.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Who is the fool now, I should like to know?&rdquo; rejoined Will Sommers
      gravely. &ldquo;I call you all to witness that he has spoken treason.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      While this was passing Shoreditch had advanced with a flagon of Malmsey to
      Mabel, but she was so interested in the quarrel between the two jesters
      that she heeded him not; neither did she attend to Nicholas Clamp, who was
      trying to explain to her what was going forward. But just as Patch's
      indiscreet speech was uttered an usher entered the kitchen and announced
      the approach of the king.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      V.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     Of the Combat between Will Sommers and Patch&mdash;And how it
     terminated.
</pre>
    <p>
      Mabel's heart fluttered violently at the usher's announcement, and for a
      moment the colour deserted her cheek, while the next instant she was
      covered with blushes. As to poor Patch, feeling that his indiscretion
      might place him in great jeopardy and seriously affect his master, to whom
      he was devotedly attached, he cast a piteous and imploring look at his
      antagonist, but was answered only by a derisive laugh, coupled with an
      expressive gesture to intimate that a halter would be his fate. Fearful
      that mischief might ensue, the good-natured Simon Quanden got out of his
      chair and earnestly besought Will not to carry matters too far; but the
      jester remained implacable.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was not unusual with Henry to visit the different offices of the castle
      and converse freely and familiarly with the members of his household, but
      it was by no means safe to trust to the continuance of his good humour, or
      in the slightest degree to presume upon it. It is well known that his
      taste for variety of character often led him, like the renowned Caliph
      Haroun Al Raschid, to mix with the lower classes of his subjects in
      disguise, at which times many extraordinary adventures are said to have
      befallen him. His present visit to the kitchen, therefore, would have
      occasioned no surprise to its occupants if it had not occurred so soon
      after the cardinal's arrival. But it was this circumstance, in fact, that
      sent him thither. The intelligence brought by Wolsey of the adjournment of
      the court for three days, under the plea of giving the queen time for her
      allegations, was so unlooked for by Henry that he quitted the cardinal in
      high displeasure, and was about to repair to Anne Boleyn, when he
      encountered Bouchier, who told him that Mabel Lyndwood had been brought to
      the castle, and her grandsire arrested. The information changed Henry's
      intentions at once, and he proceeded with Bouchier and some other
      attendants to the kitchen, where he was given to understand he should find
      the damsel.
    </p>
    <p>
      Many a furtive glance was thrown at the king, for no one dared openly to
      regard him as he approached the forester's fair granddaughter. But he
      tarried only a moment beside her, chucked her under the chin, and,
      whispering a word or two in her ear that heightened her blushes, passed on
      to the spot where the two jesters were standing.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What dost thou here, knave?&rdquo; he said to Will Sommers.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I might rather ask that question of your majesty,&rdquo; replied Will; &ldquo;and I
      would do so but that I require not to be told.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have come to see what passeth in my household,&rdquo; replied the king,
      throwing himself into the chair lately occupied by the chief cook. &ldquo;Ah,
      Hob and Nob, my merry rascals,&rdquo; he cried, patting the turnspits, who ran
      towards him and thrust their noses against his hand, &ldquo;ye are as gamesome
      and loving as ever, I see. Give me a manchet for them, Master Cook, and
      let not the proceedings in the kitchen be stayed for my presence. I would
      not have my supper delayed, or the roasts spoiled, for any false ceremony.
      And now, Will, what hast thou to say that thou lookest so hard at me?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have a heavy charge to bring against this knave, an' please your
      majesty,&rdquo; replied Will Sommers, pointing to Patch.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What! hath he retorted upon thee too sharply?&rdquo; replied the king,
      laughing. &ldquo;If so, challenge him to the combat, and settle the grievance
      with thy lathen dagger. But refer not the matter to me. I am no judge in
      fools' quarrels.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your own excepted,&rdquo; muttered Will. &ldquo;This is not a quarrel that can be so
      adjusted,&rdquo; he added aloud. &ldquo;I charge this rascal Patch with speaking
      disrespectfully of your highness in the hearing of the whole kitchen. And
      I also charge his master the cardinal with having secreted in his cellars
      at Hampton a vast amount of treasure, obtained by extortion, privy
      dealings with foreign powers, and other iniquitous practices, and which
      ought of right to find its way to your royal exchequer.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'And which shall find its way thither, if thou dost not avouch a fable,&rdquo;
       replied the king.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your majesty shall judge,&rdquo; rejoined Will. And he repeated the story which
      he had just before related.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Can this be true?&rdquo; exclaimed Henry at its close.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is false, your highness, every word of it,&rdquo; cried Patch, throwing
      himself at the king's feet, &ldquo;except so far as relates to our visits to the
      cellar, where, I shame to speak it, we drank so much that our senses clean
      forsook us. As to my indiscreet speech touching your majesty, neither
      disrespect nor disloyalty were intended by it. I was goaded to the
      rejoinder by the sharp sting of this hornet.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The matter of the treasure shall be inquired into without delay,&rdquo; said
      Henry. &ldquo;As to the quarrel, it shall be settled thus. Get both of you upon
      that table. A flour-bag shall be given to each; and he who is first
      knocked off shall be held vanquished.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The king's judgment was received with as much applause as dared be
      exhibited by the hearers; and in an instant the board was cleared, and a
      couple of flour-bags partly filled delivered to the combatants by Simon
      Quanden, who bestirred himself with unwonted activity on the occasion.
    </p>
    <p>
      Leaping upon the table, amid the smothered mirth of the assemblage, the
      two jesters placed themselves opposite each other, and grinned such
      comical defiance that the king roared with laughter. After a variety of
      odd movements and feints on either side, Patch tried to bring down his
      adversary by a tremendous two-handed blow; but in dealing it, the weight
      of the hag dragged him forward, and well-nigh pitched him head foremost
      upon the floor. As it was, he fell on his face upon the table, and in this
      position received several heavy blows upon the prominent part of his back
      from Will Sommers. Ere long, however, he managed to regain his legs, and,
      smarting with pain, attacked his opponent furiously in his turn. For a
      short space fortune seemed to favour him. His bag had slightly burst, and
      the flour, showering from it with every blow, well-nigh blinded his
      adversary, whom he drove to the very edge of the table. At this critical
      juncture Will managed to bring down his bag full upon his opponent's
      sconce, and the force of the blow bursting it, Patch was covered from
      crown to foot with flour, and blinded in his turn. The appearance of the
      combatants was now so exquisitely ridiculous, that the king leaned back in
      his chair to indulge his laughter, and the mirth of the spectators could
      no longer be kept within decorous limits. The very turnspits barked in
      laughing concert.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well fought on both sides!&rdquo; cried Henry; &ldquo;it were hard to say which will
      prove the victor. Now, knaves, to it again&mdash;ha! ha!&mdash;to it
      again!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Once more the bags were wielded, descended, and the blows were so well
      directed on either side, that both combatants fell backwards. Again the
      king's laughter rose loud and long. Again the merriment of the other
      beholders was redoubled. Again Hob and Nob barked joyously, and tried to
      spring on to the table to take part in the conflict. Amid the general
      glee, the combatants rose and renewed the fight, dealing blows thick and
      fast&mdash;for the bags were now considerably lightened of their contents&mdash;until
      they were completely hidden from view by a cloud of white dust.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We cannot see the fray,&rdquo; remarked Henry; &ldquo;but we can hear the din of
      battle. Which will prove the victor, I marvel?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am for Will Sommers,&rdquo; cried Bouchier.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And I for Patch,&rdquo; said Simon Quanden. &ldquo;Latterly he hath seemed to me to
      have the advantage.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is decided!&rdquo; cried the king, rising, as one of the combatants was
      knocked off the table, and fell to the floor with a great noise. &ldquo;Who is
      it?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Patch,&rdquo; replied a faint voice. And through the cloud of dust struggled
      forth the forlorn figure of the cardinal's jester, while Will Sommers
      leaped triumphantly to the ground.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Get thee to a wash-tub, knave, and cleanse thyself,&rdquo; said Henry,
      laughing. &ldquo;In consideration of the punishment thou hast undergone, I
      pardon thee thy treasonable speech.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      So saying, he rose, and walked towards Mabel, who had been quite as much
      alarmed as amused by the scene which had just taken place.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I hope you have been as well cared for, damsel,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;since your
      arrival at the castle, as you cared for the Duke of Suffolk and myself
      when we visited your cottage?
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have had everything I require, my liege,&rdquo; replied Mabel timidly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Dame Quanden will take charge of you till to-morrow,&rdquo; rejoined the king,
      &ldquo;when you will enter upon the service of one of our dames.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your majesty is very considerate,&rdquo; said Mabel, &ldquo;but I would rather go
      back at early dawn to my grandsire.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That is needless,&rdquo; rejoined the king sternly. &ldquo;Your grandsire is in the
      castle.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am glad to hear it!&rdquo; exclaimed Mabel. And then, altering her tone, for
      she did not like the expression of the king's countenance, she added, &ldquo;I
      hope he has not incurred your majesty's displeasure.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I trust he will be able to clear himself, Mabel,&rdquo; said Henry, &ldquo;but he
      labours under the grave suspicion of leaguing with lawless men.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mabel shuddered, for the thought of what she had witnessed on the previous
      night during the storm rushed forcibly to her recollection. The king
      noticed her uneasiness, and added, in a gentler tone, &ldquo;If he makes such
      confession as will bring the others to justice, he has nothing to fear.
      Dame Quanden, I commit this maiden to your charge. To-morrow she will take
      her place as attendant to the Lady Elizabeth Fitzgerald.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      So saying, he moved off with Bouchier and the rest of his attendants,
      leaving Mabel to the care of the cook's good humoured spouse, who seeing
      her eyes filled with tears, strove to cheer her, and led her towards a
      small side-table, where she pressed wine and cates upon her.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Be of good cheer, sweetheart,&rdquo; she said, in a soothing tone; &ldquo;no harm
      will befall your grandfather. You are much too high in favour with the
      king for that.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I liked the king much better as I saw him at our cottage, good dame,&rdquo;
       replied Mabel, smiling through her tears, &ldquo;in the guise of a Guildford
      merchant. He seemed scarcely to notice me just now.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That was because so many eyes were upon you, sweet-heart,&rdquo; replied
      Deborah; &ldquo;but sooth to say, I should be better pleased if he did not
      notice you at all.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mabel blushed, and hung her head.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am glad you are to be an attendant on the Lady Fitzgerald,&rdquo; pursued
      Deborah, &ldquo;for she is the fairest young lady at court, and as good and
      gentle as she is fair, and I am sure you will find her a kind mistress. I
      will tell you something about her. She is beloved by the king's son, the
      Duke of Richmond, but she requites not his passion, for her heart is fixed
      on the youthful Earl of Surrey. Alack-a-day! the noble rivals quarrelled
      and crossed swords about her; but as luck would have it, they were
      separated before any mischief was done. The king was very wroth with Lord
      Surrey, and ordered him to be imprisoned for two months in the Round
      Tower, in this castle, where he is now, though his term has very nearly
      expired.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How I pity him, to be thus harshly treated!&rdquo; remarked Mabel, her eyes
      swimming with tears, &ldquo;and the Lady Elizabeth too! I shall delight to serve
      her.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am told the earl passes the whole of his time in poring over books and
      writing love-verses and sonnets,&rdquo; said Deborah. &ldquo;It seems strange that one
      so young should be a poet; but I suppose he caught the art from his friend
      Sir Thomas Wyat.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Is he a friend of Sir Thomas Wyat?&rdquo; asked Mabel quickly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;His close friend,&rdquo; replied Deborah; &ldquo;except the Duke of Richmond, now his
      rival, he had none closer. Have you ever seen Sir Thomas, sweetheart?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, for a few moments,&rdquo; replied Mabel confusedly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I heard that he lingered for a short time in the forest before his
      departure for Paris,&rdquo; said Dame Quanden. &ldquo;There was a strange rumour that
      he had joined the band of Herne the Hunter. But that must have been
      untrue.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Is he returned from France?&rdquo; inquired Mabel, without heeding the remark.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I fancy not,&rdquo; replied the good dame. &ldquo;At all events, he is not come to
      the castle. Know you not,&rdquo; she added, in a low confidential tone, &ldquo;that
      the king is jealous of him? He was a former suitor to the Lady Anne
      Boleyn, and desperately in love with her; and it is supposed that his
      mission to France was only a pretext to get him out of the way.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I suspected as much,&rdquo; replied Mabel. &ldquo;Alas! for Sir Thomas; and alas! for
      the Earl of Surrey.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And alas! for Mabel Lyndwood, if she allows her heart to be fixed upon
      the king,&rdquo; said Deborah.
    </p>
    <p>
      While this was passing the business of the kitchen, which had been
      interrupted by the various incidents above related, and especially by the
      conflict between the two jesters, was hurried forward, and for some time
      all was bustle and confusion.
    </p>
    <p>
      But as soon as the supper was served, and all his duties were fully
      discharged, Simon Quanden, who had been bustling about, sat down in his
      easy-chair, and recruited himself with a toast and a sack posset. Hob and
      Nob had their supper at the same time, and the party at the table, which
      had been increased by the two archers and Nicholas Clamp, attacked with
      renewed vigour a fresh supply of mead and ale, which had been provided for
      them by Jack of the Bottles.
    </p>
    <p>
      The conversation then turned upon Herne the Hunter; and as all had heard
      more or less about him, and some had seen him, while few knew the legend
      connected with him, Hector Cutbeard volunteered to relate it; upon which
      all the party gathered closer together, and Mabel and Deborah left off
      talking, and drew near to listen.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      VI.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     The Legend of Herne the Hunter.
</pre>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nearly a century and a half ago,&rdquo; commenced Cutbeard, about the middle of
      the reign of Richard the Second, there was among the keepers of the forest
      a young man named Herne. He was expert beyond his fellows in all matters
      of woodcraft, and consequently in great favour with the king, who was
      himself devoted to the chase. Whenever he stayed at the castle, King
      Richard, like our own royal Harry, would pass his time in hunting,
      hawking, or shooting with the long-bow; and on all these occasions the
      young keeper was his constant attendant. If a hart was to be chased, Herne
      and his two black hounds of Saint Hubert's breed would hunt him down with
      marvellous speed; if a wild boar was to be reared, a badger digged out, a
      fox unkennelled, a marten bayed, or an otter vented, Herne was chosen for
      the task. No one could fly a falcon so well as Herne&mdash;no one could
      break up a deer so quickly or so skilfully as him. But in proportion as he
      grew in favour with the king, the young keeper was hated by his comrades,
      and they concerted together how to ruin him. All their efforts, however,
      were ineffectual, and rather tended to his advantage than injury.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;One day it chanced that the king hunted in the forest with his favourite,
      the Earl of Oxford, when a great deer of head was unharboured, and a
      tremendous chase ensued, the hart leading his pursuers within a few miles
      of Hungerford, whither the borders of the forest then extended. All the
      followers of the king, even the Earl of Oxford, had by this time dropped
      off, and the royal huntsman was only attended by Herne, who kept close
      behind him. At last the hart, driven to desperation, stood at bay, and
      gored the king's horse as he came up in such a manner that it reared and
      threw its rider. Another instant, and the horns of the infuriated animal
      would have been plunged into the body of the king, if Herne had not flung
      himself between the prostrate monarch and his assailant, and received the
      stroke intended for him. Though desperately wounded, the young hunter
      contrived slightly to raise himself, and plunged his knife into the hart's
      throat, while the king regained his feet.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Gazing with the utmost concern at his unfortunate deliverer, King Richard
      demanded what he could do for him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Nothing, sire&mdash;nothing,' replied Herne, with a groan. I shall
      require nothing but a grave from you, for I have received a wound that
      will speedily bring me to it.'
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Not so, I trust, good fellow,' replied the king, in a tone meant to be
      encouraging, though his looks showed that his heart misgave him; 'my best
      leech shall attend you.'
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'No skill will avail me now,' replied Herne sadly. 'A hurt from hart's
      horn bringeth to the bier.'
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'I hope the proverb will not be justified in thy case,' rejoined the
      king; 'and I promise thee, if thou dost recover, thou shalt have the post
      of head keeper of the forest, with twenty nobles a year for wages. If,
      unhappily, thy forebodings are realised, I will give the same sum to be
      laid out in masses for thy soul.'
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'I humbly thank your highness,' replied the young man, 'and I accept the
      latter offer, seeing it is the only one likely to profit me.'
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;With this he put his horn to his lips, and winding the dead mot feebly,
      fell back senseless. Much moved, the king rode off for succour; and
      blowing a lusty call on his bugle, was presently joined by the Earl of
      Oxford and some of his followers, among whom were the keepers. The latter
      were secretly rejoiced on hearing what had befallen Herne, but they
      feigned the greatest affliction, and hastened with the king to the spot
      where the body was lying stretched out beside that of the hart.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'It is almost a pity his soul cannot pass away thus,' said King Richard,
      gazing compassionately at him, 'for he will only revive to anguish and
      speedy death.'&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Your highness is right,' replied the chief keeper, a grim old man named
      Osmond Crooke, kneeling beside him, and half drawing his hunting-knife;
      'it were better to put him out of his misery.'
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'What! slay the man who has just saved my own life!' cried the king. 'I
      will consent to no such infamous deed. I would give a large reward to any
      one who could cure him.'
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;As the words were uttered, a tall dark man, in a strange garb, and
      mounted on a black wild-looking steed, whom no one had hitherto observed,
      sprang to the ground and advanced towards the king.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'I take your offer, sire,' said this personage, in a harsh voice. I will
      cure him.'
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Who art thou, fellow?' demanded King Richard doubtfully.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'I am a forester,' replied the tall man, 'but I understand somewhat of
      chirurgery and leechcraft.'
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'And woodcraft, too, I'll be sworn, fellow,' said the king 'Thou hast, or
      I am mistaken, made free with some of my venison.'
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'He looks marvellously like Arnold Sheafe, who was outlawed for
      deer-stealing,' said Osmond Crooke, regarding him steadfastly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'I am no outlaw, neither am I called Arnold Sheafe,' replied the other.
      'My name is Philip Urswick, and I can render a good account of myself when
      it shall please the king's highness to interrogate me. I dwell on the
      heath near Bagshot, which you passed today in the chase, and where I
      joined you.'
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'I noted you not,' said Osmond.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Nor I&mdash;nor I!' cried the other keepers.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'That may be; but I saw you,' rejoined Urswick contemptuously; 'and I
      tell you there is not one among you to be compared with the brave hunter
      who lies there. You have all pronounced his case hopeless. I repeat I can
      cure him if the king will make it worth my while.'
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Make good thy words, fellow,' replied the king; 'and thou shalt not only
      be amply rewarded, but shalt have a free pardon for any offence thou
      mayest have committed.'
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Enough,' replied Urswick. And taking a large, keen-edged hunting-knife
      from his girdle, he cut off the head of the hart close to the point where
      the neck joins the skull, and then laid it open from the extremity of the
      under-lip to the nuke. 'This must be bound on the head of the wounded
      man,' he said.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The keepers stared in astonishment. But the king commanded that the
      strange order should be obeyed. Upon which the bleeding skull was fastened
      upon the head of the keeper with leathern thongs.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'I will now answer for his perfect cure in a month's time,' said Urswick
      to the king; 'but I shall require to watch over him myself till all danger
      is at an end. I pray your highness to command these keepers to transport
      him to my hut.'
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'You hear what he says, knaves?' cried the king; 'do his bidding, and
      carefully, or ye shall answer to me with your lives.'
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Accordingly a litter was formed with branches of trees, and on this the
      body of Herne, with the hart's head still bound to it, was conveyed by the
      keepers to Urswick's hut, a small dwelling, situated in the wildest part
      of Bagshot Heath. After placing the body upon a bed of dried fern, the
      keepers were about to depart, when Osmond Crooke observed to the forester,
      'I am now certain thou art Arnold Sheafe.'
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'It matters not who I am, since I have the king's pardon,' replied the
      other, laughing disdainfully.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Thou hast yet to earn it,' said Osmond.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Leave that to me,' replied Urswick. 'There is more fear that thou wilt
      lose thy post as chief keeper, which the king has promised to Herne, than
      that I shall fail.'
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Would the deer had killed him outright!' growled Osmond.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And the savage wish was echoed by the other keepers. &ldquo;'I see you all hate
      him bitterly,' said Urswick. 'What will you give me for revenge?'
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'We have little to give, save a fat buck on occasions,' replied Osmond;
      'and, in all likelihood, thou canst help thyself to venison.'
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Will you swear to grant the first request I may make of you&mdash;provided
      it shall be in your power?' demanded Urswick.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Readily' they replied.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Enough' said Urswick. 'I must keep faith with the king. Herne will
      recover, but he will lose all his skill as an archer, all his craft as a
      hunter.'
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'If thou canst accomplish this thou art the fiend himself' cried Osmond,
      trembling.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Fiend or not,' replied Urswick, with a triumphant laugh, 'ye have made a
      compact with me, and must fulfil it. Now begone. I must attend to the
      wounded man.'
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And the keepers, full of secret misgiving, departed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;At the precise time promised, Herne, attended by Urswick, presented
      himself to the king. He looked thin and pale, but all danger was past.
      King Richard gave the forester a purse full of nobles, and added a silver
      bugle to the gift. He then appointed Herne his chief keeper, hung a chain
      of gold round his neck, and ordered him to be lodged in the castle.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;About a week after this, Herne, having entirely regained his strength,
      accompanied the king on a hunting expedition to the forest, and they had
      scarcely entered it when his horse started and threw him. Up to that
      moment such an accident had never happened to him, for he was an excellent
      horseman, and he arose greatly discomfited, while the keepers eyed each
      other askance. Soon after this a buck was started, and though Herne was
      bravely mounted on a black steed bestowed on him on account of its
      swiftness by the king, he was the last in the chase.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Thou art out of practice,' said the king, laughing, as he came up.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'I know not what ails me,' replied Herne gloomily.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'It cannot be thy steed's fault,' said the king, 'for he is usually as
      fleet as the wind. But I will give thee an opportunity of gaining credit
      in another way. Thou seest yon buck. He cannot be seventy yards off, and I
      have seen thee hit the mark at twice the distance. Bring him down.'
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Herne raised his crossbow, and let fly the bolt; but it missed its mark,
      and the buck, startled by the noise, dashed down the brake wholly
      uninjured.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;King Richard's brow grew dark, and Herne uttered an exclamation of rage
      and despair.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Thou shalt have a third and yet easier trial,' said the king. Old Osmond
      Crooke shall lend thee his bow, and thy quarry shall be yon magot-pie.'
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;As he spoke, the arrow sped. But it quivered in the trunk of the tree,
      some yards from the bird. The unfortunate shooter looked distracted; but
      King Richard made no remark, until, towards the close of the day, he said
      to him, 'Thou must regain thy craft, friend Herne, or I cannot continue
      thee as my chief keeper.'
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The keepers congratulated each other in secret, for they felt that their
      malice was about to be gratified.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The next day Herne went forth, as he thought, alone, but he was watched
      by his enemies. Not a shaft would go true, and he found that he had
      completely lost his mastery over hound and horse. The day after that he
      again rode forth to hunt with the king, and his failures made him the
      laughing-stock of the party. Richard at length dismissed him with these
      words, 'Take repose for a week, and then thou shalt have a further trial.
      If thou dost not then succeed, I must perforce discharge thee from thy
      post.'
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Instead of returning to the castle, Herne rode off wildly into the
      forest, where he remained till eventide. He then returned with ghastly
      looks and a strange appearance, having the links of a rusty chain which he
      had plucked from a gibbet hanging from his left arm, and the hart's
      antlered skull, which he had procured from Urswick, fixed like a helm upon
      his head. His whole demeanour showed that he was crazed; and his
      condition, which might have moved the compassion of his foes, only
      provoked their laughter. After committing the wildest extravagances, he
      burst from all restraint, and disappeared among the trees of the home
      park.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;An hour after this a pedlar, who was crossing the park from Datchet,
      found him suspended by a rope from a branch of the oak-tree which you have
      all seen, and which bears his name. Despair had driven him to the dreadful
      deed. Instead of cutting him down, the pedlar ran to the castle to relate
      what he had witnessed; and the keepers, satisfied that their revenge was
      now fully accomplished, hastened with him to the tree. But the body was
      gone; and all that proclaimed it had been there, was the rope hanging from
      the branch. Search was everywhere made for the missing body, but without
      effect. When the matter was related to the king he was much troubled, and
      would fain have had masses said for the repose of the soul of the
      unfortunate keeper, but the priests refused to perform them, alleging that
      he had 'committed self-destruction, and was therefore out of the pale of
      the Church.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;On that night, a terrible thunderstorm occurred&mdash;as terrible, it may
      be, as that of last night&mdash;and during its continuance, the oak on
      which Herne had hanged himself was blasted by the lightning.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Old Osmond was immediately reinstated in his post of chief keeper; but he
      had little time for rejoicing, for he found that the same spell that had
      bound Herne had fallen upon him. His bolts and arrows went wide of their
      mark, his hounds lost their scent, and his falcon would not be lured back.
      Half frantic, and afraid of exposing himself to the taunts of his
      companions, he feigned illness, and left his comrade, Roger Barfoot, to
      take his place. But the same ill-luck befell Barfoot, and he returned in
      woeful plight, without a single head of game. Four others were equally
      unfortunate, and it was now clear that the whole party were bewitched.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Luckily, the king had quitted the castle, but they felt certain they
      should be dismissed on his return, if not more severely punished. At last,
      after taking counsel together, they resolved to consult Urswick, who they
      doubted not could remove the spell. Accordingly, they went to Bagshot
      Heath, and related their story to him. When they had done, he said, 'The
      curse of Herne's blood is upon you, and can only be removed in one way. As
      you return to the castle, go to the tree on which he destroyed himself,
      and you may learn how to act.'
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The keepers would have questioned him further, but he refused to answer,
      and dismissed them.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The shades of evening had fallen as they quitted Bagshot; and it was
      midnight as they entered the home park, and proceeded towards the fatal
      oak. It was pitchy dark, and they could only distinguish the tree by its
      white, scathed trunk. All at once, a blue flame, like a will-o'-the-wisp,
      appeared, flitted thrice round the tree, and then remained stationary, its
      light falling upon a figure in a wild garb, with a rusty chain hanging
      from its left arm, and an antlered helm upon its head. They knew it to be
      Herne, and instantly fell down before him, while a burst of terrible
      laughter sounded in their ears.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Without heeding them further, the spirit darted round the tree, rattling
      its chain, and uttering appalling imprecations. It then stopped, and
      turning to the terrified beholders, bade them, in a hollow voice, bring
      hounds and horses as for the chase on the following night and vanished.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Filled with dread, the keepers returned home, and the next day Old Osmond
      again sought the forester, and told him what had occurred.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'You must obey the spirit's injunctions, or worse mischief will befall
      you,' said Urswick. 'Go to the tree, mounted as for a hunting-party, and
      take the black steed given to Herne by the king, and the two black hounds
      with you. You will see what will ensue.' And without another word he
      dismissed him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Osmond told his comrades what the forester had said, and though they were
      filled with alarm, they resolved upon compliance. At midnight, therefore,
      they rode towards the tree with the black hounds in leash, and leading
      Herne's favourite horse, saddled and bridled. As they drew near, they
      again saw the terrible shape stalking round the tree, and heard the
      fearful imprecations.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;His spells ended, Herne called to Osmond to bring him his steed; and the
      old man tremblingly obeyed. In an instant the mysterious being vaulted on
      its back, and in a voice of resistless authority cried, 'To the forest!&mdash;to
      the forest!' With this, he dashed forward, and the whole party, hounds and
      men, hurried after him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;They rode at a furious pace for five or six miles over the great park,
      the keepers wondering where their unearthly leader was taking them, and
      almost fancying they were hurrying to perdition, when they descended a
      hillside leading to the marsh, and halted before a huge beech-tree, where
      Herne dismounted and pronounced certain mystic words, accompanying them
      with strange gestures.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Presently, he became silent and motionless. A flash of fire then burst
      from the roots of the tree, and the forester Urswick stood before him. But
      his aspect was more terrible and commanding than it had seemed heretofore
      to the keepers.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Welcome, Herne,' he cried; 'welcome, lord of the forest. And you his
      comrades, and soon to be his followers, welcome too. The time is come for
      the fulfilment of your promise to me. I require you to form a band for
      Herne the Hunter, and to serve him as leader. Swear to obey him, and the
      spell that hangs over you shall be broken. If not, I leave you to the
      king's justice.'
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not daring to refuse compliance, the keepers took the oath proposed&mdash;and
      a fearful one it was! As soon as it was Urswick vanished, as he came, in a
      flash of fire. Herne, then commanded the others to dismount, and made them
      prostrate themselves before him, and pay him homage.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This done, he blew a strike on his horn, rode swiftly up the hillside,
      and a stag being unharboured, the chase commenced. Many a fat buck was
      hunted and slaughtered that night; and an hour before daybreak, Herne
      commanded them to lay the four finest and fattest at the foot of the
      beech-tree, and then dismissed them, bidding them meet him at midnight at
      the scathed oak in the home park.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;They came as they were commanded; but fearful of detection, they adopted
      strange disguises, not unlike those worn by the caitiffs who were put to
      death, a few weeks ago, by the king in the great park. Night after night
      they thus went forth, thinning the herds of deer, and committing other
      outrages and depredations. Nor were their dark proceedings altogether
      unnoticed. Belated travellers crossing the forest beheld them, and related
      what they had seen; others watched for them, but they were so effectually
      disguised that they escaped detection.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;At last, however, the king returned to the castle, and accounts of the
      strange doings in the forest were instantly brought to him. Astonished at
      what he heard, and determined to ascertain the truth of the statement, he
      ordered the keepers to attend him that night in an expedition to the
      forest, when he hoped to encounter the demon huntsman and his hand. Much
      alarmed, Osmond Crooke, who acted as spokesman, endeavoured, by
      representing the risk he would incur, to dissuade the king from the
      enterprise; but he would not be deterred, and they now gave themselves up
      for lost.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;As the castle clock tolled forth the hour of midnight, Richard,
      accompanied by a numerous guard, and attended by the keepers, issued from
      the gates, and rode towards the scathed oak. As they drew near the tree,
      the figure of Herne, mounted on his black steed, was discerned beneath it.
      Deep fear fell upon all the beholders, but chiefly upon the guilty
      keepers, at the sight. The king, however, pressed forward, and cried, 'Why
      does thou disturb the quietude of night, accursed spirit?'
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Because I desire vengeance!' replied Herne, in a hollow voice. 'I was
      brought to my present woeful condition by Osmond Crooke and his comrades.'
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'But you died by your own hand,&mdash;did you not?' demanded King
      Richard.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Yea,' replied Herne; 'but I was driven to the deed by an infernal spell
      laid upon me by the malice of the wretches I have denounced. Hang them
      upon this tree, and I will trouble these woods no longer whilst thou
      reignest!'
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The king looked round at the keepers. They all remained obdurate, except
      Roger Barfoot, who, falling on his knees, confessed his guilt, and accused
      the others.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is enough,' cried the king to Herne; 'they shall all suffer for their
      offence.'
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Upon this a flash of fire enveloped the spirit and his horse, and he
      vanished.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The king kept his word. Osmond and his comrades were all hanged upon the
      scathed tree, nor was Herne seen again in the forest while Richard sat
      upon the throne. But he reappeared with a new band at the commencement of
      the rule of Henry the Fourth, and again hunted the deer at night. His band
      was destroyed, but he defied all attempts at capture; and so it has
      continued to our own time, for not one of the seven monarchs who have held
      the castle since Richard's day have been able to drive him from the
      forest.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nor will the present monarch be able to drive him thence,&rdquo; said a deep
      voice. &ldquo;As long as Windsor Forest endures, Herne the Hunter will haunt
      it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      All turned at the exclamation and saw that it proceeded from a tall dark
      man, in an archer's garb, standing behind Simon Quanden's chair.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Thou hast told thy legend fairly enough, good clerk of the kitchen,&rdquo;
       continued this personage; &ldquo;but thou art wrong on many material points.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have related the story as it was related to me,&rdquo; said Cutbeard somewhat
      nettled at the remark; &ldquo;but perhaps you will set me right where I have
      erred.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is true that Herne was a keeper in the reign of Richard the Second,&rdquo;
       replied the tall archer. &ldquo;It is true also that he was expert in all
      matters of woodcraft, and that he was in high favour with the king; but he
      was bewitched by a lovely damsel, and not by a weird forester. He carried
      off a nun and dwelt with her in a cave in the forest where he assembled
      his brother keepers, and treated them to the king's venison and the king's
      wine.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A sacreligious villain and a reprobate!&rdquo; exclaimed Launcelot Rutter.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;His mistress was fair enough, I will warrant her,&rdquo; said Kit Coo.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;She was the very image of this damsel,&rdquo; rejoined the tall archer,
      pointing to Mabel, &ldquo;and fair enough to work his ruin, for it was through
      her that the fiend tempted him. The charms that proved his undoing were
      fatal to her also, for in a fit of jealousy he slew her. The remorse
      occasioned by this deed made him destroy himself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, your version of the legend may be the correct one, for aught I
      know, worthy sir,&rdquo; said Cutbeard; &ldquo;but I see not that it accounts for
      Herne's antlers so well as mine, unless he were wedded to the nun, who you
      say played him false. But how came you to know she resembled Mabel
      Lyndwood?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay, I was thinking of that myself,&rdquo; said Simon Quanden. &ldquo;How do you know
      that, master?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Because I have seen her picture,&rdquo; replied the tall archer.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Painted by Satan's chief limner, I suppose?&rdquo; rejoined Cutbeard.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He who painted it had seen her,&rdquo; replied the tall archer sternly. &ldquo;But,
      as I have said, it was the very image of this damsel.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And as he uttered the words, he quitted the kitchen.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Who is that archer?&rdquo; demanded Cutbeard, looking after him. But no one
      could answer the question, nor could any one tell when he had entered the
      kitchen.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Strange!&rdquo; exclaimed Simon Quanden, crossing himself. &ldquo;Have you ever seen
      him before, Mabel?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I almost think I have,&rdquo; she replied, with a slight shudder.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I half suspect he is Herne himself,&rdquo; whispered the Duke of Shoreditch to
      Paddington.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It may be,&rdquo; responded the other; &ldquo;his glance made my blood run cold.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You look somewhat fatigued, sweetheart,&rdquo; said Deborah, observing Mabel's
      uneasiness. &ldquo;Come with me and I will show you to a chamber.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Glad to escape Mabel followed the good dame out of the kitchen, and they
      ascended a winding staircase which brought them to a commodious chamber in
      the upper part of Henry the Seventh's buildings, where Deborah sat down
      with her young charge and volunteered a great deal of good advice to her,
      which the other listened to with becoming attention, and promised to
      profit by it.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      VII.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     Of the Mysterious Noise heard in the Curfew Tower.
</pre>
    <p>
      On quitting the kitchen, Henry, having been informed by Bouchier that
      Tristram Lyndwood was lodged in the prison-chamber in the lower gateway,
      proceeded thither to question him. He found the old man seated on a bench,
      with his hands tied behind him; but though evidently much alarmed at his
      situation, he could not be brought either by threats or proffers to make
      any confession.
    </p>
    <p>
      Out of patience, at length, the king ordered him to be conveyed to the
      dungeon beneath the Curfew Tower, and personally superintended his
      removal.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will find a means of shaking his obstinacy,&rdquo; said Henry, as he quitted
      the vault with Bouchier. &ldquo;If I cannot move him by other means, I may
      through his granddaughter I will interrogate him in her presence
      to-night.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To-night, sire!&rdquo; exclaimed Bouchier.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay, to-night,&rdquo; repeated the king. &ldquo;I am resolved, even if it should cost
      the life of this maiden, whose charms have moved me so, to break the
      infernal machinery woven around me. And now as I think it not unlikely the
      miscreant Herne may attempt the prisoner's deliverance, let the strictest
      watch be kept over the tower. Station an arquebusier throughout the night
      at the door of the dungeon, and another at the entrance to the chamber on
      the ground floor. Your own post must be on the roof of the fortification,
      that you may watch if any attempt is made to scale it from the town side,
      or to get in through the loopholes. Keep a sharp lookout Bouchier, for I
      shall hold you responsible if any mischance occurs.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will do my best, my liege,&rdquo; replied Bouchier; &ldquo;and were it with a
      mortal foe I had to contend, I should have no fear. But what vigilance can
      avail against a fiend?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have heard my injunctions, and will attend to them,&rdquo; rejoined the
      king harshly. &ldquo;I shall return anon to the examination.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      So saying, he departed.
    </p>
    <p>
      Brave as a lion on ordinary occasions, Bouchier entered upon his present
      duty with reluctance and misgiving; and he found the arquebusiers by whom
      he was attended, albeit stout soldiers, equally uneasy. Herne had now
      become an object of general dread throughout the castle; and the
      possibility of an encounter with him was enough to daunt the boldest
      breast. Disguising his alarm, Bouchier issued his directions in an
      authoritative tone, and then mounted with three arquebusiers to the summit
      of the tower. It was now dark, but the moon soon arose, and her beams
      rendered every object as distinguishable as daylight would have done, so
      that watch was easily kept. But nothing occurred to occasion alarm, until
      all at once, a noise like that of a hammer stricken against a board, was
      heard in the chamber below.
    </p>
    <p>
      Drawing his sword, Bouchier hurried down the steps leading into this
      chamber, which was buried in darkness, and advanced so precipitately and
      incautiously into the gloom, that he struck his head against a crossbeam.
      The violence of the blow stunned him for a moment, but as soon as he
      recovered, he called to the guard in the lower chamber to bring up a
      torch. The order was promptly obeyed; but, meanwhile, the sound had
      ceased, and, though they searched about, they could not discover the
      occasion of it.
    </p>
    <p>
      This, however, was not so wonderful for the singular construction of the
      chamber, with its numerous crossbeams, its deep embrasures and recesses,
      its insecure and uneven floor, its steep ladder-like staircases, was
      highly favourable to concealment, it being utterly impossible, owing to
      the intersections of the beams, for the searchers to see far before them,
      or to move about quickly. In the midst of the chamber was a large wooden
      compartment enclosing the cumbrous and uncouth machinery of the castle
      clock, and through the box ran the cord communicating with the belfry
      above. At that time, pieces of ordnance were mounted in all the
      embrasures, but there is now only one gun, placed in a porthole commanding
      Thames Street, and the long thoroughfare leading to Eton. The view from
      this porthole of the groves of Eton, and of the lovely plains on the
      north-west, watered by the river, is enchanting beyond description.
    </p>
    <p>
      Viewed from a recess which has been partly closed, the appearance of this
      chamber is equally picturesque and singular; and it is scarcely possible
      to pass beneath its huge beams or to gaze at the fantastic yet striking
      combinations they form in connection with the deep embrasures, the steep
      staircases and trap-doors, and not feel that the whole place belongs to
      romance, and that a multitude of strange and startling stories must be
      connected with it. The old architects were indeed great romancers, and
      built for the painter and the poet.
    </p>
    <p>
      Bouchier and his companion crept about under the great meshwork of
      beams-peered into all the embrasures, and beneath the carriages of the
      culverins. There was a heap of planks and beams lying on the floor between
      the two staircases, but no one was near it.
    </p>
    <p>
      The result of their investigations did not tend to decrease their alarm.
      Bouchier would fain have had the man keep watch in the chamber, but
      neither threats nor entreaties could induce him to remain there. He was
      therefore sent below, and the captain returned to the roof. He had
      scarcely emerged upon the leads when the hammering recommenced more
      violently than before. In vain Bouchier ordered his men to go down. No one
      would stir; and superstitious fear had by this time obtained such mastery
      over the captain, that he hesitated to descend alone. To add to his
      vexation, the arquebusier had taken the torch with him, so that he should
      have to proceed in darkness.
    </p>
    <p>
      At length he mustered up courage to make the attempt; but he paused
      between each step, peering through the gloom, and half fancying he could
      discern the figure of Herne near the spot where the pile of wood lay.
      Certain it was that the sound of diabolical laughter, mingled with the
      rattling of the chain and the sharp blows of the hammer, smote his ears.
      The laughter became yet louder as Bouchier advanced, the hammering ceased,
      and the clanking of the chain showed that its mysterious wearer was
      approaching the foot of the steps to meet him. But the captain had not
      nerve enough for the encounter. Invoking the protection of the saints, he
      beat a precipitate retreat, and closed the little door at the head of the
      steps after him.
    </p>
    <p>
      The demon was apparently satisfied with the alarm he had occasioned, for
      the hammering was not renewed at that time.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0038" id="link2H_4_0038">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      VIII.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     Showing the Vacillations of the King between Wolsey and Anne
     Boleyn.
</pre>
    <p>
      Before returning to the state apartments, Henry took a turn on the
      ramparts on the north side of the castle, between the Curfew Tower and the
      Winchester Tower, and lingered for a short time on the bastion commanding
      that part of the acclivity where the approach, called the Hundred Steps,
      is now contrived. Here he cautioned the sentinels to be doubly vigilant
      throughout the night, and having gazed for a moment at the placid stream
      flowing at the foot of the castle, and tinged with the last rays of the
      setting sun, he proceeded to the royal lodgings, and entered the banquet
      chamber, where supper was already served.
    </p>
    <p>
      Wolsey sat on his right hand, but he did not vouchsafe him a single word,
      addressing the whole of his discourse to the Duke of Suffolk, who was
      placed on his left. As soon as the repast was over, he retired to his
      closet. But the cardinal would not be so repulsed, and sent one of his
      gentlemen to crave a moment's audience of the king, which with some
      reluctance was accorded.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, cardinal,&rdquo; cried Henry, as Wolsey presented himself, and the usher
      withdrew. &ldquo;You are playing a deep game with me, as you think; but take
      heed, for I see through it.&rdquo; &ldquo;I pray you dismiss these suspicions from
      your mind, my liege,&rdquo; said Wolsey. &ldquo;No servant was ever more faithful to
      his master than I have been to you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No servant ever took better care of himself,&rdquo; cried the king fiercely.
      &ldquo;Not alone have you wronged me to enrich yourself, but you are ever
      intriguing with my enemies. I have nourished in my breast a viper; but I
      will cast you off&mdash;will crush you as I would the noxious reptile.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And he stamped upon the floor, as if he could have trampled the cardinal
      beneath his foot.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Beseech you calm yourself, my liege,&rdquo; replied Wolsey, in the soft and
      deprecatory tone which he had seldom known to fail with the king. &ldquo;I have
      never thought of my own aggrandisement, but as it was likely to advance
      your power. For the countless benefits I have received at your hands, my
      soul overflows with gratitude. You have raised me from the meanest
      condition to the highest. You have made me your confidant, your adviser,
      your treasurer, and with no improper boldness I say it, your friend. But I
      defy the enemies who have poisoned your ears against me, to prove that I
      have ever abused the trust placed in me. The sole fault that can be
      imputed to me is, that I have meddled more with temporal matters than with
      spiritual, and it is a crime for which I must answer before Heaven. But I
      have so acted because I felt that I might thereby best serve your
      highness. If I have aspired to the papal throne&mdash;which you well know
      I have&mdash;it has been that I might be yet a more powerful friend to
      your majesty, and render you what you are entitled to be, the first prince
      in Christendom.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Tut, tut!&rdquo; exclaimed the king, who was, nevertheless, moved by the artful
      appeal.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The gifts I have received from foreign princes,&rdquo; pursued Wolsey, seeing
      the effect he had produced, &ldquo;the wealth I have amassed, have all been with
      a view of benefiting your majesty.&rdquo; &ldquo;Humph!&rdquo; exclaimed the king.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To prove that I speak the truth, sire,&rdquo; continued the wily cardinal, &ldquo;the
      palace at Hampton Court, which I have just completed&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And at a cost more lavish than I myself should have expended on it,&rdquo;
       interrupted the king angrily.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If I had destined it for myself, I should not have spent a tithe of what
      I have done,&rdquo; rejoined Wolsey. &ldquo;Your highness's unjust accusations force
      me to declare my intentions somewhat prematurely. Deign,&rdquo; he cried,
      throwing at the king's feet, &ldquo;deign to accept that palace and all within
      it. You were pleased, during your late residence there, to express your
      approval of it. And I trust it will find equal favour in your eyes, now
      that it is your own.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By holy Mary, a royal gift!&rdquo; cried Henry. &ldquo;Rise, You are not the
      grasping, selfish person you have been represented.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Declare as much to my enemies, sire, and I shall be more content. You
      will find the palace better worth acceptance than at first sight might
      appear.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How so?&rdquo; cried the king.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your highness will be pleased to take this key,&rdquo; said the cardinal; &ldquo;it
      is the key of the cellar.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have some choice wine there,&rdquo; cried Henry significantly; &ldquo;given you
      by some religious house, or sent you by some foreign potentate, ha!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is wine that a king might prize,&rdquo; replied the cardinal. &ldquo;Your majesty
      will find a hundred hogsheads in that cellar, and each hogshead filled
      with gold.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You amaze me!&rdquo; cried the king, feigning astonishment. &ldquo;And all this you
      freely give me?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Freely and fully, sire,&rdquo; replied Wolsey. &ldquo;Nay, I have saved it for you.
      Men think I have cared for myself, whereas I have cared only for your
      majesty. Oh! my dear liege, by the devotion I have just approved to you,
      and which I would also approve, if needful, with my life, I beseech you to
      consider well before you raise Anne Boleyn to the throne. In giving you
      this counsel, I know I hazard the favour I have just regained. But even at
      that hazard, I must offer it. Your infatuation blinds you to the terrible
      consequences of the step. The union is odious to all your subjects, but
      most of all to those not tainted with the new heresies and opinions. It
      will never be forgiven by the Emperor Charles the Fifth, who will seek to
      avenge the indignity offered to his illustrious relative; while Francis
      will gladly make it a pretext for breaking his truce with you. Add to this
      the displeasure of the Apostolic See, and it must be apparent that,
      powerful as you are, your position will be one of infinite peril.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Thus far advanced, I cannot honourably abandon the divorce,&rdquo; said Henry.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nor do I advise its abandonment, sire,&rdquo; replied Wolsey; &ldquo;but do not let
      it be a means of injuring you with all men. Do not let a mal-alliance
      place your very throne in jeopardy; as, with your own subjects and all
      foreign powers against you, must necessarily be the case.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You speak warmly, cardinal,&rdquo; said Henry.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My zeal prompts me to do so,&rdquo; replied Wolsey. &ldquo;Anne Boleyn is in no
      respect worthy of the honour you propose her.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And whom do you think more worthy?&rdquo; demanded Henry.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Those whom I have already recommended to your majesty, the Duchess
      d'Alencon, or the Princess Renee,&rdquo; replied Wolsey; &ldquo;by a union with either
      of whom you would secure the cordial co-operation of Francis, and the
      interests of the see of Rome, which, in the event of a war with Spain, you
      may need.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, Wolsey,&rdquo; replied Henry, taking a hasty turn across the chamber; &ldquo;no
      considerations of interests or security shall induce me to give up Anne. I
      love her too well for that. Let the lion Charles roar, the fox Francis
      snarl, and the hydra-headed Clement launch forth his flames, I will remain
      firm to my purpose. I will not play the hypocrite with you, whatever I may
      do with others. I cast off Catherine that I may wed Anne, because I cannot
      otherwise obtain her. And shall I now, when I have dared so much, and when
      the prize is within my grasp, abandon it?&mdash;Never! Threats,
      expostulations, entreaties are alike unavailing.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I grieve to hear it, my liege,&rdquo; replied Wolsey, heaving a deep sigh. &ldquo;It
      is an ill-omened union, and will bring woe to you, woe to your realm, and
      woe to the Catholic Church.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And woe to you also, false cardinal,&rdquo; cried Anne Boleyn, throwing aside
      the arras, and stepping forward. &ldquo;I have overheard what has passed; and
      from my heart of hearts I thank you, Henry, for the love you have
      displayed for me. But I here solemnly vow never to give my hand to you
      till Wolsey is dismissed from your counsels.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Anne!&rdquo; exclaimed the king.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My own enmity I could forego,&rdquo; pursued Anne vehemently, &ldquo;but I cannot
      forgive him his duplicity and perfidy towards you. He has just proffered
      you his splendid palace of Hampton, and his treasures; and wherefore?&mdash;I
      will tell you: because he feared they would be wrested from him. His
      jester had acquainted him with the discovery just made of the secret
      hoard, and he was therefore compelled to have recourse to this desperate
      move. But I was apprized of his intentions by Will Sommers, and have come
      in time to foil him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By my faith, I believe you are right, sweetheart,&rdquo; said the king.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Go, tell your allies, Francis and Clement, that the king's love for me
      outweighs his fear of them,&rdquo; cried Anne, laughing spitefully. &ldquo;As for you,
      I regard you as nothing.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Vain woman, your pride will be abased,&rdquo; rejoined Wolsey bitterly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Vain man, you are already abased,&rdquo; replied Anne. &ldquo;A few weeks ago I would
      have made terms with you. Now I am your mortal enemy, and will never rest
      till I have procured your downfall.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The king will have an amiable consort, truly,&rdquo; sneered Wolsey.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He will have one who can love him and hate his foes,&rdquo; replied Anne; &ldquo;and
      not one who would side with them and thee, as would be the case with the
      Duchess d'Alencon or the Princess Renee. Henry, you know the sole terms on
      which you can procure my hand.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The king nodded a playful affirmative.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then dismiss him at once, disgrace him,&rdquo; said Anne.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay, nay,&rdquo; replied Henry, &ldquo;the divorce is not yet passed. You are angered
      now, and will view matters more coolly to-morrow.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I shall never change my resolution,&rdquo; she replied.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If my dismissal and disgrace can save my sovereign, I pray him to
      sacrifice me without hesitation,&rdquo; said Wolsey; &ldquo;but while I have liberty
      of speech with him, and aught of power remaining, I will use it to his
      advantage. I pray your majesty suffer me to retire.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And receiving a sign of acquiescence from the king, he withdrew, amid the
      triumphant laughter of Anne.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0039" id="link2H_4_0039">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      IX.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     How Tristram Lyndwood was interrogated by the King.
</pre>
    <p>
      Anne Boleyn remained with her royal lover for a few minutes to pour forth
      her gratitude for the attachment he had displayed to her, and to confirm
      the advantage she had gained over Wolsey. As soon as she was gone, Henry
      summoned an usher, and giving him some instructions respecting Mabel
      Lyndwood, proceeded to the Curfew Tower.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nothing was said to him of the strange noise that had been heard in the
      upper chamber, for the arquebusiers were fearful of exciting his
      displeasure by a confession of their alarm, and he descended at once to
      the dungeon.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, fellow,&rdquo; he cried, sternly regarding the captive, who arose at his
      entrance, &ldquo;you have now had ample time for reflection, and I trust are in
      a better frame of mind than when I last spoke with you. I command you to
      declare all you know concerning Herne the Hunter, and to give me such
      information respecting the proscribed felon, Morgan Fenwolf, as will
      enable me to accomplish his capture.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have already told your highness that my mouth is sealed by an oath of
      secrecy,&rdquo; replied Tristram, humbly, but firmly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Obstinate dog! thou shalt either speak, or I will hang thee from the top
      of this tower, as I hanged Mark Fytton the butcher,&rdquo; roared Henry.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You will execute your sovereign pleasure, my liege,&rdquo; said the old man.
      &ldquo;My life is in your hands. It is little matter whether it is closed now or
      a year hence. I have well nigh run out my term.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If thou carest not for thyself, thou mayest not be equally indifferent to
      another,&rdquo; cried the king. &ldquo;What ho! bring in his granddaughter.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The old man started at the command, and trembled violently. The next
      moment, Mabel was led into the dungeon by Shoreditch and Paddington.
      Behind her came Nicholas Clamp. On seeing her grandsire, she uttered a
      loud cry and would have rushed towards him, but she was held back by her
      companions.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh grandfather!&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;what have you done?-why do I find you here?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Tristram groaned, and averted his head.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He is charged with felony and sorcery,&rdquo; said the king sternly, &ldquo;and you,
      maiden, come under the same suspicion.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Believe it not, sire,&rdquo; cried the old man, flinging himself at Henry's
      feet; &ldquo;oh, believe it not. Whatever you may judge of me, believe her
      innocent. She was brought up most devoutly, by a lay sister of the
      monastery at Chertsey; and she knows nothing, save by report, of what
      passes in the forest.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yet she has seen and conversed with Morgan Fenwolf,&rdquo; the king.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not since he was outlawed,&rdquo; said Tristram.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I saw him to&mdash;day, as I was brought to the castle,&rdquo; cried Mabel,
      &ldquo;and&mdash;&rdquo; but recollecting that she might implicate her grandfather,
      she suddenly stopped.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What said he?&mdash;ha!&rdquo; demanded the king.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will tell your majesty what passed,&rdquo; interposed Nicholas Clamp,
      stepping forward, &ldquo;for I was with the damsel at the time. He came upon us
      suddenly from behind a great tree, and ordered her to accompany him to her
      grandsire.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ha!&rdquo; exclaimed the king.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But he had no authority for what he said, I am well convinced,&rdquo; pursued
      Clamp. &ldquo;Mabel disbelieved him and refused to go, and I should have
      captured him if the fiend he serves had not lent him a helping hand.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What says the prisoner himself to this?&rdquo; observed the king. &ldquo;Didst thou
      send Fenwolf on the errand?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I did,&rdquo; replied Tristram. &ldquo;I sent him to prevent her from going to the
      castle.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mabel sobbed audibly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Thou art condemned by thy own confession, caitiff,&rdquo; said the king, &ldquo;and
      thou knowest upon what terms alone thou canst save thyself from the
      hangman, and thy grand-daughter from the stake.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, mercy, sire, mercy!&rdquo; shrieked Mabel.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your fate rests with your grandsire,&rdquo; said the king sternly. &ldquo;If he
      chooses to be your executioner he will remain silent.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, speak, grandsire, speak!&rdquo; cried Mabel. &ldquo;What matters the violation of
      an unholy vow?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Give me till to-morrow for consideration, sire,&rdquo; said the old man.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Thou shalt have till midnight,&rdquo; replied the king; &ldquo;and till then Mabel
      shall remain with thee.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I would rather be left alone,&rdquo; said Tristram.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I doubt it not,&rdquo; replied the king; &ldquo;but it shall not be.&rdquo; And without
      bestowing a look at Mabel, whose supplications he feared might shake his
      purpose, he quitted the vault with his attendants, leaving her alone with
      her grandsire.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I shall return at midnight,&rdquo; he said to the arquebusier stationed at the
      door; &ldquo;and meanwhile let no one enter the dungeon&mdash;not even the Duke
      of Suffolk&mdash;unless,&rdquo; he added, holding forth his hand to display a
      ring, &ldquo;he shall bring this signet.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0040" id="link2H_4_0040">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      X.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     Of the Brief Advantage gained by the Queen and the Cardinal.
</pre>
    <p>
      As the king, wholly unattended&mdash;for he had left the archers at the
      Curfew Tower&mdash;was passing at the back of Saint George's Chapel, near
      the north transept, he paused for a moment to look at the embattled
      entrance to the New Commons&mdash;a structure erected in the eleventh year
      of his own reign by James Denton, a canon, and afterwards Dean of
      Lichfield, for the accommodation of such chantry priests and choristers as
      had no place in the college. Over the doorway, surmounted by a niche, ran
      (and still runs) the inscription&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;AEDES PRO SACELLANORUM CHORISTARUM COVIVIIS EXTRUCTA, A.D. 1519.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The building has since been converted into one of the canons' houses.
    </p>
    <p>
      While he was contemplating this beautiful gateway, which was glimmering in
      the bright moonlight, a tall figure suddenly darted from behind one of the
      buttresses of the chapel, and seized his left arm with an iron grasp. The
      suddenness of the attack took him by surprise; but he instantly recovered
      himself, plucked away his arm, and, drawing his sword, made a pass at his
      assailant, who, however, avoided the thrust, and darted with inconceivable
      swiftness through the archway leading to the cloisters. Though Henry
      followed as quickly as he could, he lost sight of the fugitive, but just
      as he was about to enter the passage running between the tomb-house and
      the chapel, he perceived a person in the south ambulatory evidently
      anxious to conceal himself, and, rushing up to him and dragging him to the
      light he found it was no other than the cardinal's jester, Patch.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What does thou here, knave?&rdquo; cried Henry angrily.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am waiting for my master, the cardinal,&rdquo; replied the jester, terrified
      out of his wits.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Waiting for him here!&rdquo; cried the king. &ldquo;Where is he?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In that house,&rdquo; replied Patch, pointing to a beautiful bay-window, full
      of stained glass, overhanging the exquisite arches of the north
      ambulatory.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, that is Doctor Sampson's dwelling,&rdquo; cried Henry; &ldquo;he who was
      chaplain to the queen, and is a strong opponent of the divorce. What doth
      he there?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am sure I know not,&rdquo; replied Patch, whose terror increased each moment.
      &ldquo;Perhaps I have mistaken the house. Indeed, I am sure it must be Doctor
      Voysey's, the next door.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Thou liest, knave!&rdquo; cried Henry fiercely; &ldquo;thy manner convinces me there
      is some treasonable practice going forward. But I will soon find it out.
      Attempt to give the alarm, and I will cut thy throat.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      With this he proceeded to the back of the north ambulatory, and finding
      the door he sought unfastened, raised the latch and walked softly in. But
      before he got half-way down the passage, Doctor Sampson himself issued
      from an inner room with a lamp in his hand. He started on seeing the king,
      and exhibited great alarm.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The Cardinal of York is here&mdash;I know it,&rdquo; said Henry in a deep
      whisper. &ldquo;Lead me to him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, go not forward, my gracious liege!&rdquo; cried Sampson, placing himself in
      his path.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Wherefore not?&rdquo; rejoined the king. &ldquo;Ha! what voice is that I heard in the
      upper chamber? Is she here, and with Wolsey? Out of my way, man,&rdquo; he
      added, pushing the canon aside, and rushing up the short wooden staircase.
    </p>
    <p>
      When Wolsey returned from his interview with the king, which had been so
      unluckily interrupted by Anne Boleyn, he found his ante-chamber beset with
      a crowd of suitors to whose solicitations he was compelled to listen, and
      having been detained in this manner for nearly half an hour, he at length
      retired into an inner room.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Vile sycophants!&rdquo; he muttered, &ldquo;they bow the knee before me, and pay me
      greater homage than they render the king, but though they have fed upon my
      bounty and risen by my help, not one of them, if he was aware of my true
      position, but would desert me. Not one of them but would lend a helping
      hand to crush me. Not one but would rejoice in my downfall. But they have
      not deceived me. I knew them from the first&mdash;saw through their
      hollowness and despised them. While power lasts to me, I will punish some
      of them. While power lasts!&rdquo; he repeated. &ldquo;Have I any power remaining? I
      have already given up Hampton and my treasures to the king; and the work
      of spoliation once commenced, the royal plunderer will not be content till
      he has robbed me of all; while his minion, Anne Boleyn, has vowed my
      destruction. Well, I will not yield tamely, nor fall unavenged.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      As these thoughts passed through his mind, Patch, who had waited for a
      favourable moment to approach him, delivered him a small billet carefully
      sealed, and fastened with a silken thread. Wolsey took it, and broke it
      open; and as his eye eagerly scanned its contents, the expression of his
      countenance totally changed. A flash of joy and triumph irradiated his
      fallen features; and thrusting the note into the folds of his robe, he
      inquired of the jester by whom it had been brought, and how long.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It was brought by a messenger from Doctor Sampson,&rdquo; replied Patch, &ldquo;and
      was committed to me with special injunctions to deliver it to your grace
      immediately on your return, and secretly.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The cardinal sat down, and for a few moments appeared lost in deep
      reflection; he then arose, and telling Patch he should return presently,
      quitted the chamber. But the jester, who was of an inquisitive turn, and
      did not like to be confined to half a secret, determined to follow him,
      and accordingly tracked him along the great corridor, down a winding
      staircase, through a private door near the Norman Gateway, across the
      middle ward, and finally saw him enter Doctor Sampson's dwelling, at the
      back of the north ambulatory. He was reconnoitring the windows of the
      house from the opposite side of the cloisters in the hope of discovering
      something, when he was caught, as before mentioned, by the king.
    </p>
    <p>
      Wolsey, meanwhile, was received by Doctor Sampson at the doorway of his
      dwelling, and ushered by him into a chamber on the upper floor, wainscoted
      with curiously carved and lustrously black oak. A silver lamp was burning
      the on the table, and in the recess of the window, which was screened by
      thick curtains, sat a majestic lady, who rose on the cardinal's entrance.
      It was Catherine of Arragon.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I attend your pleasure, madam,&rdquo; said Wolsey, with a profound inclination.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have been long in answering my summons,&rdquo; said the queen; &ldquo;but I could
      not expect greater promptitude. Time was when a summons from Catherine of
      Arragon would have been quickly and cheerfully attended to; when the
      proudest noble in the land would have borne her message to you, and when
      you would have passed through crowds to her audience-chamber. Now another
      holds her place, and she is obliged secretly to enter the castle where she
      once ruled, to despatch a valet to her enemy, to attend his pleasure, and
      to receive him in the dwelling of an humble canon. Times are changed with
      me, Wolsey&mdash;sadly changed.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have been in attendance on the king, madam, or I should have been with
      you sooner,&rdquo; replied Wolsey. &ldquo;It grieves me sorely to see you here.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I want not your pity,&rdquo; replied the queen proudly. &ldquo;I did not send for you
      to gratify your malice by exposing my abject state. I did not send for you
      to insult me by false sympathy; but in the hope that your own interest
      would induce you to redress the wrongs you have done me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Alas! madam, I fear it is now too late to repair the error I have
      committed,&rdquo; said Wolsey, in a tone of affected penitence and sorrow.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You admit, then, that it was an error,&rdquo; cried Catherine. &ldquo;Well, that is
      something. Oh! that you had paused before you began this evil work&mdash;before
      you had raised a storm which will destroy me and yourself. Your quarrel
      with my nephew the Emperor Charles has cost me dear, but it will cost you
      yet more dearly.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I deserve all your reproaches, madam,&rdquo; said Wolsey, with feigned
      meekness; &ldquo;and I will bear them without a murmur. But you have sent for me
      for some specific object, I presume?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I sent for you to give me aid, as much for your own sake as mine,&rdquo;
       replied the queen, &ldquo;for you are in equal danger. Prevent this divorce&mdash;foil
      Anne&mdash;and you retain the king's favour. Our interests are so far
      leagued together, that you must serve me to serve yourself. My object is
      to gain time to enable my friends to act. Your colleague is secretly
      favourable to me. Pronounce no sentence here, but let the cause be removed
      to Rome. My nephew the emperor will prevail upon the Pope to decide in my
      favour.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I dare not thus brave the king's displeasure, madam;&rdquo; replied Wolsey.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Dissembler!&rdquo; exclaimed Catherine. &ldquo;I now perceive the insincerity of your
      professions. This much I have said to try you. And now to my real motive
      for sending for you. I have in my possession certain letters, that will
      ruin Anne Boleyn with the king.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ha!&rdquo; exclaimed the cardinal joyfully; &ldquo;if that be the case, all the rest
      will be easy. Let me see the letters, I pray you, madam.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Before Catherine could reply, the door was thrown violently open, and the
      king stood before them.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Soh!&rdquo; roared Henry, casting a terrible look at Wolsey, &ldquo;I have caught you
      at your treasonable practices at last! And you, madam,&rdquo; he added, turning
      to Catherine, who meekly, but steadily, returned his gaze, &ldquo;what brings
      you here again? Because I pardoned your indiscretion yesterday, think not
      I shall always be so lenient. You will leave the castle instantly. As to
      Wolsey, he shall render me a strict account of his conduct.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have nothing to declare, my liege,&rdquo; replied Wolsey, recovering himself,
      &ldquo;I leave it to the queen to explain why I came hither.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The explanation shall be given at once,&rdquo; said Catherine. &ldquo;I sent for the
      cardinal to request him to lay before your majesty these two letters from
      Anne Boleyn to Sir Thomas Wyat, that you might judge whether one who could
      write thus would make you a fitting consort. You disbelieved my charge of
      levity yesterday. Read these, sire, and judge whether I spoke the truth.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Henry glanced at the letters, and his brow grew dark.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What say you to them, my liege?&rdquo; cried Catherine, with a glance of
      triumph. &ldquo;In the one she vows eternal constancy to Sir Thomas Wyat, and in
      the other&mdash;written after her engagement to you&mdash;he tells him
      that though they can never meet as heretofore, she will always love him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ten thousand furies!&rdquo; cried the king. &ldquo;Where got you these letters,
      madam?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;They were given to me by a tall dark man, as I quitted the castle last
      night,&rdquo; said the queen. &ldquo;He said they were taken from the person of Sir
      Thomas Wyat while he lay concealed in the forest in the cave of Herne the
      Hunter.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If I thought she wrote them,&rdquo; cried Henry, in an access jealous fury, &ldquo;I
      would cast her off for ever.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Methinks your majesty should be able to judge whether they are true or
      false,&rdquo; said Catherine. &ldquo;I know her writing well&mdash;too well, alas!&mdash;and
      am satisfied they are genuine.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am well assured that Wyat was concealed in the Lady Anne's chamber when
      your majesty demanded admittance and could not obtain it&mdash;when the
      Earl of Surrey sacrificed himself for her, and for his friend,&rdquo; said
      Wolsey.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Perdition!&rdquo; exclaimed the king, striking his brow with his clenched hand.
      &ldquo;Oh, Catherine!&rdquo; he continued, after a pause, during which she intently
      watched the workings of his countenance, &ldquo;and it was for this
      light-hearted creature I was about to cast you off.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I forgive you, sire&mdash;I forgive you!&rdquo; exclaimed the queen, clasping
      his hands, and bedewing them with grateful tears. &ldquo;You have been deceived.
      Heaven keep you in the same mind!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have preserved me,&rdquo; said Henry, &ldquo;but you must not tarry here. Come
      with me to the royal lodgings.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, Henry,&rdquo; replied Catherine, with a shudder, &ldquo;not while she is there.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Make no conditions, madam,&rdquo; whispered Wolsey. &ldquo;Go.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;She shall be removed to-morrow,&rdquo; said Henry.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In that case I am content to smother my feelings,&rdquo; said the queen.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Come, then, Kate,&rdquo; said Henry, taking her hand. &ldquo;Lord cardinal, you will
      attend us.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Right gladly, my liege,&rdquo; replied Wolsey. &ldquo;If this mood will only endure,&rdquo;
       he muttered, &ldquo;all will go well. But his jealousy must not be allowed to
      cool. Would that Wyat were here!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Doctor Sampson could scarcely credit his senses as he beheld the august
      pair come forth together, and a word from Wolsey explaining what had
      occurred, threw him into transports of delight. But the surprise of the
      good canon was nothing to that exhibited as Henry and Catherine entered
      the royal lodgings, and the king ordered his own apartments to be
      instantly prepared for her majesty's reception.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0041" id="link2H_4_0041">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      XI.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     How Tristram Lyndwood and Mabel were liberated.
</pre>
    <p>
      Intelligence of the queen's return was instantly conveyed to Anne Boleyn,
      and filled her with indescribable alarm. All her visions of power and
      splendour seemed to melt away at once. She sent for her father, Lord
      Rochford, who hurried to her in a state of the utmost anxiety, and closely
      questioned her whether the extraordinary change had not been occasioned by
      some imprudence of her own. But she positively denied the charge, alleging
      that she had parted with the king scarcely an hour before on terms of the
      most perfect amity, and with the full conviction that she had accomplished
      the cardinal's ruin.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You should not have put forth your hand against him till you were sure of
      striking the blow,&rdquo; said Rochford. &ldquo;There is no telling what secret
      influence he has over the king; and there may yet be a hard battle to
      fight. But not a moment must be lost in counteracting his operations.
      Luckily, Suffolk is here, and his enmity to the cardinal will make him a
      sure friend to us. Pray Heaven you have not given the king fresh occasion
      for jealousy! That is all I fear.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And quitting his daughter, he sought out Suffolk, who, alarmed at what
      appeared like a restoration of Wolsey to favour, promised heartily to
      co-operate with him in the struggle; and that no time might be lost, the
      duke proceeded at once to the royal closet, where he found the king pacing
      moodily to and fro.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your majesty seems disturbed,&rdquo; said the duke.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Disturbed!&mdash;ay!&rdquo; exclaimed the king. &ldquo;I have enough to disturb me. I
      will never love again. I will forswear the whole sex. Harkee, Suffolk, you
      are my brother, my second self, and know all the secrets of my heart.
      After the passionate devotion I have displayed for Anne Boleyn&mdash;after
      all I have done for her&mdash;all I have risked for her&mdash;I have been
      deceived.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Impossible, my liege?&rdquo; exclaimed Suffolk.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, so I thought,&rdquo; cried Henry, &ldquo;and I turned a deaf ear to all
      insinuations thrown out against her, till proof was afforded which I could
      no longer doubt.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And what was the amount of the proof, my liege?&rdquo; asked Suffolk.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;These letters,&rdquo; said Henry, handing them to him, &ldquo;found on the person of
      Sir Thomas Wyat.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But these only prove, my liege, the existence of a former passion&mdash;nothing
      more,&rdquo; remarked Suffolk, after he had scanned them.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But she vows eternal constancy to him!&rdquo; cried Henry; &ldquo;says she shall ever
      love him&mdash;says so at the time she professes devoted love for me! How
      can I trust her after that? Suffolk, I feel she does not love me
      exclusively; and my passion is so deep and devouring, that it demands
      entire return. I must have her heart as well as her person; and I feel I
      have only won her in my quality of king.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am persuaded your majesty is mistaken,&rdquo; said the duke. &ldquo;Would I could
      think so!&rdquo; sighed Henry. &ldquo;But no&mdash;no, I cannot be deceived. I will
      conquer this fatal passion. Oh, Suffolk! it is frightful to be the
      bondslave of a woman&mdash;a fickle, inconstant woman. But between the
      depths of love and hate is but a step; and I can pass from one to the
      other.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do nothing rashly, my dear liege,&rdquo; said Suffolk; &ldquo;nothing that may bring
      with it after-repentance. Do not be swayed by those who have inflamed your
      jealousy, and who could practise upon it. Think the matter calmly over,
      and then act. And till you have decided, see neither Catherine nor Anne;
      and, above all, do not admit Wolsey to your secret counsels.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are his enemy, Suffolk,&rdquo; said the king sternly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am your majesty's friend,&rdquo; replied the duke. &ldquo;I beseech you, yield to
      me on this occasion, and I am sure of your thanks hereafter.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, I believe you are right, my good friend and brother,&rdquo; said Henry,
      &ldquo;and I will curb my impulses of rage and jealousy. To-morrow, before I see
      either the queen or Anne, we will ride forth into the forest, and talk the
      matter further over.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your highness has come to a wise determination,&rdquo; said the duke.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, Suffolk!&rdquo; sighed Henry, &ldquo;would I had never seen this siren! She
      exercises a fearful control over me, and enslaves my very soul.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I cannot say whether it is for good or ill that you have met, my dear
      liege,&rdquo; replied Suffolk, &ldquo;but I fancy I can discern the way in which your
      ultimate decision will be taken. But it is now near midnight. I wish your
      majesty sound and untroubled repose.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Stay!&rdquo; cried Henry, &ldquo;I am about to visit the Curfew Tower, and must take
      you with me. I will explain my errand as we go. I had some thought of
      sending you there in my stead. Ha!&rdquo; he exclaimed, glancing at his finger,
      &ldquo;By Saint Paul, it is gone!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What is gone, my liege?&rdquo; asked Suffolk.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My signet,&rdquo; replied Henry, &ldquo;I missed it not till now. It has been wrested
      from me by the fiend, during my walk from the Curfew Tower. Let us not
      lose a moment, or the prisoners will be set free by him,&mdash;if they
      have not been liberated already.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      So saying, he took a couple of dags&mdash;a species of short gun&mdash;from
      a rest on the wall, and giving one to Suffolk, thrust the other into his
      girdle. Thus armed, they quitted the royal lodgings, and hurried in the
      direction of the Curfew Tower. Just as they reached the Horseshoe
      Cloisters, the alarm-bell began to ring.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Did I not tell you so?&rdquo; cried Henry furiously; &ldquo;they have escaped. Ha! it
      ceases!&mdash;what has happened?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      About a quarter of an hour after the king had quitted the Curfew Tower, a
      tall man, enveloped in a cloak, and wearing a high conical cap, presented
      himself to the arquebusier stationed at the entrance to the dungeon, and
      desired to be admitted to the prisoners.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have the king's signet,&rdquo; he said, holding forth the ring. On seeing
      this, the arquebusier, who recognised the ring, unlocked the door, and
      admitted him. Mabel was kneeling on the ground beside her grandsire, with
      her hands raised as in prayer, but as the tall man entered the vault, she
      started to her feet, and uttered a slight scream.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What is the matter, child?&rdquo; cried Tristram..
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He is here!&mdash;he is come!&rdquo; cried Mabel, in a tone of the deepest
      terror.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Who&mdash;the king?&rdquo; cried Tristram, looking up. &ldquo;Ah! I see! Herne is
      come to deliver me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do not go with him, grandsire,&rdquo; cried Mabel. &ldquo;In the name of all the
      saints, I implore you, do not.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Silence her!&rdquo; said Herne in a harsh, imperious voice, &ldquo;or I leave you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The old man looked imploringly at his granddaughter.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You know the conditions of your liberation?&rdquo; said Herne.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I do&mdash;I do,&rdquo; replied Tristram hastily, and with a shudder.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, grandfather!&rdquo; cried Mabel, falling at his feet, &ldquo;do not, I conjure
      you, make any conditions with this dreaded being, or it will be at the
      expense of your salvation. Better I should perish at the stake&mdash;better
      you should suffer the most ignominious death, than this should be.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do you accept them?&rdquo; cried Herne, disregarding her supplications.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tristram answered in the affirmative.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Recall your words, grandfather&mdash;recall your words!&rdquo; cried Mabel. &ldquo;I
      will implore pardon for you on my knees from the king, and he will not
      refuse me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The pledge cannot be recalled, damsel,&rdquo; said Herne; &ldquo;and it is to save
      you from the king, as much as to accomplish his own preservation, that
      your grandsire consents. He would not have you a victim to Henry's lust.&rdquo;
       And as he spoke, he divided the forester's bonds with his knife. &ldquo;You must
      go with him, Mabel,&rdquo; he added.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will not!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Something warns me that a great danger awaits
      me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You must go, girl,&rdquo; cried Tristram angrily. &ldquo;I will not leave you to
      Henry's lawless passion.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Meanwhile, Herne had passed into one of the large embrasures, and opened,
      by means of a spring, an entrance to a secret staircase in the wall. He
      then beckoned Tristram towards him, and whispered some instructions in his
      ear.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I understand,&rdquo; replied the old man.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Proceed to the cave,&rdquo; cried Herne, &ldquo;and remain there till I join you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Tristram nodded assent.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Come, Mabel!&rdquo; he cried, advancing towards her, and seizing her hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Away!&rdquo; cried Herne in a menacing tone.
    </p>
    <p>
      Terrified by the formidable looks and gestures of the demon, the poor girl
      offered no resistance, and her grandfather drew her into the opening,
      which was immediately closed after her.
    </p>
    <p>
      About an hour after this, and when it was near upon the stroke of
      midnight, the arquebusier who had admitted the tall stranger to the
      dungeon, and who had momentarily expected his coming forth, opened the
      door to see what was going forward. Great was his astonishment to find the
      cell empty! After looking around in bewilderment, he rushed to the chamber
      above, to tell his comrades what had happened.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This is clearly the work of the fiend,&rdquo; said Shoreditch; &ldquo;it is useless
      to strive against him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That tall black man was doubtless Herne himself.&rdquo; said Paddington. &ldquo;I am
      glad he did us no injury. I hope the king will not provoke his malice
      further.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, we must inform Captain Bouchier of the mischance,&rdquo; said Shoreditch.
      &ldquo;I would not be in thy skin, Mat Bee, for a trifle. The king will be here
      presently, and then&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is impossible to penetrate through the devices of the evil one,&rdquo;
       interrupted Mat. &ldquo;I could have sworn it was the royal signet, for I saw it
      on the king's finger as he delivered the order. I wish such another chance
      of capturing the fiend would occur to me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      As the words were uttered, the door of a recess was thrown suddenly open,
      and Herne, in his wild garb, with his antlered helm upon his brow, and the
      rusty chain depending from his left arm, stood before them. His appearance
      was so terrific and unearthly that they all shrank aghast, and Mat Bee
      fell with his face on the floor.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am here!&rdquo; cried the demon. &ldquo;Now, braggart, wilt dare to seize me?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      But not a hand was moved against him. The whole party seemed transfixed
      with terror.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You dare not brave my power, and you are right,&rdquo; cried Herne&mdash;&ldquo;a
      wave of my hand would bring this old tower about your ears&mdash;a word
      would summon a legion of fiends to torment you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But do not utter it, I pray you, good Herne&mdash;excellent Herne,&rdquo; cried
      Mat Bee. &ldquo;And, above all things, do not wave your hand, for we have no
      desire to be buried alive,&mdash;have we, comrades? I should never have
      said what I did if I had thought your friendship within hearing.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your royal master will as vainly seek to contend with me as he did to
      bury me beneath the oak-tree,&rdquo; cried Herne. &ldquo;If you want me further, seek
      me in the upper chamber.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And with these words he darted up the ladder-like flight of steps and
      disappeared.
    </p>
    <p>
      As soon as they recovered from the fright that had enchained them,
      Shoreditch and Paddington rushed forth into the area in front of the
      turret, and shouting to those on the roof told them that Herne was in the
      upper room&mdash;a piece of information which was altogether superfluous,
      as the hammering had recommenced, and continued till the clock struck
      twelve, when it stopped. Just then, it occurred to Mat Bee to ring the
      alarm-bell, and he seized the rope, and began to pull it; but the bell had
      scarcely sounded, when the cord, severed from above, fell upon his head.
    </p>
    <p>
      At this juncture, the king and the Duke of Suffolk arrived. When told what
      had happened, though prepared for it, Henry burst into a terrible passion,
      and bestowed a buffet on Mat Bee, that well nigh broke his jaw, and sent
      him reeling to the farther side of the chamber. He had not at first
      understood that Herne was supposed to be in the upper room; but as soon as
      he was made aware of the circumstance, he cried out&mdash;&ldquo;Ah, dastards!
      have you let him brave you thus? But I am glad of it. His capture is
      reserved for my own hand.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do not expose yourself to this risk, my gracious liege,&rdquo; said Suffolk.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What! are you too a sharer in their womanish fears, Suffolk?&rdquo; cried
      Henry. &ldquo;I thought you had been made of stouter stuff. If there is danger,
      I shall be the first to encounter it. Come,&rdquo; he added, snatching a torch
      from an arquebusier. And, drawing his dag, he hurried up the steep steps,
      while Suffolk followed his example, and three or four arquebusiers
      ventured after them.
    </p>
    <p>
      Meanwhile Shoreditch and Paddington ran out, and informed Bouchier that
      the king had arrived, and was mounting in search of Herne, upon which the
      captain, shaking off his fears, ordered his men to follow him, and opening
      the little door at the top of the stairs, began cautiously to descend,
      feeling his way with his sword. He had got about half-way down, when Henry
      sprang upon the platform. The light of the torch fell upon the ghostly
      figure of Herne, with his arms folded upon his breast, standing near the
      pile of wood, lying between the two staircases. So appalling was the
      appearance of the demon, that Henry stood still to gaze at him, while
      Bouchier and his men remained irresolute on the stairs. In another moment,
      the Duke of Suffolk had gained the platform, and the arquebusiers were
      seen near the head of the stairs.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;At last, thou art in my power, accursed being!&rdquo; cried Henry. &ldquo;Thou art
      hemmed in on all sides, and canst not escape!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ho! ho! ho!&rdquo; laughed Herne.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This shall prove whether thou art human or not,&rdquo; cried Henry, taking
      deliberate aim at him with the dag.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ho! ho! ho!&rdquo; laughed Herne. And as the report rang through the room, he
      sank through the floor, and disappeared from view.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Gone!&rdquo; exclaimed Henry, as the smoke cleared off; &ldquo;gone! Holy Mary! then
      it must indeed be the fiend. I made the middle of his skull my aim, and if
      he had not been invulnerable, the bullet must have pierced his brain.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I heard it rebound from his horned helmet, and drop to the floor,&rdquo; said
      Bouchier.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What is that chest?&rdquo; cried Henry, pointing to a strange coffin-shaped
      box, lying, as it seemed, on the exact spot where the demon had
      disappeared.
    </p>
    <p>
      No one had seen it before, though all called to mind the mysterious
      hammering; and they had no doubt that the coffin was the work of the
      demon.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Break it open,&rdquo; cried Henry; &ldquo;for aught we know, Herne may be concealed
      within it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The order was reluctantly obeyed by the arquebusiers. But no force was
      required, for the lid was not nailed down; and when it was removed, a
      human body in the last stage of decay was discovered.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Pah! close it up,&rdquo; cried Henry, turning away in disgust. &ldquo;How came it
      there?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It must have been brought by the powers of darkness,&rdquo; said Bouchier; &ldquo;no
      such coffin was here when I searched the chamber two hours ago. But see,&rdquo;
       he suddenly added, stooping down, and picking up a piece of paper which
      had fallen from the coffin, &ldquo;here is a scroll.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Give it me!&rdquo; cried Henry; and holding it to the light, he read the words,
      &ldquo;The body of Mark Fytton, the butcher, the victim of a tyrant's cruelty.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Uttering a terrible imprecation, Henry flung the paper from him; and
      bidding the arquebusiers burn the body at the foot of the gallows without
      the town, he quitted the tower without further search.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0042" id="link2H_4_0042">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      XII.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     How Wolsey was disgraced by the King.
</pre>
    <p>
      On the following day, a reconciliation took place between the king and
      Anne Boleyn. During a ride in the great park with his royal brother,
      Suffolk not only convinced him of the groundlessness of his jealousy, but
      contrived to incense him strongly against Wolsey. Thus the queen and the
      cardinal lost the momentary advantage they had gained, while Anne's power
      was raised yet higher. Yielding to her entreaties not to see Catherine
      again, nor to hold further conference with Wolsey until the sentence of
      the court should be pronounced, Henry left the castle that very day, and
      proceeded to his palace of Bridewell. The distress of the unhappy queen at
      this sudden revolution of affairs may be conceived. Distrusting Wolsey,
      and putting her sole reliance on Heaven and the goodness of her cause, she
      withdrew to Blackfriars, where she remained till the court met. As to the
      cardinal himself, driven desperate by his situation, and exasperated by
      the treatment he had experienced, he resolved, at whatever risk, to thwart
      Henry's schemes, and revenge himself upon Anne Boleyn.
    </p>
    <p>
      Thus matters continued till the court met as before in the
      Parliament-chamber, at Blackfriars. On this occasion Henry was present,
      and took his place under a cloth of estate,&mdash;the queen sitting at
      some distance below him. Opposite them were the legates, with the
      Archbishop of Canterbury, and the whole of the bishops. The aspect of the
      assemblage was grave and anxious. Many eyes were turned on Henry, who
      looked gloomy and menacing, but the chief object of interest was the
      queen, who, though pale as death, had never in her highest days of power
      worn a more majestic and dignified air than on this occasion.
    </p>
    <p>
      The proceedings of the court then commenced, and the king being called by
      the crier, he immediately answered to the summons. Catherine was next
      called, and instead of replying, she marched towards the canopy beneath
      which the king was seated, prostrated herself, and poured forth a most
      pathetic and eloquent appeal to him, at the close of which she arose, and
      making a profound reverence, walked out of the court, leaning upon the arm
      of her general receiver, Griffith. Henry desired the crier to call her
      back, but she would not return; and seeing the effect produced by her
      address upon the auditory, he endeavoured to efface it by an eulogium on
      her character and virtues, accompanied by an expression of deep regret at
      the step he was compelled to take in separating himself from her. But his
      hypocrisy availed him little, and his speech was received with looks of
      ill-disguised incredulity. Some further discourse then took place between
      the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Bishop of Rochester; but as the queen
      had absented herself, the court was adjourned to the next day, when it
      again met, and as she did not then appear, though summoned, she was
      pronounced contumacious. After repeated adjournments, the last session was
      held, and judgment demanded on the part of the king, when Campeggio, as
      had been arranged between him and Wolsey, declined to pronounce it until
      he had referred the matter to the Pope, and the court was dissolved.
    </p>
    <p>
      About two months after this event, during which time the legate's
      commission had been revoked, while Henry was revolving the expediency of
      accomplishing the divorce through the medium of his own ecclesiastical
      courts, and without reference to that of Rome, a despatch was received
      from the Pope by the two cardinals, requiring them to cite the king to
      appear before him by attorney on a certain day. At the time of the arrival
      of this instrument, Campeggio chanced to be staying with Wolsey at his
      palace at Esher, and as the king was then holding his court at Windsor,
      they both set out for the castle on the following day, attended by a
      retinue of nearly a hundred horsemen, splendidly equipped.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was now the middle of September, and the woods, instead of presenting
      one uniform mass of green, glowed with an infinite variety of lovely
      tints. And yet, despite the beauty of the scene, there was something
      melancholy in witnessing the decline of the year, as marked by those old
      woods, and by the paths that led through them, so thickly strewn with
      leaves. Wolsey was greatly affected. &ldquo;These noble trees will ere long
      bereft of all their glories,&rdquo; he thought, &ldquo;and so, most likely, will it be
      with me, and perhaps my winter may come sooner than theirs!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The cardinal and his train had crossed Staines Bridge, and passing through
      Egham, had entered the great park near Englefield Green. They were
      proceeding along the high ridge overlooking the woody region between it
      and the castle, when a joyous shout in the glades beneath reached them,
      and looking down, they saw the king accompanied by Anne Boleyn, and
      attended by his falconers and a large company of horsemen, pursuing the
      sport of hawking. The royal party appeared so much interested in their
      sport that they did not notice the cardinal and his train, and were soon
      out of sight. But as Wolsey descended Snow Hill, and entered the long
      avenue, he heard the trampling of horses at a little distance, and shortly
      afterwards, Henry and Anne issued from out the trees. They were somewhat
      more than a bow-shot in advance of the cardinal; but instead of halting
      till he came up, the king had no sooner ascertained who it was, than,
      despatching a messenger to the castle, who was seen galloping swiftly down
      the avenue, he rode off with Anne Boleyn towards the opposite side of the
      park. Though deeply mortified by the slight, Wolsey concealed his vexation
      from his brother cardinal, and pursued his way to the castle, before which
      he presently arrived. The gate was thrown open at his approach, but he had
      scarcely entered the lower ward when Sir Henry Norris, the king's groom of
      the stole, advanced to meet him, and, with a sorrowful expression of
      countenance, said that his royal master had so many guests at the castle,
      that he could not accommodate him and his train.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I understand your drift, sir,&rdquo; replied Wolsey; &ldquo;you would tell me I am
      not welcome. Well, then, his eminence Cardinal Campeggio and myself must
      take up our lodging at some hostel in the town, for it is necessary we
      should see the king.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If your grace is content to dismiss your attendants,&rdquo; said Norris in a
      low tone, &ldquo;you and Cardinal Campeggio can be lodged in Henry the Third's
      Tower. Thus much I will take upon me; but I dare not admit you to the
      royal lodgings.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Wolsey tried to look unconcerned, and calling to his gentleman usher,
      George Cavendish, gave him some instructions in a low voice, upon which
      the other immediately placed himself at the head of the retinue, and
      ordered them to quit the castle with him, leaving only the jester, Patch,
      to attend upon his master. Campeggio's attendants being comparatively
      speaking, few in number, were allowed to remain, and his litter was
      conveyed to Henry the Third's Tower&mdash;a fortification standing, as
      already stated, in the south side of the lower ward, near the edge of the
      dry moat surrounding the Round Tower. At the steps of this tower Wolsey
      dismounted, and was about to follow Campeggio into the doorway, when Will
      Sommers, who had heard of his arrival, stepped forward, and with a
      salutation of mock formality, said, &ldquo;I am sure it will grieve the king, my
      master, not to be able to accommodate your grace's train; but since it is
      larger than his own, you will scarce blame his want of hospitality.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nor the courtesy of his attendants,&rdquo; rejoined Wolsey sharply. &ldquo;I am in no
      mood for thy jesting now. Stand aside, sirrah, or I will have the rod
      applied to thy back!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Take care the king does not apply the rod to your own, lord cardinal,&rdquo;
       retorted Will Sommers. &ldquo;If he scourges you according to your deserts, your
      skin will be redder than your robe.&rdquo; And his mocking laugh pursued Wolsey
      like the hiss of a snake into the tower.
    </p>
    <p>
      Some two hours after this, Henry and his attendants returned from the
      chase. The king seemed in a blithe humour, and Wolsey saw him laugh
      heartily as Will Sommers pointed with his bauble towards Henry the Third's
      Tower. The cardinal received no invitation to the royal banquet; and the
      answer to his solicitation for an interview was, that he and Campeggio
      would be received in the presence-chamber on the following morning, but
      not before.
    </p>
    <p>
      That night a great revel was held in the castle. Masquing, dancing, and
      feasting filled up the evening, and the joyous sounds and strains reached
      Wolsey in his seclusion, and forced him to contrast it with his recent
      position, when he would have been second only to the king in the
      entertainment. He laid his head upon his pillow, but not to rest, and
      while tossing feverishly about his couch, he saw the arras with which the
      walls were covered, move, and a tall, dark figure step from behind it. The
      cardinal would have awakened his jester, who slept in a small truckle-bed
      at his feet, but the strange visitor motioned him to be still.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You may conjecture who I am, cardinal,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;but in case you should
      doubt, I will tell you. I am Herne the Hunter! And now to my errand. There
      is a damsel, whom you once saw in the forest near the great lake, and whom
      you promised to befriend. You can assist her now&mdash;to-morrow it may be
      out of your power.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have enough to do to aid myself, without meddling with what concerns me
      not,&rdquo; said Wolsey.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This damsel does concern you,&rdquo; cried Herne. &ldquo;Read this, and you will see
      in what way.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And he tossed a letter to Wolsey, who glanced at it by the light of the
      lamp.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ha! is it so?&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;Is she&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hush!&rdquo; cried Herne, &ldquo;or you will wake this sleeper. It is as you suppose.
      Will you not aid her now? Will you not bestow some of your treasure upon
      her before it is wholly wrested from you by the king? I will do aught you
      wish, secretly and swiftly.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Go, then, to my palace at Esher,&rdquo; cried the cardinal. &ldquo;Take this key to
      my treasurer&mdash;it is the key of my coffers. Bid him deliver to you the
      six caskets in the cabinet in the gilt chamber. Here is a token by which
      he will know that you came from me,&rdquo; he added, delivering him a small
      chain of gold, &ldquo;for it has been so agreed between us. But you will be sure
      to give the treasure to Mabel.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Fear nothing,&rdquo; replied Herne. And stretching forth his hand to receive
      the key and the chain, he glided behind the tapestry, and disappeared.
    </p>
    <p>
      This strange incident gave some diversion to Wolsey's thought; but ere
      long they returned to their former channel. Sleep would not be summoned,
      and as soon as the first glimpse of day appeared, he arose, and wrapping
      his robe around him, left his room and ascended a winding staircase
      leading to the roof of the tower.
    </p>
    <p>
      The morning promised to be fine, but it was then hazy, and the greater
      part of the forest was wrapped in mist. The castle, however, was seen to
      great advantage. Above Wolsey rose the vast fabric of the Round Tower, on
      the summit of which the broad standard was at that moment being unfurled;
      while the different battlements and towers arose majestically around. But
      Wolsey's gaze rested chiefly upon the exquisite mausoleum lying
      immediately beneath him; in which he had partly prepared for himself a
      magnificent monument. A sharp pang shook him as he contemplated it, and he
      cried aloud, &ldquo;My very tomb will be wrested from me by this rapacious
      monarch; and after all my care and all my cost, I know not where I shall
      rest my bones!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Saddened by the reflection, he descended to his chamber, and again threw
      himself on the couch.
    </p>
    <p>
      But Wolsey was not the only person in the castle who had passed a
      sleepless night. Of the host of his enemies many had been kept awake by
      the anticipation of his downfall on the morrow; and among these was Anne
      Boleyn, who had received an assurance from the king that her enmity should
      at length be fully gratified.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the appointed hour, the two cardinals, proceeded to the royal lodgings.
      They were detained for some time in the ante-chamber, where Wolsey was
      exposed to the taunts and sneers of the courtiers, who had lately so
      servilely fawned upon him. At length, they were ushered into the presence
      chamber, at the upper end of which beneath a canopy emblazoned with the
      royal arms woven in gold, sat Henry, with Anne Boleyn on his right hand.
      At the foot of the throne stood Will Sommers, and near him the Dukes of
      Richmond and Suffolk. Norfolk, Rochford, and a number of other nobles, all
      open enemies of Wolsey, were also present. Henry watched the advance of
      the cardinals with a stern look, and after they had made an obeisance to
      him, he motioned them to rise.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have sought an interview with me, my lords,&rdquo; he said, with suppressed
      rage. &ldquo;What would you?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We have brought an instrument to you, my liege,&rdquo; said Wolsey, &ldquo;which has
      just been received from his holiness the Pope.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Declare its nature,&rdquo; said Henry.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is a citation,&rdquo; replied Wolsey, &ldquo;enjoining your high ness to appear by
      attorney in the papal court, under a penalty of ten thousand ducats.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And he presented a parchment, stamped with the great seal of Rome, to the
      king, who glanced his eye fiercely over it, and then dashed it to the
      ground, with an explosion of fury terrible to hear and to witness.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ha! by Saint George!&rdquo; he cried; &ldquo;am I as nothing, that the Pope dares to
      insult me thus?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is a mere judicial form your majesty,&rdquo; interposed Campeggio, &ldquo;and is
      chiefly sent by his holiness to let you know we have no further
      jurisdiction in the matter of the divorce.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will take care you have not, nor his holiness either,&rdquo; roared the king.
      &ldquo;By my father's head, he shall find I will be no longer trifled with.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But, my liege,&rdquo; cried Campeggio.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Peace!&rdquo; cried the king. &ldquo;I will hear no apologies nor excuses. The insult
      has been offered, and cannot be effaced. As for you, Wolsey&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sire!&rdquo; exclaimed the cardinal, shrinking before the whirlwind of passion,
      which seemed to menace his utter extermination.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;As for you, I say,&rdquo; pursued Henry, extending his hand towards him, while
      his eyes flashed fire, &ldquo;who by your outrageous pride have so long
      overshadowed our honour&mdash;who by your insatiate avarice and appetite
      for wealth have oppressed our subjects&mdash;who by your manifold acts of
      bribery and extortion have impoverished our realm, and by your cruelty and
      partiality have subverted the due course of justice and turned it to your
      ends&mdash;the time is come when you shall receive due punishment for your
      offences.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You wrong me, my dear liege,&rdquo; cried Wolsey abjectly. &ldquo;These are the
      accusations of my enemies. Grant me a patient hearing, and I will explain
      all.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I would not sharpen the king's resentment against you, lord cardinal,&rdquo;
       said Anne Boleyn, &ldquo;for it is keen enough; but I cannot permit you to say
      that these charges are merely hostile. Those who would support the king's
      honour and dignity must desire to see you removed from his counsels.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am ready to take thy place, lord cardinal,&rdquo; said Will Sommers; &ldquo;and
      will exchange my bauble for thy chancellor's mace, and my fool's cap for
      thy cardinal's hat.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Peace!&rdquo; thundered the king. &ldquo;Stand not between me and the object of my
      wrath. Your accusers are not one but many, Wolsey; nay, the whole of my
      people cry out for justice against you. And they shall have it. But you
      shall hear the charges they bring. Firstly, contrary to our prerogative,
      and for your own advancement and profit, you have obtained authority
      legatine from the Pope; by which authority you have not only spoiled and
      taken away their substance from many religious houses, but have usurped
      much of our own jurisdiction. You have also made a treaty with the King of
      France for the Pope without our consent, and concluded another friendly
      treaty with the Duke of Ferrara, under our great seal, and in our name,
      without our warrant. And furthermore you have presumed to couple yourself
      with our royal self in your letters and instructions, as if you were on an
      equality with us.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ha! ha! 'The king and I would have you do thus!' 'The king and I give you
      our hearty thanks!' Ran it not so, cardinal?&rdquo; cried Will Sommers. &ldquo;You
      will soon win the cap and bells.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In exercise of your legatine authority,&rdquo; pursued the king, &ldquo;you have
      given away benefices contrary to our crown and dignity, for the which you
      are in danger of forfeiture of your lands and goods.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A premunire, cardinal,&rdquo; cried Will Sommers. &ldquo;A premunire!&mdash;ha! ha!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then it has been your practice to receive all the ambassadors to our
      court first at your own palace,&rdquo; continued Henry, &ldquo;to hear their charges
      and intentions, and to instruct them as you might see fit. You have also
      so practised that all our letters sent from beyond sea have first come to
      your own hands, by which you have acquainted yourself with their contents,
      and compelled us and our council to follow your devices. You have also
      written to all our ambassadors abroad in your own name concerning our
      affairs, without our authority; and received letters in return from them
      by which you have sought to compass your own purposes. By your ambition
      and pride you have undone many of our poor subjects; have suppressed
      religious houses, and received their possessions; have seized upon the
      goods of wealthy spiritual men deceased; constrained all ordinaries yearly
      to compound with you; have gotten riches for yourself and servants by
      subversion of the laws, and by abuse of your authority in causing divers
      pardons of the Pope to be suspended until you, by promise of a yearly
      pension, chose to revive them; and also by crafty and untrue tales have
      sought to create dissention among our nobles.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That we can all avouch for,&rdquo; cried Suffolk. &ldquo;It was never merry in
      England while there were cardinals among us.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Of all men in England your grace should be the last to say so,&rdquo; rejoined
      Wolsey; &ldquo;for if I had not been cardinal, you would not have had a head
      upon your shoulders to utter the taunt.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No more of this!&rdquo; cried the king. &ldquo;You have misdemeaned yourself in our
      court by keeping up as great state in our absence as if we had been there
      in person, and presumptuously have dared to join and imprint your badge,
      the cardinal's hat, under our arms, graven on our coins struck at York.
      And lastly, whenever in open Parliament allusion hath been made to
      heresies and erroneous sects, you have failed to correct and notice them,
      to the danger of the whole body of good and Christian people of this our
      realm.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This last charge ought to win me favour in the eyes of one who professes
      the Opinions of Luther,&rdquo; said Wolsey to Anne. &ldquo;But I deny it, as I do all
      the rest.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will listen to no defence, Wolsey,&rdquo; replied the king. &ldquo;I will make you
      a terrible example to others how they offend us and our laws hereafter.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do not condemn me unheard!&rdquo; cried the cardinal, prostrating himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have heard too much, and I will hear no more!&rdquo; cried the king fiercely.
      &ldquo;I dismiss you from my presence for ever. If you are innocent, as you
      aver, justice will be done you.. If you are guilty, as I believe you to
      be, look not for leniency from me, for I will show you none.&rdquo; And, seating
      himself, he turned to Anne, and said, in a low tone, &ldquo;Are you content,
      sweetheart?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am,&rdquo; she replied. &ldquo;I shall not now break my vow. False cardinal,&rdquo; she
      added aloud, &ldquo;your reign is at an end.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your own may not be much longer, madam,&rdquo; rejoined Wolsey bitterly. &ldquo;The
      shadow of the axe,&rdquo; he added, pointing to the reflection of a partisan on
      the floor, &ldquo;is at your feet. Ere long it may rise to the head.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And, accompanied by Campeggio, he slowly quitted the presence-chamber.
    </p>
    <p>
      THUS ENDS THE FOURTH BOOK OF THE CHRONICLE OF WINDSOR CASTLE <a
      name="link2H_4_0043" id="link2H_4_0043">
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    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      BOOK V. MABEL LYNDWOOD
    </h2>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0044" id="link2H_4_0044">
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    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      I.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     How the Earl of Surrey and the Fair Geraldine met in King
     James's Bower in the Moat&mdash;And how they were surprised by
     the Duke of Richmond.
</pre>
    <p>
      IN order to preserve unbroken the chain of events with which the last book
      of this chronicle concluded, it was deemed expedient to disturb the unity
      of time, so far as it related to some of the less important characters;
      and it will now be necessary, therefore, to return to the middle of June,
      when the Earl of Surrey's term of captivity was drawing to a close.
    </p>
    <p>
      As the best means of conquering the anxiety produced by the vision
      exhibited to him by Herne, increased as it was by the loss of the relic he
      had sustained at the same time, the earl had devoted himself to incessant
      study, and for a whole month he remained within his chamber. The
      consequence of his unremitting application was that, though he succeeded
      in his design and completely regained his tranquillity, his strength gave
      way under the effort, and he was confined for some days to his couch by a
      low fever.
    </p>
    <p>
      As soon as he was sufficiently recovered to venture forth, he mounted to
      the summit of the Round Tower, in the hope that a walk round its breezy
      battlements might conduce to his restoration to health. The day was bright
      and beautiful, and a gentle wind was stirring; and as Surrey felt the
      breath of heaven upon his cheek, and gazed upon the glorious. prospect
      before him, he wondered that his imprisonment had not driven him mad.
      Everything around him, indeed, was calculated to make the sense of
      captivity painful. The broad and beautiful meads, stretching out beneath
      him, seemed to invite a ramble over them; the silver river courted a
      plunge into its waves, the woods an hour's retirement into their shady
      recesses, The bells of Eton College rang out merrily, but their sound
      saddened rather than elated him. The road between Eton and Windsor, then
      marked by straggling cottages with gardens between them, with here and
      there a dwelling of a better kind, was thronged with herds of cattle and
      their drivers, for a fair was held that day in the town of Windsor, to
      which they were hastening. Then there were country maidens and youthful
      hinds in their holiday apparel, trooping towards the bridge. Booths were
      erected, near which, in the Brocas meads, the rustic sports of wrestling,
      running, and casting the bar were going forward, while numbers of boats
      shot to and fro upon the river, and strains of music proceeded from a
      large gilt barge moored to its banks. Nearer, and in the broad green plain
      lying beneath the north terrace, were a company of archers shooting at the
      butts. But these sights, instead of affording pleasure to Surrey, only
      sharpened the anguish of his feelings by the contrast they offered to his
      present position.
    </p>
    <p>
      To distract his thoughts, he quitted the near view, and let his eye run
      along the edge of the horizon, until it rested upon a small speck, which
      he knew to be the lofty spire of Saint Paul's Cathedral. If, as he
      supposed, the Fair Geraldine was in attendance upon Anne Boleyn, at the
      palace at Bridewell, she must be under the shadow of this very spire; and
      the supposition, whether correct or not, produced such quick and stifling
      emotions, that the tears rushed to his eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      Ashamed of his weakness, he turned to the other side of the tower, and
      bent his gaze upon the woody heights of the great park. These recalled
      Herne the Hunter; and burning with resentment at the tricks practised upon
      him by the demon, he determined that the first use he would make of his
      liberty should be to seek out, and, if possible, effect the capture of
      this mysterious being. Some of the strange encounters between Herne and
      the king had been related to him by the officer on guard at the Norman
      Tower but these only served as stimulants to the adventure. After a couple
      of hours thus passed on the keep, he descended refreshed and invigorated.
      The next day he was there again, and the day after that; when, feeling
      that his restoration was well nigh complete, he requested permission to
      pass the following evening in the dry moat of the donjon. And this was
      readily accorded him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Covered with green sod, and shaded by many tall trees growing out of the
      side of the artificial mound on which the keep was built, the fosse
      offered all the advantages of a garden to the prisoners who were allowed
      to take exercise within it. Here, as has been mentioned, King James the
      First of Scotland first beheld, from the battlements above, the lovely
      Jane Beaufort take her solitary walk, and by his looks and gestures
      contrived to make her sensible of the passion with which she inspired him;
      and here at last, in an arbour which, for the sake of the old and
      delightful legend connected with it, was kept up at the time of this
      chronicle, and then bore the name of the royal poet, they had secretly
      met, and interchanged their vows of affection.
    </p>
    <p>
      Familiar with the story, familiar also with the poetic strains to which
      the monarch's passion gave birth, Surrey could not help comparing his own
      fate with that of the illustrious captive who had visited the spot before
      him. Full of such thoughts, he pensively tracked the narrow path winding
      between the grassy banks of the fosse&mdash;now casting up his eyes to the
      keep&mdash;now looking towards the arbour, and wishing that he had been
      favoured with such visitings as lightened the captivity of the Scottish
      king. At last, he sought the bower&mdash;a charming little nest of green
      leaves and roses, sheltering a bench which seemed only contrived for
      lovers&mdash;and taking out his tablets, began to trace within them some
      stanzas of that exquisite poem which has linked his name for ever with the
      Round Tower. Thus occupied, the time stole on insensibly, and he was not
      aware that he had over-stayed the limits allowed him, till he was aroused
      by the voice of the officer, who came to summon him back to his prison.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You will be removed to your old lodging, in the Round Tower, to-morrow
      night, my lord,&rdquo; said the officer.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;For what reason?&rdquo; demanded the earl, as he followed his conductor up the
      steep side of the mound. But receiving no reply, he did not renew the
      inquiry.
    </p>
    <p>
      Entering a door in the covered way at the head of the flight of steps
      communicating with the Norman Tower, they descended them in silence. Just
      as they reached the foot of this long staircase, the earl chanced to cast
      back his eyes, and, to his inexpressible astonishment, perceived on the
      landing at the head of the steps, and just before the piece of ordnance
      commanding the ascent, the figure of Herne the Hunter.
    </p>
    <p>
      Before he could utter an exclamation, the figure retreated through the
      adjoining archway. Telling the officer what he had seen, Surrey would fain
      have gone in quest of the fiendish spy; but the other would not permit
      him; and affecting to treat the matter as a mere creation of fancy, he
      hurried the earl to his chamber in the Curfew Tower.
    </p>
    <p>
      The next day, Surrey was removed betimes to the Round Tower, and the cause
      of the transfer was soon explained by the discharge of ordnance, the
      braying of trumpets and the rolling of drums, announcing the arrival of
      the king. From the mystery observed towards him, Surrey was led to the
      conclusion that the Fair Geraldine accompanied the royal party; but he in
      vain sought to satisfy himself of the truth of the surmise by examining,
      through the deep embrasure of his window, the cavalcade that soon
      afterwards entered the upper quadrangle. Amid the throng of beautiful
      dames surrounding Anne Boleyn he could not be certain that he detected the
      Fair Geraldine; but he readily distinguished the Duke of Richmond among
      the nobles, and the sight awakened a pang of bitter jealousy in his
      breast.
    </p>
    <p>
      The day wore away slowly, for he could not fix his attention upon his
      books, neither was he allowed to go forth upon the battlements of the
      tower. In the evening, however, the officer informed him he might take
      exercise within the dry moat if he was so inclined, and he gladly availed
      himself of the permission.
    </p>
    <p>
      After pacing to and fro along the walk for a short time, he entered the
      arbour, and was about to throw himself upon the bench, when he observed a
      slip of paper lying upon it. He took it up, and found a few lines traced
      upon it in hurried characters. They ran thus:&mdash;&ldquo;The Fair Geraldine
      arrived this morning in the castle. If the Earl of Surrey desires to meet
      her, he will find her within this arbour at midnight.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      This billet was read and re-read by the young earl with feelings of
      indescribable transport; but a little reflection damped his ardour, and
      made him fear it might be a device to ensnare him. There was no certainty
      that the note proceeded in any way from the Fair Geraldine, nor could he
      even be sure that she was in the castle. Still, despite these misgivings,
      the attraction was too powerful to be resisted, and he turned over the
      means of getting out of his chamber, but the scheme seemed wholly
      impracticable. The window was at a considerable height above the ramparts
      of the keep, and even if he could reach them, and escape the notice of the
      sentinels, he should have to make a second descent into the fosse. And
      supposing all this accomplished how was he to return? The impossibility of
      answering this latter mental interrogation compelled him to give up all
      idea of the attempt.
    </p>
    <p>
      On returning to his prison-chamber, he stationed himself at the embrasure
      overlooking the ramparts, and listened to the regular tread of the
      sentinel below, half resolved, be the consequences what they might, to
      descend. As the appointed time approached, his anxiety became almost
      intolerable, and quitting the window, he began to pace hurriedly to and
      fro within the chamber, which, as has been previously observed, partook of
      the circular form of the keep, and was supported in certain places by
      great wooden pillars and cross-beams. But instead of dissipating his
      agitation, his rapid movements seemed rather to increase it, and at last,
      wrought to a pitch of uncontrollable excitement, he cried aloud&mdash; &ldquo;If
      the fiend were to present himself now, and offer to lead me to her, I
      would follow him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Scarcely were the words uttered than a hollow laugh broke from the farther
      end of the chamber, and a deep voice exclaimed&mdash;&ldquo;I am ready to take
      you to her.&rdquo; &ldquo;I need not ask who addresses me,&rdquo; said Surrey, after a
      pause, and straining his eyes to distinguish the figure of the speaker in
      the gloom.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will tell you who I am,&rdquo; rejoined the other. &ldquo;I am he who visited you
      once before&mdash;who showed you a vision of the Fair Geraldine&mdash;and
      carried off your vaunted relic&mdash;ho! ho!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Avoid thee, false fiend!&rdquo; rejoined Surrey, &ldquo;thou temptest me now in
      vain.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have summoned me,&rdquo; returned Herne; &ldquo;and I will not be dismissed. I am
      ready to convey you to your mistress, who awaits you in King James's
      bower, and marvels at your tardiness.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And with what design dost thou offer me this service?&rdquo; demanded Surrey.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It will be time enough to put that question when I make any condition,&rdquo;
       replied Herne. &ldquo;Enough, I am willing to aid you. Will you go?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Lead on!&rdquo; replied Surrey, marching towards him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Suddenly, Herne drew a lantern from beneath the cloak in which he was
      wrapped, and threw its light on a trap-door lying open at his feet.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Descend!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Surrey hesitated a moment, and then plunged down the steps. In another
      instant the demon followed. Some hidden machinery was then set in motion,
      and the trap-door returned to its place. At length, Surrey arrived at a
      narrow passage, which appeared to correspond in form with the bulwarks of
      the keep. Here Herne passed him, and taking the lead, hurried along the
      gallery and descended another flight of steps, which brought them to a
      large vault, apparently built in the foundation of the tower. Before the
      earl had time to gaze round this chamber, the demon masked the lantern,
      and taking his hand, drew him through a narrow passage, terminated by a
      small iron door, which flew open at a touch, and they emerged among the
      bushes clothing the side of the mound.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You can now proceed without my aid,&rdquo; said Herne: &ldquo;but take care not to
      expose yourself to the sentinels.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Keeping under the shade of the trees, for the moon was shining brightly,
      Surrey hastened towards the arbour, and as he entered it, to his
      inexpressible delight found that he had not been deceived, but that the
      Fair Geraldine was indeed there.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How did you contrive this meeting?&rdquo; she cried, after their first
      greetings had passed. &ldquo;And how did you learn I was in the castle, for the
      strictest instructions were given that the tidings should not reach you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The only response made by Surrey was to press her lily hand devotedly to
      his lips.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I should not have ventured hither,&rdquo; pursued the Fair Geraldine, &ldquo;unless
      you had sent me the relic as a token. I knew you would never part with it,
      and I therefore felt sure there was no deception.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But how did you get here?&rdquo; inquired Surrey.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your messenger provided a rope-ladder, by which I descended into the
      moat,&rdquo; she replied.
    </p>
    <p>
      Surrey was stupefied.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You seem astonished at my resolution,&rdquo; she continued; &ldquo;and, indeed, I am
      surprised at it myself; but I could not overcome my desire to see you,
      especially as this meeting may be our last. The king, through the Lady
      Anne Boleyn, has positively enjoined me to think no more of you and has
      given your father, the Duke of Norfolk, to understand that your marriage
      without the royal assent will be attended by the loss of all the favour he
      now enjoys.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And think you I will submit to such tyranny?&rdquo; cried Surrey.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Alas!&rdquo; replied the Fair Geraldine in a mournful tone, &ldquo;I feel we shall
      never be united. This conviction, which has lately forced itself upon my
      mind, has not made me love you less, though it has in some degree altered
      my feelings towards you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But I may be able to move the king,&rdquo; cried Surrey. &ldquo;I have some claim
      besides that of kindred on the Lady Anne Boleyn&mdash;and she will obtain
      his consent.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do not trust to her,&rdquo; replied the Fair Geraldine. &ldquo;You may have rendered
      her an important service, but be not too sure of a return. No, Surrey, I
      here release you from the troth you plighted to me in the cloisters.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will not be released from it!&rdquo; cried the earl hastily; &ldquo;neither will I
      release you. I hold the pledge as sacred and as binding as if we had been
      affianced together before Heaven.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;For your own sake, do not say so, my dear lord,&rdquo; rejoined the Fair
      Geraldine; &ldquo;I beseech you, do not. That your heart is bound to me now, I
      well believe&mdash;and that you could become inconstant I will not permit
      myself to suppose. But your youth forbids an union between us for many
      years; and if during that time you should behold some fairer face than
      mine, or should meet some heart you may conceive more loving&mdash;though
      that can hardly be&mdash;I would not have a hasty vow restrain you. Be
      free, then&mdash;free at least for three years&mdash;and if at the end of
      that time your affections are still unchanged, I am willing you should
      bind yourself to me for ever.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I cannot act with equal generosity to you,&rdquo; rejoined Surrey in a tone of
      deep disappointment. &ldquo;I would sooner part with life than relinquish the
      pledge I have received from you. But I am content that my constancy should
      be put to the test you propose. During the long term of my probation, I
      will shrink from no trial of faith. Throughout Europe I will proclaim your
      beauty in the lists, and will maintain its supremacy against all comers.
      But, oh! sweet Geraldine, since we have met in this spot, hallowed by the
      loves of James of Scotland and Jane Beaufort, let us here renew our vows
      of eternal constancy, and agree to meet again at the time you have
      appointed, with hearts as warm and loving as those we bring together now.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And as he spoke he drew her towards him, and imprinted a passionate kiss
      on her lips.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Let that ratify the pledge,&rdquo; he said.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ho! ho! ho!&rdquo; laughed a deep voice without.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What was that?&rdquo; demanded the Fair Geraldine in a tone of alarm.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have the relic, have you not?&rdquo; inquired the earl in a low tone.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No!&rdquo; she replied, &ldquo;your messenger merely showed it to me. But why do you
      ask? Ah! I understand. The fiendish laughter that just now sounded in my
      ears proceeded from&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Herne the Hunter,&rdquo; replied Surrey, in a whisper. &ldquo;But fear nothing. I
      will defend you with my life. Ah! accursed chance! I have no weapon.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;None would avail against him,&rdquo; murmured the Fair Geraldine. &ldquo;Lead me
      forth; I shall die if I stay here.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Supporting her in his arms, Surrey complied, but they had scarcely gained
      the entrance of the arbour, when a tall figure stood before them. It was
      the Duke of Richmond. A gleam of moonlight penetrating through the leaves,
      fell upon the group, and rendered them distinctly visible to each other.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Soh!&rdquo; exclaimed the duke, after regarding the pair in silence for a
      moment, &ldquo;I have not been misinformed. You have contrived a meeting here.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Richmond,&rdquo; said Surrey sternly, &ldquo;we once were dear and loving friends,
      and we are still honourable foes. I know that I am safe with you. I know
      you will breathe no word about this meeting, either to the Fair
      Geraldine's prejudice or mine.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You judge me rightly, my lord,&rdquo; replied the duke, in a tone of equal
      sternness. &ldquo;I have no thought of betraying you; though, by a word to my
      royal father, I could prevent all chance of future rivalry on your part. I
      shall, however, demand a strict account from you on liberation.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your grace acts as beseems a loyal gentleman,&rdquo; replied Surrey. &ldquo;Hereafter
      I will not fail to account to you for my conduct in any way you please.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! let me interpose between you, my lords,&rdquo; cried the Fair Geraldine,
      &ldquo;to prevent the disastrous consequences of this quarrel. I have already
      told your grace I cannot love you, and that my heart is devoted to the
      Earl of Surrey. Let me appeal to your noble nature&mdash;to your
      generosity&mdash;not to persist in a hopeless suit.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have conquered madam,&rdquo; said the duke, after a pause. &ldquo;I have been to
      blame in this matter. But I will make amends for my error. Surrey, I
      relinquish her to you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My friend!&rdquo; exclaimed the earl, casting himself into the duke's arms.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will now endeavour to heal the wounds I have unwittingly occasioned,&rdquo;
       said the Fair Geraldine. &ldquo;I am surprised your grace should be insensible
      to attractions so far superior to mine as those of the Lady Mary Howard.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The Lady Mary is very beautiful, I confess,&rdquo; said the duke; &ldquo;and if you
      had not been in the way, I should assuredly have been her captive.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I ought not to betray the secret, perhaps,&rdquo; hesitated the Fair Geraldine,
      &ldquo;but gratitude prompts me to do so. The lady is not so blind to your
      grace's merits as I have been.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Indeed!&rdquo; exclaimed the duke. &ldquo;If it be so, Surrey, we may yet be brothers
      as well as friends.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And that it is so I can avouch, Richmond,&rdquo; rejoined the earl, &ldquo;for I am
      in my sister's secret as well as the Fair Geraldine. But now that this
      explanation has taken place, I must entreat your grace to conduct the Fair
      Geraldine back to her lodgings, while I regain, the best way I can, my
      chamber in the Round Tower.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I marvel how you escaped from it,&rdquo; said Richmond; &ldquo;but I suppose it was
      by the connivance of the officer.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He who set me free&mdash;who brought the Fair Geraldine hither&mdash;and
      who, I suspect, acquainted you with our meeting, was no other than Herne
      the Hunter,&rdquo; replied Surrey.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You amaze me!&rdquo; exclaimed the duke; &ldquo;it was indeed a tall dark man,
      muffled in a cloak, who informed me that you were to meet at midnight in
      King James's bower in the moat, and I therefore came to surprise you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your informant was Herne,&rdquo; replied Surrey.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Right!&rdquo; exclaimed the demon, stepping from behind a tree, where he had
      hitherto remained concealed; &ldquo;it was I&mdash;I, Herne the Hunter. And I
      contrived the meeting in anticipation of a far different result from that
      which has ensued. But I now tell you, my lord of Surrey, that it is idle
      to indulge a passion for the Fair Geraldine. You will never wed her.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;False fiend, thou liest!&rdquo; cried Surrey.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Time will show,&rdquo; replied Herne. &ldquo;I repeat, you will wed another&mdash;and
      more, I tell you, you are blinder than Richmond has shown himself&mdash;for
      the most illustrious damsel in the kingdom has regarded you with eyes of
      affection, and yet you have not perceived it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The Princess Mary?&rdquo; demanded Richmond.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay, the Princess Mary,&rdquo; repeated Herne. &ldquo;How say you now, my lord?&mdash;will
      you let ambition usurp the place of love?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; replied Surrey. &ldquo;But I will hold no further converse with thee. Thou
      wouldst tempt to perdition. Hence, fiend!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Unless you trust yourself to my guidance, you will never reach your
      chamber,&rdquo; rejoined Herne, with a mocking laugh. &ldquo;The iron door in the
      mound cannot be opened on this side, and you well know what the
      consequence of a discovery will be. Come, or I leave you to your fate.&rdquo;
       And he moved down the path on the right.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Go with him, Surrey,&rdquo; cried Richmond.
    </p>
    <p>
      Pressing the Fair Geraldine to his breast, the Earl committed her to the
      charge of his friend, and tearing himself away, followed the steps of the
      demon. He had not proceeded far when he heard his name pronounced by a
      voice issuing from the tree above him. Looking up, he saw Herne in one of
      the topmost branches, and at a sign, instantly climbed up to him. The
      thick foliage screened them from observation, and Surrey concluded his
      guide was awaiting the disappearance of the sentinel, who was at that
      moment approaching the tree. But such apparently was not the other's
      intentions; for the man had scarcely passed than Herne sprang upon the
      ramparts, and the poor fellow turning at the sound, was almost scared out
      of his senses at the sight of the dreaded fiend. Dropping his halbert, he
      fell upon his face with a stifled cry Herne then motioned Surrey to
      descend, and they marched together quickly to a low door opening into the
      keep. Passing through it, and ascending a flight of steps, they stood upon
      the landing at the top of the staircase communicating with the Norman
      Tower, and adjoining the entrance to Surrey's chamber.
    </p>
    <p>
      Apparently familiar with the spot, Herne took down a large key from a nail
      in the wall, against which it hung, and unlocked the door.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Enter,&rdquo; he said to Surrey, &ldquo;and do not forget the debt you owe to Herne
      the Hunter.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And as the earl stepped into the chamber, the door was locked behind him.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0045" id="link2H_4_0045">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      II.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     How Sir Thomas Wyat found Mabel in the Sandstone Cave, and
     what happened to him there
</pre>
    <p>
      A week after the foregoing occurrence, the Earl of Surrey was set free.
      But his joy at regaining his liberty was damped by learning that the Fair
      Geraldine had departed for Ireland. She had left the tenderest messages
      for him with his sister, the Lady Mary Howard, accompanied with assurances
      of unalterable attachment.
    </p>
    <p>
      But other changes had taken place, which were calculated to afford him
      some consolation. Ever since the night on which he had been told the Lady
      Mary was not indifferent to him, Richmond had devoted himself entirely to
      her; and matters had already proceeded so far, that he had asked her in
      marriage of the Duke of Norfolk, who, after ascertaining the king's
      pleasure on the subject, had gladly given his consent, and the youthful
      pair were affianced to each other. Surrey and Richmond now became closer
      friends than ever; and if, amid the thousand distractions of Henry's gay
      and festive court, the young earl did not forget the Fair Geraldine, he
      did not, at least, find the time hang heavily on his hands.
    </p>
    <p>
      About a week after Wolsey's dismissal, while the court was still
      sojourning at Windsor, Surrey proposed to Richmond to ride one morning
      with him in the great park. The Duke willingly assented, and mounting
      their steeds, they galloped towards Snow Hill, wholly unattended. While
      mounting this charming ascent at a more leisurely pace, the earl said to
      his companion, &ldquo;I will now tell you why I proposed this ride to you,
      Richmond. I have long determined to follow up the adventure of Herne the
      Hunter, and I wish to confer with you about it, and ascertain whether you
      are disposed to join me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I know not what to say, Surrey,&rdquo; replied the duke gravely, and speaking
      in a low tone. &ldquo;The king, my father, failed in his endeavours to expel the
      demon, who still lords it in the forest.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The greater glory to us if we succeed,&rdquo; said Surrey.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will take counsel with Lady Mary on the subject before I give an
      answer,&rdquo; rejoined Richmond.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then there is little doubt what your grace's decision will be,&rdquo; laughed
      Surrey. &ldquo;To speak truth, it was the fear of your consulting her that made
      me bring you here. What say you to a ride in the forest to-morrow night?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have little fancy for it,&rdquo; replied Richmond; &ldquo;and if you will be ruled
      by me, you will not attempt the enterprise yourself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My resolution is taken,&rdquo; said the earl; &ldquo;but now, since we have reached
      the brow of the hill, let us push forward to the lake.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A rapid ride of some twenty minutes brought them to the edge of the lake,
      and they proceeded along the verdant path leading to the forester's hut.
      On arriving at the dwelling, it appeared wholly deserted, but they
      nevertheless dismounted, and tying their horses to the trees at the back
      of the cottage, entered it. While they were examining the lower room, the
      plash of oars reached their ears, and rushing to the window, they descried
      the skiff rapidly approaching the shore. A man was seated within it, whose
      attire, though sombre, seemed to proclaim him of some rank, but as his
      back was towards them, they could not discern his features. In another
      instant the skiff touched the strand, and the rower leaping ashore, proved
      to be Sir Thomas Wyat. On making this discovery they both ran out to him,
      and the warmest greetings passed between them. When these were over,
      Surrey expressed his surprise to Wyat at seeing him there, declaring he
      was wholly unaware of his return from the court of France.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I came back about a month ago,&rdquo; said Wyat. &ldquo;His majesty supposes me at
      Allington; nor shall I return to court without a summons.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am not sorry to hear it,&rdquo; said Surrey; &ldquo;but what are you doing here?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My errand is a strange and adventurous one,&rdquo; replied Wyat. &ldquo;You may have
      heard that before I departed for France I passed some days in the forest
      in company with Herne the Hunter. What then happened to me I may not
      disclose; but I vowed never to rest till I have freed this forest from the
      weird being who troubles it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Say you so?&rdquo; cried Surrey; &ldquo;then you are most fortunately encountered,
      Sir Thomas, for I myself, as Richmond will tell you, am equally bent upon
      the fiend's expulsion. We will be companions in the adventure.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We will speak of that anon,&rdquo; replied Wyat. &ldquo;I was sorry to find this
      cottage uninhabited, and the fair damsel who dwelt within it, when I
      beheld it last, gone. What has become of her?
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is a strange story,&rdquo; said Richmond. And he proceeded to relate all
      that was known to have befallen Mabel.
    </p>
    <p>
      Wyat listened with profound attention to the recital, and at its close,
      said, &ldquo;I think I can find a clue to this mystery, but to obtain it I must
      go alone. Meet me here at midnight to-morrow, and I doubt not we shall be
      able to accomplish our design.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;May I not ask for some explanation of your scheme?&rdquo; said Surrey.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not yet,&rdquo; rejoined Wyat. &ldquo;But I will freely confess to you that there is
      much danger in the enterprise&mdash;danger that I would not willingly any
      one should share with me, especially you, Surrey, to whom I owe so much.
      If you do not find me here, therefore, to-morrow night, conclude that I
      have perished, or am captive.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, be it as you will, Wyat,&rdquo; said Surrey; &ldquo;but I would gladly
      accompany you, and share your danger.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I know it, and I thank you,&rdquo; returned Wyat, warmly grasping the other's
      hand; &ldquo;but much&mdash;nay, all&mdash;may remain to be done to-morrow
      night. You had better bring some force with you, for we may need it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will bring half a dozen stout archers,&rdquo; replied Surrey&mdash;&ldquo;and if
      you come not, depend upon it, I will either release you or avenge you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I did not intend to prosecute this adventure further,&rdquo; said Richmond;
      &ldquo;but since you are both resolved to embark in it, I will not desert you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Soon after this, the friends separated,&mdash;Surrey and Richmond taking
      horse and returning to the castle, discoursing on the unlooked&mdash;for
      meeting with Wyat, while the latter again entered the skiff, and rowed
      down the lake. As soon as the hut was clear, two persons descended the
      steps of a ladder leading to a sort of loft in the roof, and sprang upon
      the floor of the hut.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ho! ho! Ho!&rdquo; laughed the foremost, whose antlered helm and wild garb
      proclaimed him to be Herne; &ldquo;they little dreamed who were the hearers of
      their conference. So they think to take me, Fenwolf&mdash;ha!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;They know not whom they have to deal with,&rdquo; rejoined the latter.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;They should do so by this time,&rdquo; said Herne; &ldquo;but I will tell thee why
      Sir Thomas Wyat has undertaken this enterprise. It is not to capture me,
      though that may be one object that moves him. But he wishes to see Mabel
      Lyndwood. The momentary glimpse he caught of her bright eyes was
      sufficient to inflame him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; exclaimed Fenwolf, &ldquo;think you so?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am assured of it,&rdquo; replied Herne. &ldquo;He knows the secret of the cave, and
      will find her there.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But he will never return to tell what he has seen,&rdquo; said Fenwolf moodily.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I know not that,&rdquo; replied Herne. &ldquo;I have my own views respecting him. I
      want to renew my band.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He will never join you,&rdquo; rejoined Fenwolf.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What if I offer him Mabel as a bait?&rdquo; said Herne.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You will not do so, dread master?&rdquo; rejoined Fenwolf, trembling and
      turning pale. &ldquo;She belongs to me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To thee, fool!&rdquo; cried Herne, with a derisive laugh. &ldquo;Thinkest thou I
      would resign such a treasure to thee? No, no. But rest easy, I will not
      give her to Wyat.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You mean her for yourself, then?&rdquo; said Fenwolf.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Darest thou to question me?&rdquo; cried Herne, striking him with the hand
      armed with the iron gyves. &ldquo;This to teach thee respect.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And this to prove whether thou art mortal or rejoined Fenwolf, plucking
      his hunting-knife from his belt, and striking it with all his force
      against the other's breast. But though surely and forcibly dealt, the blow
      glanced off as if the demon were cased in steel, and the intended assassin
      fell back in amazement, while an unearthly laugh rang in his ears. Never
      had Fenwolf seen Herne wear so formidable a look as he at that moment
      assumed. His giant frame dilated, his eyes flashed fire, and the
      expression of his countenance was so fearful that Fenwolf shielded his
      eyes with his hands.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah, miserable dog!&rdquo; thundered Herne; &ldquo;dost thou think I am to be hurt by
      mortal hands, or mortal weapons? Thy former experience should have taught
      thee differently. But since thou hast provoked it, take thy fate!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Uttering these words, he seized Fenwolf by the throat, clutching him with
      a terrific gripe, and in a few seconds the miserable wretch would have
      paid the penalty of his rashness, if a person had not at the moment
      appeared at the doorway. Flinging his prey hastily backwards, Herne turned
      at the interruption, and perceived old Tristram Lyndwood, who looked
      appalled at what he beheld.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah, it is thou, Tristram?&rdquo; cried Herne; &ldquo;thou art just in time to witness
      the punishment of this rebellious hound.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Spare him, dread master! oh, spare him!&rdquo; cried Tristram imploringly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Herne, gazing at the half-strangled caitiff, &ldquo;he may live. He
      will not offend again. But why hast thou ventured from thy hiding-place,
      Tristram?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I came to inform you that I have just observed a person row across the
      lake in the skiff,&rdquo; replied the old man. &ldquo;He appears to be taking the
      direction of the secret entrance to the cave.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is Sir Thomas Wyat,&rdquo; replied Herne, &ldquo;I am aware of his proceedings.
      Stay with Fenwolf till he is able to move, and then proceed with him to
      the cave. But mark me, no violence must be done to Wyat if you find him
      there. Any neglect of my orders in this respect will be followed by severe
      punishment. I shall be at the cave ere long; but, meanwhile, I have other
      business to transact.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And quitting the hut, he plunged into the wood.
    </p>
    <p>
      Meanwhile, Sir Thomas Wyat, having crossed the lake, landed, and fastened
      the skiff to a tree, struck into the wood, and presently reached the open
      space in which lay the secret entrance to the cave. He was not long in
      finding the stone, though it was so artfully concealed by the brushwood
      that it would have escaped any uninstructed eye, and removing it, the
      narrow entrance to the cave was revealed.
    </p>
    <p>
      Committing himself to the protection of Heaven, Wyat entered, and having
      taken the precaution of drawing the stone after him, which was easily
      accomplished by a handle fixed to the inner side of it, he commenced the
      descent. At first, he had to creep along, but the passage gradually got
      higher, until at length, on reaching the level ground, he was able to
      stand upright. There was no light to guide him, but by feeling against the
      sides of the passage, he found that he was in the long gallery he had
      formerly threaded. Uncertain which way to turn, he determined to trust to
      chance for taking the right direction, and drawing his sword, proceeded
      slowly to the right.
    </p>
    <p>
      For some time he encountered no obstacle, neither could he detect the
      slightest sound, but he perceived that the atmosphere grew damp, and that
      the sides of the passage were covered with moisture. Thus warned, he
      proceeded with great caution, and presently found, after emerging into a
      more open space, and striking off on the left, that he had arrived at the
      edge of the pool of water which he knew lay at the end of the large
      cavern.
    </p>
    <p>
      While considering how he should next proceed, a faint gleam of light
      became visible at the upper end of the vault. Changing his position, for
      the pillars prevented him from seeing the source of the glimmer, he
      discovered that it issued from a lamp borne by a female hand, who he had
      no doubt was Mabel. On making this discovery, he sprang forwards, and
      called to her, but instantly repented his rashness, for as he uttered the
      cry the light was extinguished.
    </p>
    <p>
      Wyat was now completely at a loss how to proceed. He was satisfied that
      Mabel was in the vault; but in what way to guide himself to her retreat he
      could not tell, and it was evident she herself would not assist him.
      Persuaded, however, if he could but make himself known, he should no
      longer be shunned, he entered one of the lateral passages, and ever and
      anon, as he proceeded, repeated Mabel's name in a low, soft tone. The
      stratagem was successful. Presently he heard a light footstep approaching
      him, and a gentle voice inquired&mdash;&ldquo;Who calls me?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A friend,&rdquo; replied Wyat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your name?&rdquo; she demanded.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You will not know me if I declare myself, Mabel,&rdquo; he replied, &ldquo;but I am
      called Sir Thomas Wyat.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The name is well known to me,&rdquo; she replied, in trembling tones; &ldquo;and I
      have seen you once&mdash;at my grandfather's cottage. But why have you
      come here? Do you know where you are?
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I know that I am in the cave of Herne the Hunter,&rdquo; replied Wyat; &ldquo;and one
      of my motives for seeking it was to set you free. But there is nothing to
      prevent your flight now.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Alas! there is,&rdquo; she replied. &ldquo;I am chained here by bonds I cannot break.
      Herne has declared that any attempt at escape on my part shall be followed
      by the death of my grandsire. And he does not threaten idly, as no doubt
      you know. Besides, the most terrible vengeance would fall on my own head.
      No,&mdash;I cannot&mdash;dare not fly. But let us not talk in the dark.
      Come with me to procure a light. Give me your hand, and I will lead you to
      my cell.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Taking the small, trembling hand offered him, Wyat followed his
      conductress down the passage. A few steps brought them to a door, which
      she pushed aside, and disclosed a small chamber, hewn out of the rock, in
      a recess of which a lamp was burning. Lighting the lamp which she had
      recently extinguished, she placed it on a rude table.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Have you been long a prisoner here?&rdquo; asked Wyat, fixing his regards upon
      her countenance, which, though it had lost somewhat of its bloom, had
      gained much in interest and beauty.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;For three months, I suppose,&rdquo; she replied; &ldquo;but I am not able to
      calculate the lapse of time. It has seemed very&mdash;very long. Oh that I
      could behold the sun again, and breathe the fresh, pure air!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Come with me, and you shall do so,&rdquo; rejoined Wyat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have told you I cannot fly,&rdquo; she answered. &ldquo;I cannot sacrifice my
      grandsire.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But if he is leagued with this demon he deserves the worst fate that can
      befall him,&rdquo; said Wyat. &ldquo;You should think only of your own safety. What
      can be the motive of your detention?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I tremble to think of it,&rdquo; she replied; &ldquo;but I fear that Herne has
      conceived a passion for me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then indeed you must fly,&rdquo; cried Wyat; &ldquo;such unhallowed love will tend to
      perdition of soul and body.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh that there was any hope for me!&rdquo; she ejaculated.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There is hope,&rdquo; replied Wyat. &ldquo;I will protect you&mdash;will care for you&mdash;will
      love you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Love me!&rdquo; exclaimed Mabel, a deep blush overspreading her pale features.
      &ldquo;You love another.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Absence has enabled me to overcome the vehemence of my passion,&rdquo; replied
      Wyat, &ldquo;and I feel that my heart is susceptible of new emotions. But you,
      maiden,&rdquo; he added coldly, &ldquo;you are captivated by the admiration of the
      king.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My love, like yours, is past,&rdquo; she answered, with a faint smile; &ldquo;but if
      I were out of Herne's power I feel that I could love again, and far more
      deeply than I loved before&mdash;for that, in fact, was rather the result
      of vanity than of real regard.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mabel,&rdquo; said Wyat, taking her hand, and gazing into her eyes, &ldquo;if I set
      you free, will you love me?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I love you already,&rdquo; she replied; &ldquo;but if that could be, my whole life
      should be devoted to you. Ha!&rdquo; she exclaimed with a sudden change of tone,
      &ldquo;footsteps are approaching; it is Fenwolf. Hide yourself within that
      recess.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Though doubting the prudence of the course, Wyat yielded to her terrified
      and imploring looks, and concealed himself in the manner she had
      indicated. He was scarcely ensconed in the recess, when the door opened,
      and Morgan Fenwolf stepped in, followed by her grandfather. Fenwolf gazed
      suspiciously round the little chamber, and then glanced significantly at
      old Tristram, but he made no remark.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What brings you here?&rdquo; demanded Mabel tremblingly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are wanted in the cave,&rdquo; said Fenwolf.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will follow you anon,&rdquo; she replied.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You must come at once,&rdquo; rejoined Fenwolf authoritatively. &ldquo;Herne will
      become impatient.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Upon this Mabel rose, and, without daring to cast a look towards the spot
      where Wyat was concealed, quitted the cell with them. No sooner were they
      all out, than Fenwolf, hastily shutting the door, turned the key in the
      lock, and taking it out, exclaimed, &ldquo;So we have secured you, Sir Thomas
      Wyat. No fear of your revealing the secret of the cave now, or flying with
      Mabel&mdash;ha! ha!&rdquo; to here.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0046" id="link2H_4_0046">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      III.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     In what manner Herne declared his Passion for Mabel.
</pre>
    <p>
      Utterly disregarding her cries and entreaties, Fenwolf dragged Mabel into
      the great cavern, and forced her to take a seat on a bench near the spot
      where a heap of ashes showed that the fire was ordinarily lighted. All
      this while, her grandfather had averted his face from her, as if fearing
      to meet her regards, and he now busied himself in striking a light and
      setting fire to a pile of fagots and small logs of wood.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I thought you told me Herne was here,&rdquo; said Mabel in a tone of bitter
      reproach, to Fenwolf, who seated himself beside her on the bench.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He will be here ere long,&rdquo; he replied sullenly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, do not detain Sir Thomas Wyat!&rdquo; cried Mabel piteously; &ldquo;do not
      deliver him to your dread master! Do what you will with me&mdash;but let
      him go.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will tell you what I will do,&rdquo; replied Fenwolf, in a low tone; &ldquo;I will
      set Sir Thomas at liberty, and run all risks of Herne's displeasure, if
      you will promise to be mine.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mabel replied by a look of unutterable disgust.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then he will await Herne's coming where he is,&rdquo; rejoined Fenwolf.
    </p>
    <p>
      Saying which he arose, and, pushing a table near the bench, took the
      remains of a huge venison pasty and a loaf from a hutch standing on one
      side of the cavern.
    </p>
    <p>
      By this time Old Tristram, having succeeded in lighting the fire, placed
      himself at the farther end of the table, and fell to work upon the viands
      with Fenwolf. Mabel was pressed to partake of the repast, but she declined
      the offer. A large stone bottle was next produced and emptied of its
      contents by the pair, who seemed well contented with their regale.
    </p>
    <p>
      Meanwhile Mabel was revolving the possibility of flight, and had more than
      once determined to make an attempt, but fear restrained her. Her
      grandsire, as has been stated, sedulously avoided her gaze, and turned a
      deaf ear to her complaints and entreaties. But once, when Fenwolf's back
      was turned, she caught him gazing at her with peculiar significance, and
      then comprehended the meaning of his strange conduct. He evidently only
      awaited an opportunity to assist her.
    </p>
    <p>
      Satisfied of this, she became more tranquil, and about an hour having
      elapsed, during which nothing was said by the party, the low winding of a
      horn was heard, and Fenwolf started to his feet, exclaiming&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is Herne!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The next moment the demon huntsman rode from one of the lateral passages
      into the cave. He was mounted on a wild-looking black horse, with flowing
      mane and tail, eyes glowing like carbuncles, and in all respects
      resembling the sable steed he had lost in the forest.
    </p>
    <p>
      Springing to the ground, he exchanged a few words with Fenwolf in a low
      tone, and delivering his steed to him, with orders to take it to the
      stable, signed to Tristram to go with him, and approached Mabel.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;So you have seen Sir Thomas Wyat, I find,&rdquo; he said, in a stern tone.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mabel made no answer, and did not even raise her eyes towards him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And he has told you he loves you, and has urged you to fly with him&mdash;ha?&rdquo;
       pursued Herne.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mabel still did not dare to look up, but a deep blush overspread her
      cheek.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He was mad to venture hither,&rdquo; continued Herne; &ldquo;but having done so, he
      must take the consequences.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You will not destroy him?&rdquo; cried Mabel imploringly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He will perish by a hand as terrible as mine,&rdquo; laughed Herne&mdash;&ldquo;by
      that of famine. He will never quit the dungeon alive unless&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Unless what?&rdquo; gasped Mabel.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Unless he is leagued with me,&rdquo; replied Herne. &ldquo;And now let him pass, for
      I would speak of myself. I have already told you that I love you, and am
      resolved to make you mine. You shudder, but wherefore? It is a glorious
      destiny to be the' bride of the wild hunter&mdash;the fiend who rules the
      forest, and who, in his broad domain, is more powerful than the king. The
      old forester, Robin Hood, had his maid Marian; and what was he compared to
      me? He had neither my skill nor my power. Be mine, and you shall accompany
      me on my midnight rides; shall watch the fleet stag dart over the
      moonlight glade, or down the lengthened vista. You shall feel all the
      unutterable excitement of the chase. You shall thread with me the tangled
      grove, swim the river and the lake, and enjoy a thousand pleasures
      hitherto unknown to you. Be mine, and I will make you mistress of all my
      secrets, and compel the band whom I will gather round me to pay you
      homage. Be mine, and you shall have power of life and death over them, as
      if you were absolute queen. And from me, whom all fear, and all obey, you
      shall have love and worship.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And he would have taken her hand; but she recoiled from horror.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Though I now inspire you with terror and aversion,&rdquo; pursued &ldquo;the time
      will come when you will love me as passionately as I was beloved by one of
      whom you are the image.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And she is dead? &ldquo;asked Mabel, with curiosity.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Dead!&rdquo; exclaimed Herne. &ldquo;Thrice fifty years have flown since she dwelt
      upon earth. The acorn which was shed in the forest has grown into a lusty
      oak, while trees at that time in their pride have fallen and decayed away.
      Dead!&mdash;yes, she has passed from all memory save mine, where she will
      ever dwell. Generations of men have gone down to the grave since her time&mdash;a
      succession of kings have lodged within the castle but I am still a denizen
      of the forest. For crimes I then committed I am doomed to wander within
      it, and I shall haunt it, unless released, till the crack of doom.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Liberate me!&rdquo; cried Mabel; &ldquo;liberate your other prisoner and we will pray
      for your release.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No more of this!&rdquo; cried Herne fiercely. &ldquo;If you would not call down
      instant and terrible punishment on your head&mdash;punishment that I
      cannot avert, and must inflict&mdash;you will mention nothing sacred in my
      hearing, and never allude to prayer, I am beyond the reach of salvation.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, say not so!&rdquo; cried Mabel, in a tone of commiseration. &ldquo;I will tell
      you how my doom was accomplished,&rdquo; rejoined Herne wildly. &ldquo;To gain her of
      whom I have just spoken, and who was already vowed to Heaven, I invoked
      the powers of darkness. I proffered my soul to the Evil One if he would
      secure her to me, and the condition demanded by him was that I should
      become what I am&mdash;the fiend of the forest, with power to terrify and
      to tempt, and with other more fearful and fatal powers besides.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; exclaimed Mabel.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I grasped at the offer,&rdquo; pursued Herne. &ldquo;She I loved became mine. But she
      was speedily snatched from me by death, and since then I have known no
      human passion except hatred and revenge. I have dwelt in this forest,
      sometimes alone, sometimes at the head of a numerous band, but always
      exerting a baneful influence over mankind. At last, I saw the image of her
      I loved again appear before me, and the old passion was revived within my
      breast. Chance has thrown you in my way, and mine you shall be, Mabel.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will die rather,&rdquo; she replied, with a shudder.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You cannot escape me,&rdquo; rejoined He me, with a triumphant laugh; &ldquo;you
      cannot avoid your fate. But I want not to deal harshly with you. I love
      you, and would win you rather by persuasion than by force. Consent to be
      mine, then, and I give Wyat his life and liberty.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I cannot&mdash;I cannot!&rdquo; she replied.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not only do I offer you Wyat's life as the price of your compliance,&rdquo;
       persevered Herne; &ldquo;but you shall have what ever else you may seek&mdash;jewels,
      ornaments, costly attire, treasure&mdash;for of such I possess a goodly
      store.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And of what use would they be to me here?&rdquo; said Mabel.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will not always confine you to this cave,&rdquo; replied Herne. &ldquo;You shall go
      where you please, and live as you please, but you must come to me whenever
      I summon you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And what of my grandsire?&rdquo; she demanded.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Tristram Lyndwood is no relative of yours,&rdquo; replied Herne. &ldquo;I will now
      clear up the mystery that hangs over your birth. You are the offspring of
      one who for years has exercised greater sway than the king within this
      realm, but who is now disgraced and ruined, and nigh his end. His priestly
      vows forbid him to own you, even if he desired to do so.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Have I seen him?&rdquo; demanded Mabel.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have,&rdquo; replied Herne; &ldquo;and he has seen you&mdash;and little did he
      know when he sought you out, that he was essaying to maintain his own
      power, and overturn that of another, by the dishonour of his daughter&mdash;though
      if he had done so,&rdquo; he added, with a scoffing laugh, &ldquo;it might not have
      restrained him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I know whom you mean,&rdquo; said Mabel. &ldquo;And is it possible he can be my
      father?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is as I have told you,&rdquo; replied Herne. &ldquo;You now know my resolve.
      To-morrow at midnight our nuptials shall take place.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nuptials!&rdquo; echoed Mabel.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay, at that altar,&rdquo; he cried, pointing to the Druid pile of stones;
      &ldquo;there you shall vow yourself to me and I to you, before terrible
      witnesses. I shall have no fear that you will break your oath. Reflect
      upon what I have said.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      With this he placed the bugle to his lips, blew a low call upon it, and
      Fenwolf and Tristram immediately answering the summons, he whispered some
      instructions to the former, and disappeared down one of the side passages.
    </p>
    <p>
      Fenwolf's, deportment was now more sullen than before. In vain did Mabel
      inquire from him what Herne was about to do with Sir Thomas Wyat. He
      returned no answer, and at last, wearied by her importunity, desired her
      to hold her peace. Just then, Tristram quitted the cavern for a moment,
      when he instantly changed his manner, and 'said to her quickly, &ldquo;I
      overheard what passed between you and Herne. Consent to be mine, and I
      will deliver you from him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That were to exchange one evil for another,&rdquo; she replied, &ldquo;If you would
      serve me, deliver Sir Thomas Wyat.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will only deliver him on the terms I have mentioned,&rdquo; replied Fenwolf.
    </p>
    <p>
      At this moment, Tristram returned, and the conversation ceased.
    </p>
    <p>
      Fresh logs were then thrown on the fire by Fenwolf, and, at his request,
      Tristram proceeded to a hole in the rock, which served as a sort of
      larder, and brought from it some pieces of venison, which were broiled
      upon the embers.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the close of the repast, of which she sparingly partook, Mabel was
      conducted by Morgan Fenwolf into a small chamber opening out of the great
      cavern, which was furnished like the cell she had lately occupied, with a
      small straw pallet. Leaving her a lamp, Fenwolf locked the door, and
      placed the key in his girdle.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0047" id="link2H_4_0047">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      IV.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     How Sir Thomas Wyat was visited by Herne in the Cell.
</pre>
    <p>
      Made aware by the clangour of the lock, and Fenwolf's exulting laughter,
      of the snare in which he had been caught, Sir Thomas Wyat instantly sprang
      from his hiding-place, and rushed to the door; but being framed of the
      stoutest oak, and strengthened with plates of iron, it defied all his
      efforts, nerved as they were by rage and despair, to burst it open.
      Mabel's shrieks, as she was dragged away, reached his ears, and increased
      his anguish; and he called out loudly to her companions to return, but his
      vociferations were only treated with derision.
    </p>
    <p>
      Finding it useless to struggle further, Wyat threw himself upon the bench,
      and endeavoured to discover some means of deliverance from his present
      hazardous position. He glanced round the cell to see whether there was any
      other outlet than the doorway, but he could discern none, except a narrow
      grated loophole opening upon the passage, and contrived, doubtless, for
      the admission of air to the chamber. No dungeon could be more secure.
    </p>
    <p>
      Raising the lamp, he examined every crevice, but all seemed solid stone.
      The recess in which he had taken shelter proved to be a mere hollow in the
      wall. In one corner lay a small straw pallet, which, no doubt, had formed
      the couch of Mabel; and this, together with the stone bench and rude table
      of the same material, constituted the sole furniture of the place.
    </p>
    <p>
      Having taken this careful survey of the cell, Wyat again sat down upon the
      bench with the conviction that escape was out of the question; and he
      therefore endeavoured to prepare himself for the worst, for it was more
      than probable he would be allowed to perish of starvation. To a fiery
      nature like his, the dreadful uncertainty in which he was placed was more
      difficult of endurance than bodily torture. And he was destined to endure
      it long. Many hours flew by, during which nothing occurred to relieve the
      terrible monotony of his situation. At length, in spite of his anxiety,
      slumber stole upon him unawares; but it was filled with frightful visions.
    </p>
    <p>
      How long he slept he knew not, but when he awoke, he found that the cell
      must have been visited in the interval, for there was a manchet of bread,
      part of a cold neck of venison, and a flask of wine on the table. It was
      evident, therefore, that his captors did not mean to starve him, and
      yielding to the promptings of appetite, he attacked the provisions,
      determined to keep strict watch when his gaoler should next visit him.
    </p>
    <p>
      The repast finished, he again examined the cell, but with no better
      success than before; and he felt almost certain, from the position in
      which the bench was placed, that the visitor had not found entrance
      through the door.
    </p>
    <p>
      After another long and dreary interval, finding that sleep was stealing
      upon him fast, he placed the bench near the door, and leaned his back
      against the latter, certain that in this position he should be awakened if
      any one attempted to gain admittance in that way. His slumber was again
      disturbed by fearful dreams; and he was at length aroused by a touch upon
      the shoulder, while a deep voice shouted his own name in her ears.
    </p>
    <p>
      Starting to his feet, and scarcely able to separate the reality from the
      hideous phantasms that had troubled him, he found that the door was still
      fastened, and the bench unremoved, while before him stood Herne the
      Hunter.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Welcome again to my cave, Sir Thomas Wyat!&rdquo; cried the demon, with a
      mocking laugh. &ldquo;I told you, on the night of the attempt upon the king,
      that though you escaped him, you would not escape me. And so it has come
      to pass. You are now wholly in my power, body and soul&mdash;ha! ha!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I defy you, false fiend,&rdquo; replied Wyat. &ldquo;I was mad enough to proffer you
      my soul on certain conditions; but they have never been fulfilled.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;They may yet be so,&rdquo; rejoined Herne.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; replied Wyat, &ldquo;I have purged my heart from the fierce and unhallowed
      passion that swayed it. I desire no assistance from you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If you have changed your mind, that is nought to me,&rdquo; rejoined the demon
      derisively&mdash;&ldquo;I shall hold you to your compact.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Again I say I renounce you, infernal spirit!&rdquo; cried Wyat; &ldquo;you may
      destroy my body&mdash;but you can work no mischief to my soul.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You alarm yourself without reason, good Sir Thomas,&rdquo; replied Herne, in a
      slightly sneering tone. &ldquo;I am not the malignant being you suppose me;
      neither am I bent upon fighting the battles of the enemy of mankind
      against Heaven. I may be leagued with the powers of darkness, but I have
      no wish to aid them; and I therefore leave you to take care of your soul
      in your own way. What I desire from you is your service while living. Now
      listen to the conditions I have to propose. You must bind yourself by a
      terrible oath, the slightest infraction of which shall involve the
      perdition of the soul you are so solicitous to preserve, not to disclose
      aught you may see, or that may be imparted to you here. You must also
      swear implicit obedience to me in all things&mdash;to execute any secret
      commissions, of whatever nature, I may give you&mdash;to bring associates
      to my band&mdash;and to join me in any enterprise I may propose. This oath
      taken, you are free. Refuse it, and I leave you to perish.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I do refuse it,&rdquo; replied Wyat boldly. &ldquo;I would die a thousand deaths
      rather than so bind myself. Neither do I fear being left to perish here.
      You shall not quit this cell without me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are a stout soldier, Sir Thomas Wyat,&rdquo; rejoined the demon, with a
      scornful laugh; &ldquo;but you are scarcely a match for Herne the Hunter, as you
      will find, if you are rash enough to make the experiment. Beware!&rdquo; he
      exclaimed, in a voice of thunder, observing the knight lay his hand upon
      his sword, &ldquo;I am invulnerable, and you will, therefore, vainly strike at
      me. Do not compel me to use the dread means, which I could instantly
      employ, to subject you to my will. I mean you well, and would rather serve
      than injure you. But I will not let you go, unless you league yourself
      with me. Swear, therefore, obedience to me, and depart hence to your
      friends, Surrey and Richmond, and tell them you have failed to find me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You know, then, of our meeting?&rdquo; exclaimed Wyat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Perfectly well,&rdquo; laughed Herne. &ldquo;It is now eventide, and at midnight the
      meeting will take place in the forester's hut. If you attend it not, I
      will. They will be my prisoners as well as you. To preserve yourself and
      save them, you must join me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Before I return an answer,&rdquo; said Wyat, &ldquo;I must know what has become of
      Mabel Lyndwood.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mabel Lyndwood is nought to you, Sir Thomas,&rdquo; rejoined Herne coldly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;She is so much to me that I will run a risk for her which I would not run
      for myself,&rdquo; replied Wyat. &ldquo;If I promise obedience to you, will you
      liberate her? will you let her depart with me?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Herne peremptorily. &ldquo;Banish all thoughts of her from your
      breast. You will never behold her again. I will give you time for
      reflection on my proposal. An hour before midnight I shall return, and if
      I find you in the same mind, I abandon you to your fate.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And with these words he stepped back towards the lower end of the cell.
      Wyat instantly sprang after him, but before he could reach him a flash of
      fire caused him to recoil, and to his horror and amazement, he beheld the
      rock open, and yield a passage to the retreating figure.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the sulphureous smoke, with which the little cell was filled, had in
      some degree cleared off, Wyat examined the sides of the rock, but could
      not find the slightest trace of a secret outlet, and therefore concluded
      that the disappearance of the demon had been effected by magic.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0048" id="link2H_4_0048">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      V.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     How Mabel escaped from the Cave with Sir Thomas Wyat.
</pre>
    <p>
      The next day Mabel was set at liberty by her gaoler, and the hours flew by
      without the opportunity of escape, for which she sighed, occurring to her.
      As night drew on, she became more anxious, and at last expressed a wish to
      retire to her cell. When about to fasten the door, Fenwolf found that the
      lock had got strained, and the bolts would not move, and he was therefore
      obliged to content himself with placing a bench against it, on which he
      took a seat.
    </p>
    <p>
      About an hour after Mabel's retirement, old Tristram offered to relieve
      guard with Fenwolf, but this the other positively declined, and leaning
      against the door, disposed himself to slumber. Tristram then threw himself
      on the floor, and in a short time all seemed buried in repose.
    </p>
    <p>
      By-and-by, however, when Fenwolf's heavy breathing gave token of the
      soundness of his sleep, Tristram raised himself upon his elbow, and gazed
      round. The lamp placed upon the table imperfectly illumined the cavern,
      for the fire which had been lighted to cook the evening meal had gone out
      completely. Getting up cautiously, and drawing his hunting-knife, the old
      man crept towards Fenwolf, apparently with the intent of stabbing him, but
      he suddenly changed his resolution, and dropped his arm.
    </p>
    <p>
      At that moment, as if preternaturally warned, Fenwolf opened his eyes, and
      seeing the old forester standing by, sprang upon him, and seized him by
      the throat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah traitor!&rdquo; he exclaimed; &ldquo;what are you about to do?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am no traitor,&rdquo; replied the old man. &ldquo;I heard a noise in the passage
      leading to Wyat's cell, and was about to rouse you, when you awakened of
      your own accord, probably disturbed by the noise.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It may be,&rdquo; replied Fenwolf, satisfied with the excuse, and relinquishing
      his grasp. &ldquo;I fancied I heard something in my dreams. But come with me to
      Wyat's cell. I will not leave you here.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And snatching up the lamp, he hurried with Tristram into the passage. They
      were scarcely gone, when the door of the cell was opened by Mabel, who had
      overheard what had passed; and so hurriedly did she issue forth that she
      over-turned the bench, which fell to the ground with a considerable
      clatter. She had only just time to replace it, and to conceal herself in
      an adjoining passage, when Fenwolf rushed back into the cavern.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It was a false alarm,&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;I saw Sir Thomas Wyat in his cell
      through the loop-hole, and I have brought the key away with me. But I am
      sure I heard a noise here.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It must have been mere fancy,&rdquo; said Tristram. &ldquo;All is as we left it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It seems so, certes,&rdquo; replied Fenwolf doubtfully. &ldquo;But I will make sure.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      While he placed his ear to the door, Mabel gave a signal to Tristram that
      she was safe. Persuaded that he heard some sound in the chamber, Fenwolf
      nodded to Tristram that all was right, and resumed his seat.
    </p>
    <p>
      In less than ten minutes he was again asleep. Mabel then emerged from her
      concealment, and cautiously approached Tristram, who feigned, also, to
      slumber. As she approached him, he rose noiselessly to his feet.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The plan has succeeded,&rdquo; he said in a low tone. &ldquo;It was I who spoiled the
      lock. But come with me. I will lead you out of the cavern.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not without Sir Thomas Wyat,&rdquo; she replied; &ldquo;I will not leave him here.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You will only expose yourself to risk, and fail to deliver him,&rdquo; rejoined
      Tristram. &ldquo;Fenwolf has the key of his cell. Nay, if you are determined
      upon it, I will not hinder you. But you must find your own way out, for I
      shall not assist Sir Thomas Wyat.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Motioning him to silence, Mabel crept slowly, and on the points of her
      feet, towards Fenwolf.
    </p>
    <p>
      The key was in his girdle. Leaning over him, she suddenly and dexterously
      plucked it forth.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the very moment she possessed herself of it, Fenwolf stirred, and she
      dived down, and concealed herself beneath the table. Fenwolf, who had been
      only slightly disturbed, looked up, and seeing Tristram in his former
      position, which he had resumed when Mabel commenced her task, again
      disposed himself to slumber.
    </p>
    <p>
      Waiting till she was assured of the soundness of his repose, Mabel crept
      from under the table, signed to Tristram to remain where he was, and
      glided with swift and noiseless footsteps down the passage leading to the
      cell.
    </p>
    <p>
      In a moment, she was at the door&mdash;the key was in the lock&mdash;and
      she stood before Sir Thomas Wyat.
    </p>
    <p>
      A few words sufficed to explain to the astonished knight how she came
      there, and comprehending that not a moment was to be lost, he followed her
      forth.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the passage, they held a brief consultation together in a low tone, as
      to the best means of escape, for they deemed it useless to apply to
      Tristram. The outlet with which Sir Thomas Wyat was acquainted lay on the
      other side of the cavern; nor did he know how to discover the particular
      passage leading to it.
    </p>
    <p>
      As to Mabel, she could offer no information, but she knew that the stable
      lay in an adjoining passage.
    </p>
    <p>
      Recollecting, from former experience, how well the steeds were trained,
      Sir Thomas Wyat eagerly caught at the suggestion, and Mabel led him
      farther down the passage, and striking off through an opening on the left,
      brought him, after a few turns, to a large chamber, in which two or three
      black horses were kept.
    </p>
    <p>
      Loosening one of them, Wyat placed a bridle on his neck, sprang upon his
      back, and took up Mabel beside him. He then struck his heels against the
      sides of the animal, who needed no further incitement to dash along the
      passage, and in a few seconds brought them into the cavern.
    </p>
    <p>
      The trampling of the horse wakened Fenwolf, who started to his feet, and
      ran after them, shouting furiously. But he was too late. Goaded by Wyat's
      dagger, the steed dashed furiously on, and plunging with its double burden
      into the pool at the bottom of the cavern, disappeared.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0049" id="link2H_4_0049">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      VI.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     Of the Desperate Resolution formed by Tristram and Fenwolf,
     and how the Train was laid.
</pre>
    <p>
      Transported with rage at the escape of the fugitives, Fenwolf turned to
      old Tristram, and drawing his knife, threatened to make an end of him. But
      the old man, who was armed with a short hunting-sword, stood upon his
      defence, and they remained brandishing their weapons at each other for
      some minutes, but without striking a blow.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, I leave you to Herne's vengeance,&rdquo; said Fenwolf, returning his
      knife to his belt. &ldquo;You will pay dearly for allowing them to escape.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will take my chance,&rdquo; replied Tristram moodily: &ldquo;my mind is made up to
      the worst. I will no longer serve this fiend.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What! dare you break your oath?&rdquo; cried Fenwolf. &ldquo;Remember the terrible
      consequences.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I care not for them,&rdquo; replied Tristram. &ldquo;Harkee, Fenwolf: I know you will
      not betray me, for you hate him as much as I do, and have as great a
      desire for revenge. I will rid the forest of this fell being.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Would you could make good your words, old man!&rdquo; cried Fenwolf. &ldquo;I would
      give my life for vengeance upon him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I take the offer,&rdquo; said Tristram; &ldquo;you shall have vengeance.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But how?&rdquo; cried the other. &ldquo;I have proved that he is invulnerable and the
      prints of his hands are written in black characters upon my throat. If we
      could capture him, and deliver him to the king, we might purchase our own
      pardon.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, that can never be,&rdquo; said Tristram. &ldquo;My plan is to destroy him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, let me hear it,&rdquo; said Fenwolf.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Come with me, then,&rdquo; rejoined Tristram.
    </p>
    <p>
      And taking up the lamp, he led the way down a narrow lateral passage. When
      about half-way down it, he stopped before a low door, cased with iron,
      which he opened, and showed that the recess was filled with large canvas
      bags.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, this is the powder-magazine,&rdquo; said Fenwolf. &ldquo;I can now guess how you
      mean to destroy Herne. I like the scheme well enough; but it cannot be
      executed without certain destruction to ourselves.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will take all the risk upon myself,&rdquo; said Tristram, &ldquo;I only require
      your aid in the preparations. What I propose to do is this. There is
      powder enough in the magazine, not only to blow up the cave, but to set
      fire to all the wood surrounding it. It must be scattered among the dry
      brush-wood in a great circle round the cave, and connected by a train with
      this magazine. When Herne comes hack, I will fire the train.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There is much hazard in the scheme, and I fear it will fail,&rdquo; replied
      Fenwolf, after a pause, &ldquo;nevertheless, I will assist you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then, let us go to work at once,&rdquo; said Tristram, &ldquo;for we have no time to
      lose. Herne will be here before midnight, and I should like to have all
      ready for him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Accordingly, they each shouldered a couple of the bags, and returning to
      the cavern, threaded a narrow passage, and emerged from the secret
      entrance in the grove.
    </p>
    <p>
      While Fenwolf descended for a fresh supply of powder, Tristram commenced
      operations. Though autumn was now far advanced, there had been remarkably
      fine weather of late; the ground was thickly strewn with yellow leaves,
      the fern was brown and dry, and the brushwood crackled and broke as a
      passage was forced through it. The very trees were parched by the
      long-continued drought. Thus favoured in his design, Tristram scattered
      the contents of one of the bags in a thick line among the fern and
      brushwood, depositing here and there among the roots of a tree, several
      pounds of powder, and covering the heaps over with dried sticks and
      leaves.
    </p>
    <p>
      While he was thus employed, Fenwolf appeared with two more bags of powder,
      and descended again for a fresh supply. When he returned, laden as before,
      the old forester had already described a large portion of the circle he
      intended to take.
    </p>
    <p>
      Judging that there was now powder sufficient, Tristram explained to his
      companion how to proceed; and the other commenced laying a train on the
      left of the secret entrance, carefully observing the instructions given
      him. In less than an hour, they met together at a particular tree, and the
      formidable circle was complete.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;So far, well!&rdquo; said Tristram, emptying the contents of his bag beneath
      the tree, and covering it with leaves and sticks, as before; &ldquo;and now to
      connect this with the cavern.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      With this, he opened another bag, and drew a wide train towards the centre
      of the space. At length, he paused at the foot of a large hollow tree.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have ascertained,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;that this tree stands immediately over the
      magazine; and by following this rabbit's burrow, I have contrived to make
      a small entrance into it. A hollow reed introduced through the hole, and
      filled with powder, will be sure to reach the store below.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;An excellent ideal,&rdquo; replied Fenwolf. &ldquo;I will fetch one instantly.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And starting off to the side of the lake, he presently returned with
      several long reeds, one of which was selected by Tristram and thrust into
      the burrow. It proved of the precise length required; and as soon as it
      touched the bottom, it was carefully filled with powder from a horn.
      Having connected this tube with the side train, and scattered powder for
      several yards around, so as to secure instantaneous ignition, Tristram
      pronounced that the train was complete.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We have now laid a trap from which Herne will scarcely escape,&rdquo; he
      observed, with a moody laugh, to Fenwolf.
    </p>
    <p>
      They then prepared to return to the cave, but had not proceeded many
      yards, when Herne, mounted on his sable steed, burst through the trees.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah! what make you here?&rdquo; he cried, instantly checking his career. &ldquo;I bade
      you keep a strict watch over Mabel. Where is she?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;She has escaped with Sir Thomas Wyat,&rdquo; replied Fenwolf, &ldquo;and we have been
      in search of them.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Escaped!&rdquo; exclaimed Herne, springing from his steed, and rushing up to
      him; &ldquo;dogs! you have played me false. But your lives shall pay the penalty
      of your perfidy.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We had no hand in it whatever,&rdquo; replied Fenwolf doggedly. &ldquo;She contrived
      to get out of a chamber in which I placed her, and to liberate Sir Thomas
      Wyat. They then procured a steed from the stable, and plunged through the
      pool into the lake.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hell's malison upon them, and upon you both!&rdquo; cried Herne. &ldquo;But you shall
      pay dearly for your heedlessness,&mdash;if, indeed, it has not been
      something worse. How long have they been gone?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It may be two hours,&rdquo; replied Fenwolf.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Go to the cave,&rdquo; cried Herne, &ldquo;and await my return there; and if I
      recover not the prize, woe betide you both!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And with these words, he vaunted upon his steed and disappeared.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And woe betide you too, false fiend!&rdquo; cried Fenwolf. &ldquo;When you come back
      you shall meet with a welcome you little expect. Would we had fired the
      train, Tristram, even though we had perished with him!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It will be time enough to fire it on his return,&rdquo; replied the old
      forester; &ldquo;it is but postponing our vengeance for a short time. And now to
      fix our positions. I will take my station in yon brake.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And I in that hollow tree,&rdquo; said Fenwolf. &ldquo;Whoever first beholds him
      shall fire the train.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Agreed!&rdquo; replied Tristram. &ldquo;Let us now descend to the cave and see that
      all is right in the magazine, and then we will return and hold ourselves
      in readiness for action.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0050" id="link2H_4_0050">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      VII.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     How the Train was fired, and what followed the Explosion.
</pre>
    <p>
      About ten o'clock in the night under consideration, Surrey and Richmond,
      accompanied by the Duke of Shoreditch, and half a dozen other archers, set
      out from the castle, and took their way along the great park, in the
      direction of the lake.
    </p>
    <p>
      They had not ridden far, when they were overtaken by two horsemen who, as
      far as they could be discerned in that doubtful light, appeared stalwart
      personages, and well mounted, though plainly attired. The new-comers very
      unceremoniously joined them.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There are ill reports of the park, my masters,&rdquo; said the foremost of
      these persons to Surrey, &ldquo;and we would willingly ride with you across it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But our way may not be yours, friend,&rdquo; replied Surrey, who did not
      altogether relish this proposal. &ldquo;We are not going farther than the lake.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Our road lies in that direction,&rdquo; replied the other, &ldquo;and, if you please,
      we will bear you company as far as we go. Come, tell me frankly,&rdquo; he
      added, after a pause, &ldquo;are you not in search of Herne the Hunter?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why do you ask, friend?&rdquo; rejoined the earl somewhat angrily.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Because if so,&rdquo; replied the other, &ldquo;I shall be right glad to join you,
      and so will my friend, Tony Cryspyn, who is close behind me. I have an old
      grudge to settle with this Herne, who has more than once attacked me, and
      I shall be glad to pay it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If you will take my advice, Hugh Dacre, you will ride on, and leave the
      achievement of the adventure to these young galliards,&rdquo; interposed
      Cryspyn.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay, by the mass! that shall never be,&rdquo; rejoined Dacre, &ldquo;if they have no
      objection to our joining them. If they have, they have only to say so, and
      we will go on.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will be plain with you, my masters,&rdquo; said Surrey. &ldquo;We are determined
      this night, as you have rightly conjectured, to seek out Herne the Hunter;
      and we hope to obtain such clue to him as will ensure his capture. If,
      therefore, you are anxious to join us, we shall be glad of your aid. But
      you must be content to follow, and not lead&mdash;and to act as you are
      directed&mdash;or you will only be in the way, and we would rather
      dispense with your company.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We are content with the terms&mdash;are we not, Tony?&rdquo; said Dacre.
    </p>
    <p>
      His companion answered somewhat sullenly in the affirmative.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And now that the matter is arranged, may I ask when you propose to go?&rdquo;
       he continued.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We are on our way to a hut on the lake, where we expect a companion to
      join us,&rdquo; replied Surrey.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What! Tristram Lyndwood's cottage?&rdquo; demanded Dacre.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay,&rdquo; replied the earl, &ldquo;and we hope to recover his fair granddaughter
      from the power of the demon.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ha! say you so?&rdquo; cried Dacre; &ldquo;that were a feat, indeed!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The two strangers then rode apart for a few moments, and conversed
      together in a low tone, during which Richmond expressed his doubts of them
      to Surrey, adding that he was determined to get rid of them.
    </p>
    <p>
      The new-comers, however, were not easily shaken off. As soon as they
      perceived the duke's design, they stuck more pertinaciously to him and the
      earl than before, and made it evident they would not be dismissed.
    </p>
    <p>
      By this time they had passed Spring Hill, and were within a mile of the
      valley in which lay the marsh, when a cry for help was heard in the
      thicket on the left, and the troop immediately halted. The cry was
      repeated, and Surrey, bidding the others follow him, dashed off in the
      direction of the sound.
    </p>
    <p>
      Presently, they perceived two figures beneath the trees, whom they found,
      on a nearer approach, were Sir Thomas Wyat, with Mabel in a state of
      insensibility in his arms.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dismounting by the side of his friend, Surrey hastily demanded how he came
      there, and what had happened?
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is too long a story to relate now,&rdquo; said Wyat; &ldquo;but the sum of it is,
      that I have escaped, by the aid of this damsel, from the clutches of the
      demon. Our escape was effected on horseback, and we had to plunge into the
      lake. The immersion deprived my fair preserver of sensibility, so that as
      soon as I landed, and gained a covert where I fancied myself secure, I
      dismounted, and tried to restore her. While I was thus occupied, the steed
      I had brought with me broke his bridle, and darted off into the woods.
      After a while, Mabel opened her eyes, but she was so weak that she could
      not move, and I was fain to make her a couch in the fern, in the hope that
      she would speedily revive. But the fright and suffering had been too much
      for her, and a succession of fainting-fits followed, during which I
      thought she would expire. This is all. Now, let us prepare a litter for
      her, and convey her where proper assistance can be rendered.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Meanwhile, the others had come up, and Hugh Dacre, flinging himself from
      his horse, and pushing Surrey somewhat rudely aside, advanced towards
      Mabel, and, taking her hand, said, in a voice of some emotion, &ldquo;Alas! poor
      girl! I did not expect to meet thee again in this state.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You knew her, then?&rdquo; said Surrey.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dacre muttered an affirmative.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Who is this man?&rdquo; asked Wyat of the earl.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I know him not,&rdquo; answered Surrey. &ldquo;He joined us on the road hither.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am well known to Sir Thomas Wyat,&rdquo; replied Dacre, in a significant
      tone, &ldquo;as he will avouch when I recall certain matters to his mind. But do
      not let us lose time here. This damsel claims our first attention. She
      must be conveyed to a place of safety, and where she can be well tended.
      We can then return to search for Herne.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Upon this, a litter of branches were speedily made, and Mabel being laid
      upon it, the simple conveyance was sustained by four of the archers. The
      little cavalcade then quitted the thicket, and began to retrace its course
      towards the castle. Wyat had been accommodated with a horse by one of the
      archers, and rode in a melancholy manner by the side of the litter.
    </p>
    <p>
      They had got back nearly as far as the brow of Spring Hill, when a
      horseman, in a wild garb, and mounted on a coal black steed, lashed
      suddenly and at a furious pace, out of the trees on the right. He made
      towards the litter, over-turning Sir Thomas Wyat, and before any
      opposition could be offered him, seized the inanimate form of Mabel, and
      placing her before him on his steed, dashed off as swiftly as he came, and
      with a burst of loud, exulting laughter.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is Herne! it is Herne!&rdquo; burst from every lip. And they all started in
      pursuit, urging the horses to their utmost speed. Sir Thomas Wyat had
      instantly remounted his steed, and he came up with the others.
    </p>
    <p>
      Herne's triumphant and demoniacal laugh was heard as he scoured with the
      swiftness of the wind down the long glade. But the fiercest determination
      animated his pursuers, who, being all admirably mounted, managed to keep
      him fully in view.
    </p>
    <p>
      Away! away! he speeded in the direction of the lake; and after him they
      thundered, straining every sinew in the desperate chase. It was a wild and
      extraordinary sight, and partook of the fantastical character of a dream.
    </p>
    <p>
      At length Herne reached the acclivity, at the foot of which lay the waters
      of the lake glimmering in the starlight; and by the time he had descended
      to its foot, his pursuers had gained its brow.
    </p>
    <p>
      The exertions made by Sir Thomas Wyat had brought him a little in advance
      of the others. Furiously goading his horse, he dashed down the hillside at
      a terrific pace.
    </p>
    <p>
      All at once, as he kept his eye on the flying figure of the demon, he was
      startled by a sudden burst of flame in the valley. A wide circle of light
      was rapidly described, a rumbling sound was heard like that preceding an
      earth-quake, and a tremendous explosion followed, hurling trees and
      fragments of rock into the air.
    </p>
    <p>
      Astounded at the extraordinary occurrence, and not knowing what might
      ensue, the pursuers reined in their steeds. But the terror of the scene
      was not yet over. The whole of the brushwood had caught fire, and blazed
      up with the fury and swiftness of lighted flax. The flames caught the
      parched branches of the trees, and in a few seconds the whole grove was on
      fire.
    </p>
    <p>
      The sight was awfully grand, for the wind, which was blowing strongly,
      swept the flames forward, so that they devoured all before them.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the first flash was seen the demon had checked his steed and backed
      him, so that he had escaped without injury, and he stood at the edge of
      the flaming circle watching the progress of the devastating element; but
      at last, finding that his pursuers had taken heart and were approaching
      him, he bestirred himself, and rode round the blazing zone.
    </p>
    <p>
      Having by this time recovered from their surprise, Wyat and Surrey dashed
      after him, and got so near him that they made sure of his capture. But at
      the very moment they expected to reach him, he turned his horse's head,
      and forced him to leap over the blazing boundary.
    </p>
    <p>
      In vain the pursuers attempted to follow. Their horses refused to
      encounter the flames; while Wyat's steed, urged on by its frantic master,
      reared bolt upright, and dislodged him.
    </p>
    <p>
      But the demon held on his way, apparently unscathed in the midst of the
      flames, casting a look of grim defiance at his pursuers. As he passed a
      tree, from which volumes of fire were bursting, the most appalling shrieks
      reached his ear, and he beheld Morgan Fenwolf emerging from a hole in the
      trunk. But without bestowing more than a glance upon his unfortunate
      follower, he dashed forward, and becoming involved in the wreaths of flame
      and smoke, was lost to sight.
    </p>
    <p>
      Attracted by Fenwolf's cries, the beholders perceived him crawl out of the
      hole, and clamber into the upper part of the tree, where he roared to them
      most piteously for aid. But even if they had been disposed to render it,
      it was impossible to do so now; and after terrible and protracted
      suffering, the poor wretch, half stifled with smoke, and unable longer to
      maintain his hold of the branch to which he crept, fell into the flames
      beneath, and perished.
    </p>
    <p>
      Attributing its outbreak to supernatural agency, the party gazed on in
      wonder at the fire, and rode round it as closely as their steeds would
      allow them. But though they tarried till the flames had abated, and little
      was left of the noble grove but a collection of charred and smoking
      stumps, nothing was seen of the fiend or of the hapless girl he had
      carried off. It served to confirm the notion of the supernatural origin of
      the fire, in that it was confined within the mystic circle, and did not
      extend farther into the woods.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the time that the flames first burst forth, and revealed the
      countenances of the lookers&mdash;on, it was discovered that the
      self-styled Dacre and Cryspyn were no other than the king and the Duke of
      Suffolk.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If this mysterious being is mortal, he must have perished now,&rdquo; observed
      Henry; &ldquo;and if he is not, it is useless to seek for him further.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Day had begun to break as the party quitted the scene of devastation. The
      king and Suffolk, with the archers, returned to the castle; but Wyat,
      Surrey, and Richmond rode towards the lake, and proceeded along its banks
      in the direction of the forester's hut.
    </p>
    <p>
      Their progress was suddenly arrested by the sound of lamentation, and they
      perceived, in a little bay overhung by trees, which screened it from the
      path, an old man kneeling beside the body of a female, which he had partly
      dragged out of the lake. It was Tristram Lyndwood, and the body was that
      of Mabel. Her tresses were dishevelled, and dripping with wet, as were her
      garments; and her features white as marble. The old man was weeping
      bitterly.
    </p>
    <p>
      With Wyat, to dismount and grasp the cold hand of the hapless maiden was
      the work of a moment.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;She is dead!&rdquo; he cried, in a despairing voice, removing the dank tresses
      from her brow, and imprinting a reverent kiss upon it. &ldquo;Dead!&mdash;lost
      to me for ever!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I found her entangled among those water-weeds,&rdquo; said Tristram, in tones
      broken by emotion, &ldquo;and had just dragged her to shore when you came up. As
      you hope to prosper, now and hereafter, give her a decent burial. For me
      all is over.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And, with a lamentable cry, he plunged into the lake, struck out to a
      short distance, and then sank to rise no more.
    </p>
    <p>
      THUS ENDS THE FIFTH BOOK OF THE CHRONICLE OF WINDSOR CASTLE <a
      name="link2H_4_0051" id="link2H_4_0051">
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    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      BOOK VI. JANE SEYMOUR
    </h2>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0052" id="link2H_4_0052">
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    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      I.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     Of Henry's Attachment to Jane Seymour.
</pre>
    <p>
      ON the anniversary of Saint George, 1536, and exactly seven years from the
      opening of this chronicle, Henry assembled the knights-companions within
      Windsor Castle to hold the grand feast of the most noble Order of the
      Garter.
    </p>
    <p>
      Many important events had occurred in the wide interval thus suffered to
      elapse. Wolsey had long since sunk under his reverses&mdash;for he never
      regained the royal favour after his dismissal&mdash;and had expired at
      Leicester Abbey, on the 26th November 1530.
    </p>
    <p>
      But the sufferings of Catherine of Arragon were prolonged up to the
      commencement of the year under consideration. After the divorce and the
      elevation of Anne Boleyn to the throne in her stead, she withdrew to
      Kimbolten Castle, where she dwelt in the greatest retirement, under the
      style of the Princess Dowager. Finding her end approaching, she sent a
      humble message to the king, imploring him to allow her one last interview
      with her daughter, that she might bestow her blessing upon her; but the
      request was refused.
    </p>
    <p>
      A touching letter, however, which she wrote to the king on her death-bed,
      moved him to tears; and having ejaculated a few expressions of his sense
      of her many noble qualities, he retired to his closet to indulge his grief
      in secret. Solemn obsequies were ordered to be performed at Windsor and
      Greenwich on the day of her interment, and the king and the whole of his
      retinue put on mourning for her.
    </p>
    <p>
      With this arrangement Anne Boleyn cared not to comply. Though she had
      attained the summit of her ambition; though the divorce had been
      pronounced, and she was crowned queen; though she had given birth to a
      daughter&mdash;the Princess Elizabeth, afterwards the illustrious queen of
      that name two years before; and though she could have no reasonable
      apprehensions from her, the injured Catherine, during her lifetime, had
      always been an object of dread to her. She heard of her death with
      undisguised satisfaction, clapped her hands, exclaiming to her attendants,
      &ldquo;Now I am indeed queen!&rdquo; and put the crowning point to her unfeeling
      conduct by decorating herself and her dames in the gayest apparel on the
      day of the funeral.
    </p>
    <p>
      Alas! she little knew that at that very moment the work of retribution
      commenced, and that the wrongs of the injured queen, whose memory she thus
      outraged, were soon to be terribly and bloodily avenged.
    </p>
    <p>
      Other changes had likewise taken place, which may be here recorded. The
      Earl of Surrey had made the tour of France, Italy, and the Empire, and had
      fully kept his word, by proclaiming the supremacy of the Fair Geraldine's
      beauty at all tilts and tournaments, at which he constantly bore away the
      prize. But the greatest reward, and that which he hoped would crown his
      fidelity&mdash;the hand of his mistress&mdash;was not reserved for him.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the expiration of three years, he returned home, polished by travel,
      and accounted one of the bravest and most accomplished cavaliers of the
      day. His reputation had preceded him, and he was received with marks of
      the highest distinction and favour by Henry, as well as by Anne Boleyn.
      But the king was still averse to the match, and forbade the Fair Geraldine
      to return to court.
    </p>
    <p>
      Finding so much opposition on all sides, the earl was at last brought to
      assent to the wish of the Fair Geraldine, that their engagement should be
      broken off. In her letters, she assured him that her love had undergone no
      abatement&mdash;and never would do so&mdash;but that she felt they must
      give up all idea of an union.
    </p>
    <p>
      These letters, probably the result of some manoeuvring on his own part,
      set on foot by the royal mandate, were warmly seconded by the Duke of
      Norfolk, and after many and long solicitations, he succeeded in wringing
      from his son a reluctant acquiescence to the arrangement.
    </p>
    <p>
      The disappointment produced its natural consequences on the ardent
      temperament of the young earl, and completely chilled and blighted his
      feelings. He became moody and discontented; took little share in the
      amusement and pastimes going forward; and from being the blithest cavalier
      at court, became the saddest. The change in his demeanour did not escape
      the notice of Anne Boleyn, who easily divined the cause, and she essayed
      by raillery and other arts to wean him from his grief. But all was for
      some time of no avail. The earl continued inconsolable. At last, however,
      by the instrumentality of the queen and his father, he was contracted to
      the Lady Frances Vere, daughter of the Earl of Oxford, and was married to
      her in 1535.
    </p>
    <p>
      Long before this the Duke of Richmond had been wedded to the Lady Mary
      Howard.
    </p>
    <p>
      For some time previous to the present era of this chronicle, Anne Boleyn
      had observed a growing coolness towards her on the part of the king, and
      latterly it had become evident that his passion for her was fast
      subsiding, if indeed it had not altogether expired.
    </p>
    <p>
      Though Anne had never truly loved her royal consort, and though at that
      very time she was secretly encouraging the regards of another, she felt
      troubled by this change, and watched all the king's movements with jealous
      anxiety, to ascertain if any one had supplanted her in his affections.
    </p>
    <p>
      At length her vigilance was rewarded by discovering a rival in one of the
      loveliest of her dames, Jane Seymour. This fair creature, the daughter of
      Sir John Seymour, of Wolff Hall, in Wiltshire, and who was afterwards, it
      is almost needless to say, raised to as high a dignity as Anne Boleyn
      herself, was now in the very pride of her beauty. Tall, exquisitely
      proportioned, with a complexion of the utmost brilliancy and delicacy,
      large liquid blue eyes, bright chestnut tresses, and lovely features, she
      possessed charms that could not fall to captivate the amorous monarch. It
      seems marvellous that Anne Boleyn should have such an attendant; but
      perhaps she felt confident in her own attractions.
    </p>
    <p>
      Skilled in intrigue herself, Anne, now that her eyes were opened,
      perceived all the allurements thrown out by Jane to ensnare the king, and
      she intercepted many a furtive glance between them. Still she did not dare
      to interfere. The fierceness of Henry's temper kept her in awe, and she
      knew well that the slightest opposition would only make him the more
      determined to run counter to her will. Trusting, therefore, to get rid of
      Jane Seymour by some stratagem, she resolved not to attempt to dismiss
      her, except as a last resource.
    </p>
    <p>
      A slight incident occurred, which occasioned a departure from the prudent
      course she had laid down to herself.
    </p>
    <p>
      Accompanied by her dames, she was traversing the great gallery of the
      palace at Greenwich, when she caught the reflection of Jane Seymour, who
      was following her, in a mirror, regarding a jewelled miniature. She
      instantly turned round at the sight, and Jane, in great confusion, thrust
      the picture into her bosom.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah I what have you there?&rdquo; cried Anne.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A picture of my father, Sir John Seymour,&rdquo; replied Jane, blushing deeply.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Let me look at it,&rdquo; cried Anne, snatching the picture from her. &ldquo;Ah! call
      you this your father? To my thinking it is much more like my royal
      husband. Answer me frankly, minion&mdash;answer me, as you value your
      life! Did the king give you this?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I must decline answering the question,&rdquo; replied Jane, who by this time
      had recovered her composure.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah! am I to be thus insolently treated by one of my own dames?&rdquo; cried
      Anne.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I intend no disrespect to your majesty,&rdquo; replied Jane, &ldquo;and I will, since
      you insist upon it, freely confess that I received the portrait from the
      king. I did not conceive there could be any harm in doing so, because I
      saw your majesty present your own portrait, the other day, to Sir Henry
      Norris.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Anne Boleyn turned as pale as death, and Jane Seymour perceived that she
      had her in her power.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I gave the portrait to Sir Henry as a recompense for an important service
      he rendered me,&rdquo; said Anne, after a slight pause.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No doubt,&rdquo; replied Jane; &ldquo;and I marvel not that he should press it so
      fervently to his lips, seeing he must value the gift highly. The king
      likewise bestowed his portrait upon me for rendering him a service.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And what was that?&rdquo; asked Anne.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay, there your majesty must hold me excused,&rdquo; replied the other. &ldquo;It
      were to betray his highness's confidence to declare it. I must refer you
      to him for explanation.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, you are in the right to keep the secret,&rdquo; said Anne, forcing a
      laugh. &ldquo;I dare say there is no harm in the portrait&mdash;indeed, I am
      sure there is not, if it was given with the same intent that mine was
      bestowed upon Norris. And so we will say no more upon the matter, except
      that I beg you to be discreet with the king. If others should comment upon
      your conduct, I may be compelled to dismiss you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your majesty shall be obeyed,&rdquo; said Jane, with a look that intimated that
      the request had but slight weight with her.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Catherine will be avenged by means of this woman,&rdquo; muttered Anne as she
      turned away. &ldquo;I already feel some of the torments with which she
      threatened me. And she suspects Norris. I must impress more caution on
      him. Ah! when a man loves deeply, as he loves me, due restraint is seldom
      maintained.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      But though alarmed, Anne was by no means aware of the critical position in
      which she stood. She could not persuade herself that she had entirely lost
      her influence with the king; and she thought that when his momentary
      passion had subsided, it would return to its old channels.
    </p>
    <p>
      She was mistaken. Jane Seymour was absolute mistress of his heart; and
      Anne was now as great a bar to him as she had before been an attraction.
      Had her conduct been irreproachable, it might have been difficult to
      remove her; but, unfortunately, she had placed herself at his mercy, by
      yielding to the impulses of vanity, and secretly encouraging the passion
      of Sir Henry Norris, groom of the stole.
    </p>
    <p>
      This favoured personage was somewhat above the middle Size, squarely and
      strongly built. His features were regularly and finely formed, and he had
      a ruddy complexion, brown curling hair, good teeth, and fine eyes of a
      clear blue. He possessed great personal strength, was expert in all manly
      exercises, and shone especially at the jousts and the manege. He was of an
      ardent temperament, and Anne Boleyn had inspired him with so desperate a
      passion that he set at nought the fearful risk he ran to obtain her
      favour.
    </p>
    <p>
      In all this seemed traceable the hand of fate&mdash;in Henry's passion for
      Jane Seymour, and Anne's insane regard for Norris&mdash;as if in this way,
      and by the same means in which she herself had been wronged, the injured
      Catherine of Arragon was to be avenged.
    </p>
    <p>
      How far Henry's suspicions of his consort's regard for Norris had been
      roused did not at the time appear. Whatever he felt in secret, he took
      care that no outward manifestation should betray him. On the contrary he
      loaded Norris, who had always been a favourite with him, with new marks of
      regard, and encouraged rather than interdicted his approach to the queen.
    </p>
    <p>
      Things were in this state when the court proceeded to Windsor, as before
      related, on Saint George's day.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0053" id="link2H_4_0053">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      II.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     How Anne Boleyn received Proof of Henry's Passion for Jane
     Seymour.
</pre>
    <p>
      On the day after the solemnisation of the Grand Feast of the Order of the
      Garter, a masqued fete of great splendour and magnificence was held within
      the castle. The whole of the state apartments were thrown open to the
      distinguished guests, and universal gaiety prevailed. No restraint was
      offered to the festivity by the king, for though he was known to be
      present, he did not choose to declare himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      The queen sat apart on a fauteuil in the deep embrasure of a window; and
      as various companies of fantastic characters advanced towards her, she
      more than once fancied she detected amongst them the king, but the voices
      convinced her of her mistake. As the evening was wearing, a mask in a blue
      domino drew near her, and whispered in a devoted and familiar tone, &ldquo;My
      queen!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Is it you, Norris?&rdquo; demanded Anne, under her breath.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is,&rdquo; he replied. &ldquo;Oh, madam! I have been gazing at you the whole
      evening, but have not dared to approach you till now.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am sorry you have addressed me at all, Norris,&rdquo; she rejoined. &ldquo;Your
      regard for me has been noticed by others, and may reach the king's ears.
      You must promise never to address me in the language of passion again.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If I may not utter my love I shall go mad,&rdquo; replied Norris. &ldquo;After
      raising me to the verge of Paradise, do not thrust me to the depths of
      Tartarus.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have neither raised you nor do I cast you down,&rdquo; rejoined Anne. &ldquo;That I
      am sensible of your devotion, and grateful for it, I admit, but nothing
      more. My love and allegiance are due to the king.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;True,&rdquo; replied Norris bitterly; &ldquo;they are so, but he is wholly insensible
      to your merits. At this very moment he is pouring his love-vows in the ear
      of Jane Seymour.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah! is he so?&rdquo; cried Anne. &ldquo;Let me have proof of his perfidy, and I may
      incline a more favourable ear to you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will instantly obtain you the proof, madam,&rdquo; replied Norris, bowing and
      departing.
    </p>
    <p>
      Scarcely had he quitted the queen, and mixed with the throng of dancers,
      than he felt a pressure upon his arm, and turning at the touch, beheld a
      tall monk, the lower part of whose face was muffled up, leaving only a
      pair of fierce black eyes and a large aquiline nose visible.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I know what you want, Sir Henry Norris,&rdquo; said the tall monk in a low deep
      voice; &ldquo;you wish to give the queen proof of her royal lord's inconstancy.
      It is easily done. Come with me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Who are you?&rdquo; demanded Norris doubtfully.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What matters it who I am?&rdquo; rejoined the other; &ldquo;I am one of the masquers,
      and chance to know what is passing around me. I do not inquire into your
      motives, and therefore you have no right to inquire into mine.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is not for my own satisfaction that I desire this proof,&rdquo; said Norris,
      &ldquo;because I would rather shield the king's indiscretions than betray them.
      But the queen has conceived suspicions which she is determined to verify.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Think not to impose upon me,&rdquo; replied the monk with a sneer. &ldquo;Bring the
      queen this way, and she shall be fully satisfied.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I can run no risk in trusting you,&rdquo; said Norris, &ldquo;and therefore I accept
      your offer.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Say no more,&rdquo; cried the monk disdainfully, &ldquo;I will await you here.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And Norris returned to the queen.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Have you discovered anything?&rdquo; she cried.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Come with me, madam,&rdquo; said Norris, bowing and taking her hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      Proceeding thus they glided through the throng of dancers, who
      respectfully cleared a passage for them as they walked along until they
      approached the spot where the tall monk was standing. As they drew near
      him he moved on, and Norris and the queen followed in silence. Passing
      from the great hall in which the crowd of dancers were assembled, they
      descended a short flight of steps, at the foot of which the monk paused,
      and pointed with his right hand to a chamber, partly screened by the folds
      of a curtain.
    </p>
    <p>
      At this intimation the queen and her companion stepped quickly on, and as
      she advanced, Anne Boleyn perceived Jane Seymour and the king seated on a
      couch within the apartment. Henry was habited like a pilgrim, but he had
      thrown down his hat, ornamented with the scallop-shell, his vizard, and
      his staff, and had just forced his fair companion to unmask.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the sight, Anne was transfixed with jealous rage, and was for the
      moment almost unconscious of the presence of Norris, or of the monk, who
      remained behind the curtain, pointing to what was taking place.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your majesty is determined to expose my blushes,&rdquo; said Jane Seymour,
      slightly struggling with her royal lover.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay, I only want to be satisfied that it is really yourself, sweetheart,&rdquo;
       cried Henry passionately. &ldquo;It was in mercy to me, I suppose, that you
      insisted upon shrouding those beauteous features from my view.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hear you that, madam?&rdquo; whispered Norris to Anne.
    </p>
    <p>
      The queen answered by a convulsive clasp of the hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your majesty but jests with me,&rdquo; said Jane Seymour. &ldquo;Jests!&rdquo; cried Henry
      passionately. &ldquo;By my faith! I never understood the power of beauty till
      now. No charms ever moved my heart like yours; nor shall I know a moment's
      peace till you become mine.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am grieved to hear it, my liege,&rdquo; replied Jane Seymour, &ldquo;for I never
      can be yours, unless as your queen.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Again Norris hazarded a whisper to Anne Boleyn, which was answered by
      another nervous grasp of the hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That is as much as to say,&rdquo; pursued Jane, seeing the gloomy reverie into
      which her royal lover was thrown, &ldquo;I can give your majesty no hopes at
      all.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have been schooled by Anne Boleyn, sweetheart,&rdquo; said Henry.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How so, my liege?&rdquo; demanded Jane Seymour.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Those are the very words she used to me when I wooed her, and which
      induced me to divorce Catherine of Arragon,&rdquo; replied Henry. &ldquo;Now they may
      bring about her own removal.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Just Heaven!&rdquo; murmured Anne.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I dare not listen to your majesty,&rdquo; said Jane Seymour, in a tremulous
      tone; &ldquo;and yet, if I dared speak&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Speak on, fearlessly, sweetheart,&rdquo; said Henry.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then I am well assured,&rdquo; said Jane, &ldquo;that the queen no longer loves you;
      nay, that she loves another.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is false, minion!&rdquo; cried Anne Boleyn, rushing forward, while Norris
      hastily retreated, &ldquo;it is false! It is you who would deceive the king for
      your own purposes. But I have fortunately been brought hither to prevent
      the injury you would do me. Oh, Henry! have I deserved this of you?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have chanced to overhear part of a scene in a masquerade, madam&mdash;that
      is all,&rdquo; said the king.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have chanced to arrive most opportunely for myself,&rdquo; said Anne. &ldquo;As for
      this slanderous and deceitful minion, I shall dismiss her from my service.
      If your majesty is determined to prove faithless to me, it shall not be
      with one of my own dames.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Catherine of Arragon should have made that speech,&rdquo; retorted Jane Seymour
      bitterly. &ldquo;She had reason to complain that she was supplanted by one much
      beneath her. And she never played the king falsely.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nor have I!&rdquo; cried Anne fiercely. &ldquo;If I had my will, I should strike thee
      dead for the insinuation. Henry, my lord&mdash;my love&mdash;if you have
      any regard for me, instantly dismiss Jane Seymour.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It may not be, madam,&rdquo; replied Henry in a freezing tone; &ldquo;she has done
      nothing to deserve dismissal. If any one is to blame in the matter, it is
      myself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And will you allow her to make these accusations against me without
      punishment?&rdquo; cried Anne.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Peace, madam!&rdquo; cried the king sternly; &ldquo;and thank my good-nature that I
      go no further into the matter. If you are weary of the masque, I pray you
      retire to your own apartments. For myself, I shall lead Jane Seymour to
      the bransle.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And if your majesty should need a partner,&rdquo; said Jane, walking up to Anne
      and speaking in a low tone, &ldquo;you will doubtless find Sir Henry Norris
      disengaged.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The queen looked as if stricken by a thunderbolt. She heard the triumphant
      laugh of her rival; she saw her led forth, all smiles and beauty and
      triumph, by the king to the dance, and she covered her face in agony.
      While she was in this state, a deep voice breathed in her ears, &ldquo;The
      vengeance of Catherine of Arragon begins to work!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Looking up, she beheld the tall figure of the monk retreating from the
      chamber.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0054" id="link2H_4_0054">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      III.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     What passed between Norris and the Tall Monk.
</pre>
    <p>
      Tottering to the seat which Henry and Jane had just quitted, Anne sank
      into it. After a little time, having in some degree recovered her
      composure, she was about to return to the great hall, when Norris
      appeared.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I did not deceive you, madam,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;when I told you the king was
      insensible to your charms; he only lives for Jane Seymour.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Would I could dismiss her!&rdquo; cried Anne furiously.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If you were to do so, she would soon be replaced by another,&rdquo; rejoined
      Norris. &ldquo;The king delights only in change. With him, the last face is ever
      the most beautiful.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You speak fearful treason, sir!&rdquo; replied Anne; &ldquo;but I believe it to be
      the truth.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, then, madam!&rdquo; pursued Norris, &ldquo;since the king is so regardless of
      you, why trouble yourself about him? There are those who would sacrifice a
      thousand lives, if they possessed them, for your love.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I fear it is the same with all men,&rdquo; rejoined Anne. &ldquo;A woman's heart is a
      bauble which, when obtained, is speedily tossed aside.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your majesty judges our sex too harshly,&rdquo; said Norris. &ldquo;If I had the same
      fortune as the king, I should never change.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The king himself once thought so&mdash;once swore so,&rdquo; replied Anne
      petulantly. &ldquo;It is the common parlance of lovers. But I may not listen to
      such discourse longer.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, madam!&rdquo; cried Norris, &ldquo;you misjudge me greatly. My heart is not made
      of the same stuff as that of the royal Henry. I can love deeply&mdash;devotedly&mdash;lastingly.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Know you not that by these rash speeches you place your head in
      jeopardy?&rdquo; said Anne.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I would rather lose it than not be permitted to love you,&rdquo; he replied.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But your rashness endangers me,&rdquo; said the queen. &ldquo;Your passion has
      already been noticed by Jane Seymour, and the slightest further
      indiscretion will be fatal.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay, if that be so,&rdquo; cried Norris, &ldquo;and your majesty should be placed in
      peril on my account, I will banish myself from the court, and from your
      presence, whatever the effort cost me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; replied Anne, &ldquo;I will not tax you so hardly. I do not think,&rdquo; she
      added tenderly, &ldquo;deserted as I am by the king, that I could spare you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You confess, then, that I have inspired you with some regard?&rdquo; he cried
      rapturously.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do not indulge in these transports, Norris,&rdquo; said Anne mournfully. &ldquo;Your
      passion will only lead to your destruction&mdash;perchance to mine. Let
      the certainty that I do love, content you, and seek not to tempt your fate
      further.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, madam! you make me the happiest of men by the avowal,&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;I
      envy not now the king, for I feel raised above him by your love.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You must join the revel, Norris,&rdquo; said Anne; &ldquo;your absence from it will
      be observed.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And extending her hand to him, he knelt down and pressed it passionately
      to his lips.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah! we are observed,&rdquo; she cried suddenly, and almost with a shriek.
      &ldquo;Rise, sir!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Norris instantly sprang to his feet, and, to his inexpressible dismay, saw
      the figure of a tall monk gliding away. Throwing a meaning look at the
      almost sinking queen, he followed the mysterious observer into the great
      hall, determined to rid himself of him in some way before he should have
      time to make any revelations.
    </p>
    <p>
      Avoiding the brilliant throng, the monk entered the adjoining corridor,
      and descending the great staircase, passed into the upper quadrangle. From
      thence he proceeded towards the cloisters near St. George's Chapel, where
      he was overtaken by Norris, who had followed him closely.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What would you with me, Sir Henry Norris?&rdquo; cried the monk, halting.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You may guess,&rdquo; said Norris, sternly and drawing his sword. &ldquo;There are
      secrets which are dangerous to the possessor. Unless you swear never to
      betray what you have seen and heard, you die.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The tall monk laughed derisively.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You know that your life is in my power,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;and therefore you
      threaten mine. Well, e'en take it, if you can.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      As he spoke, he drew a sword from beneath his robe, and stood upon his
      defence. After a few passes, Norris's weapon was beaten from his grasp.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are now completely at my mercy,&rdquo; said the monk, &ldquo;and I have nothing
      to do but to call the guard, and declare all I have heard to the king.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I would rather you plunged your sword into my heart,&rdquo; said Norris.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There is one way&mdash;and only one&mdash;by which my secrecy may be
      purchased,&rdquo; said the monk.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Name it,&rdquo; replied Norris. &ldquo;Were it to be purchased by my soul's
      perdition, I would embrace it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have hit the point exactly,&rdquo; rejoined the monk drily. &ldquo;Can you not
      guess with whom you have to deal?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Partly,&rdquo; replied Norris &ldquo;I never found such force in mortal arm as you
      have displayed.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Probably not,&rdquo; laughed the other: &ldquo;most of those who have ventured
      against me have found their match. But come with me into the park, and you
      shall learn the condition of my secrecy.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I cannot quit the castle,&rdquo; replied Norris; &ldquo;but I will take you to my
      lodgings, where we shall be wholly unobserved.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And crossing the lower ward, they proceeded to the tower on the south side
      of it, now appropriated to the governor of the alms knights.
    </p>
    <p>
      About an hour after this Norris returned to the revel. His whole demeanour
      was altered, and his looks ghastly. He sought the queen, who had returned
      to the seat in the embrasure.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What has happened?&rdquo; said Anne, in a low tone, as he approached her. &ldquo;Have
      you killed him?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he replied; &ldquo;but I have purchased our safety at a terrible price.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You alarm me, Norris; what mean you?&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;I mean this,&rdquo; he
      answered, regarding her with passionate earnestness: &ldquo;that you must love
      me now, for I have perilled my salvation for you. That tall monk was Herne
      the Hunter.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0055" id="link2H_4_0055">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      IV.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     Of the Secret Interview between Norris and Anne Boleyn, and
     of the Dissimulation practised by the King.
</pre>
    <p>
      Henry's attentions to Jane Seymour at the masqued fete were so marked,
      that the whole court was made aware of his passion. But it was not
      anticipated that any serious and extraordinary consequences would result
      from the intoxication&mdash;far less that the queen herself would be
      removed to make way for her successful rival. It was afterwards, however,
      remembered that at this time Henry held frequent, long, and grave
      conferences with the Dukes of Suffolk and Norfolk, and appeared to be
      engrossed in the meditation of some project.
    </p>
    <p>
      After the scene at the revel, Anne did not make another exhibition of
      jealousy; but it was not that she was reconciled to her situation, or in
      any way free from uneasiness. On the contrary, the unhappy Catherine of
      Arragon did not suffer more in secret; but she knew, from experience, that
      with her royal consort all reproaches would be unavailing.
    </p>
    <p>
      One morning, when she was alone within her chamber, her father, who was
      now Earl of Wiltshire, obtained admittance to her.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have a troubled look, my dear lord,&rdquo; she said, as she motioned him to
      a seat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And with good reason,&rdquo; he replied. &ldquo;Oh, Anne! words cannot express my
      anxiety at the present state of things.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It will speedily pass by, my lord,&rdquo; she replied; &ldquo;the king will soon be
      tired of his new idol.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not before he has overthrown the old one, I fear,&rdquo; rejoined the earl.
      &ldquo;Jane Seymour's charms have usurped entire sovereignty over him. With all
      her air of ingenuousness and simplicity, the minion is artful and
      dangerous She has a high mark, I am persuaded&mdash;no less than the
      throne.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But Henry cannot wed her&mdash;he cannot divorce me,&rdquo; said Anne.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;So thought Catherine of Arragon,&rdquo; replied her father; &ldquo;and yet she was
      divorced. Anne, I am convinced a plot is hatching against you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You do not fear for my life, father?&rdquo; she cried, trembling.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I trust there are no grounds for charges against you by which it might be
      brought in jeopardy,&rdquo; replied the earl gravely.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;None, father&mdash;none!&rdquo; she exclaimed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am glad of it,&rdquo; rejoined the earl; &ldquo;for I have heard that the king said
      to one who suggested another divorce to him, 'No, if the queen comes
      within the scope of the divorce, she also comes within the pale of the
      scaffold.'&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A pledge was extorted from him to that effect,&rdquo; said Anne, in a hollow
      voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That an attempt will be made against you, I firmly believe,&rdquo; replied the
      earl; &ldquo;but if you are wholly innocent you have nothing to fear.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, father! I know not that,&rdquo; cried Anne. &ldquo;Innocence avails little with
      the stony-hearted Henry.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It will prove your best safeguard,&rdquo; said the earl. &ldquo;And now farewell,
      daughter! Heaven guard you! Keep the strictest watch upon yourself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      So saying, he quitted the apartment, and as soon as she was left alone,
      the unhappy Anne burst into an agony of tears.
    </p>
    <p>
      From this state of affliction she was roused by hearing her own name
      pronounced in low accents, and looking up, she beheld Sir Henry Norris.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, Norris!&rdquo; she said, in a tone of reproach, &ldquo;you have come hither to
      destroy me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No one knows of my coming,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;at least, no one who will betray
      me. I was brought hither by one who will take care we are not observed.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By Herne?&rdquo; demanded Anne.
    </p>
    <p>
      Norris answered in the affirmative.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Would you had never leagued yourself with him!&rdquo; she cried; &ldquo;I fear the
      rash act will bring destruction upon us both.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is too late to retract now,&rdquo; he replied; &ldquo;besides, there was no help
      for it. I sacrificed myself to preserve you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But will the sacrifice preserve me?&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;I fear not. I have just
      been told that the king is preparing some terrible measure against me&mdash;that
      he meditates removing me, to make way for Jane Seymour.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have heard the truth, madam,&rdquo; replied Norris, &ldquo;he will try to bring
      you to the block.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And with him, to try is to achieve,&rdquo; said Anne. &ldquo;Oh, Norris! it is a
      fearful thing to contemplate such a death!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But why contemplate it, madam?&rdquo; said Norris; &ldquo;why, if you are satisfied
      that the king has such designs against you&mdash;why, if you feel that he
      will succeed, tarry for the fatal blow? Fly with me&mdash;fly with one who
      loves you, and will devote his whole life to you&mdash;who regards you,
      not as the queen, but as Anne Boleyn. Relinquish this false and hollow
      grandeur, and fly with me to happiness and peace.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And relinquish my throne to Jane Seymour?&rdquo; rejoined Anne &ldquo;Never! I feel
      that all you assert is true&mdash;that my present position is hazardous&mdash;that
      Jane Seymour is in the ascendant, while I am on the decline, if not wholly
      sunk&mdash;that you love me entirely, and would devote your life to me&mdash;still,
      with all these motives for dread, I cannot prevail upon myself voluntarily
      to give up my title, and to abandon my post to a rival.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You do not love me, then, as I love you, Anne,&rdquo; said Norris. &ldquo;If I were a
      king, I would abandon my throne for you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You think so now, Norris, because you are not king,&rdquo; she replied. &ldquo;But I
      am queen, and will remain so, till I am forced to abandon my dignity.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I understand, madam,&rdquo; rejoined Norris gloomily. &ldquo;But oh I bethink you to
      what risks you expose yourself. You know the king's terrible determination&mdash;his
      vindictiveness, his ferocity.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Full well,&rdquo; she replied&mdash;&ldquo;full well; but I will rather die a queen
      than live disgrace and ruined. In wedding Henry the Eighth, I laid my
      account to certain risks, and those I must brave.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Before Norris could urge anything further, the door was suddenly opened,
      and a tall dark figure entered the chamber, and said hastily&mdash;&ldquo;The
      king is at hand.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;One word more, and it is my last,&rdquo; said Norris to Anne. &ldquo;Will you fly
      with me to-night?&mdash;all shall be ready.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I cannot,&rdquo; replied Anne.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Away!&rdquo; cried Herne, dragging Norris forcibly behind the tapestry.
    </p>
    <p>
      Scarcely had they disappeared when Henry entered the chamber. He was in a
      gayer mood than had been usual with him of late.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am come to tell you, madam,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;that I am about to hold jousts
      in the castle on the first of May, at which your good brother and mine,
      the Lord Rochford, will be the challenger, while I myself shall be the
      defendant. You will adjudge the prize.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why not make Jane Seymour queen of the jousts?&rdquo; said Anne, unable to
      resist the remark.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;She will be present at them,&rdquo; said Henry, &ldquo;but I have my own reasons,&rdquo; he
      added significantly, &ldquo;for not wishing her to appear as queen on this
      occasion.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Whatever may be your reasons, the wish is sufficient for me,&rdquo; said Anne.
      &ldquo;Nay, will you tarry a moment with me? It is long since we have had any
      converse in private together.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am busy at this moment,&rdquo; replied Henry bluffly; &ldquo;but what is it you
      would say to me?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I would only reproach you for some lack of tenderness, and much neglect,&rdquo;
       said Anne. &ldquo;Oh, Henry! do you remember how you swore by your life&mdash;your
      crown&mdash;your faith&mdash;all that you held sacred or dear&mdash;that
      you would love me ever?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And so I would, if I could,&rdquo; replied the king; &ldquo;but unfortunately the
      heart is not entirely under control. Have you yourself, for instance,
      experienced no change in your affections?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; replied Anne. &ldquo;I have certainly suffered severely from your too
      evident regard for Jane Seymour; but, though deeply mortified and
      distressed, I have never for a moment been shaken in my love for your
      majesty.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A loyal and loving reply,&rdquo; said Henry. &ldquo;I thought I had perceived some
      slight diminution in your regard.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You did yourself grievous injustice by the supposition,&rdquo; replied Anne.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I would fain believe so,&rdquo; said the king; &ldquo;but there are some persons who
      would persuade me that you have not only lost your affection for me, but
      have even cast eyes of regard on another.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Those who told you so lied!&rdquo; cried Anne passionately. &ldquo;Never woman was
      freer from such imputation than myself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Never woman was more consummate hypocrite,&rdquo; muttered Henry.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You do not credit me, I see,&rdquo; cried Anne.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If I did not, I should know how to act,&rdquo; replied the king. &ldquo;You remember
      my pledge?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Full well,&rdquo; replied Anne; &ldquo;and if love and duty would not restrain me,
      fear would.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;So I felt,&rdquo; rejoined the king; &ldquo;but there are some of your sex upon whom
      nothing will operate as a warning&mdash;so faithless and inconstant are
      they by nature. It has been hinted to me that you are one of these; but I
      cannot think it. I can never believe that a woman for whom I have placed
      my very throne in jeopardy&mdash;for whom I have divorced my queen-whose
      family I have elevated and ennobled&mdash;and whom I have placed upon the
      throne would play me false. It is monstrous-incredible!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is&mdash;it is!&rdquo; replied Anne.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And now farewell,&rdquo; said Henry. &ldquo;I have stayed longer than I intended, and
      I should not have mentioned these accusations, which I regard as wholly
      groundless, unless you had reproached me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And he quitted the chamber, leaving Anne in a strange state of perplexity
      and terror.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0056" id="link2H_4_0056">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      V.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     What happened at the Jousts.
</pre>
    <p>
      The first of May arrived; and though destined to set in darkness and
      despair, it arose in sunshine and smiles.
    </p>
    <p>
      All were astir at an early hour within the castle, and preparations were
      made for the approaching show. Lists were erected in the upper quadrangle,
      and the whole of the vast area was strewn with sand. In front of the royal
      lodgings was raised a gallery, the centre of which, being set apart for
      the queen and her dames, was covered with cloth of gold and crimson
      velvet, on which the royal arms were gorgeously emblazoned. The two wings
      were likewise richly decorated, and adorned with scutcheons and pennons,
      while from the battlements of the eastern side of the court were hung a
      couple of long flags.
    </p>
    <p>
      As soon as these preparations were completed, a throng of pages, esquires,
      armourers, archers, and henchmen, entered it from the Norman gateway, and
      took up positions within the barriers, the space without the pales being
      kept by a double line of halberdiers. Next came the trumpeters, mounted on
      richly caparisoned horses, and having their clarions decorated with silken
      bandrols, fringed with gold. Stationing themselves at the principal
      entrance of the lists, they were speedily joined by the heralds,
      pursuivants, and other officers of the tilt-yard.
    </p>
    <p>
      Presently afterwards, the Duke of Suffolk, who was appointed judge of the
      lists, appeared, and rode round the arena to see that all was in order.
      Apparently well satisfied with the survey, he dismounted, and proceeded to
      the gallery.
    </p>
    <p>
      Meanwhile, the crowd within the court was increased by a great influx of
      the different members of the household, amongst whom were Shoreditch,
      Paddington, and Hector Cutbeard.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Marry, this promises to be a splendid sight!&rdquo; said the clerk of the
      kitchen; &ldquo;the king will, no doubt, do his devoir gallantly for the sake of
      the bright eyes that will look upon him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You mean the queen's, of course?&rdquo; said Shoreditch.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I mean hers who may be queen,&rdquo; replied Cutbeard; &ldquo;Mistress Jane Seymour.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;May be queen!&rdquo; exclaimed Shoreditch. &ldquo;You surely do not think the king
      will divorce his present consort?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Stranger things have happened,&rdquo; replied Cutbeard significantly. &ldquo;If I am
      not greatly out of my reckoning,&rdquo; he added, &ldquo;these are the last jousts
      Queen Anne will behold.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The saints forefend!&rdquo; cried Shoreditch; &ldquo;what reason have you for
      thinking so?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That I may not declare,&rdquo; replied Cutbeard; &ldquo;but before the jousts are
      over you will see whether I have been rightly informed or not.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hush!&rdquo; exclaimed Shoreditch. &ldquo;There is a tall monk eyeing us strangely;
      and I am not certain that he has not overheard what you have said.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He is welcome to the intelligence,&rdquo; replied Cutbeard; &ldquo;the end will prove
      its truth.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Though this was uttered in a confident tone, he nevertheless glanced with
      some misgiving at the monk, who stood behind Paddington. The object of the
      investigation was a very tall man, with a cowl drawn over his brow. He had
      a ragged black beard, fierce dark eyes, and a complexion like bronze.
      Seeing Cutboard's glance anxiously fixed upon him, he advanced towards
      him, and said in a low tone&mdash;&ldquo;You have nothing to fear from me; but
      talk not so loud if you value your head.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;So saying he proceeded to another part of the lists.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Who is that tall monk?&rdquo; asked Paddington.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Devil knows!&rdquo; answered Cutbeard; &ldquo;I never saw him before. But he has a
      villainous cut-throat look.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Soon afterwards a flourish of trumpets was heard, and amid their joyous
      bruit the queen, sumptuously arrayed in cloth of gold and ermine, and
      having a small crown upon her brow, entered the gallery, and took her seat
      within it. Never had she looked more beautiful than on this fatal morning,
      and in the eyes of all the beholders she completely eclipsed her rival,
      Jane Seymour. The latter, who stood on her right hard, and was exquisitely
      attired, had a thoughtful and anxious air, as if some grave matter weighed
      upon her.
    </p>
    <p>
      While the queen's attendants were taking their places, Lord Rochford,
      accompanied by Sir Henry Norris and the Earls of Surrey and Essex, entered
      the lists. The four knights were completely armed, and mounted on powerful
      steeds barded with rich cloth of gold, embroidered with silver letters.
      Each had a great crimson plume in his helmet. They rode singly round the
      arena, and bowed as they passed the royal gallery, Norris bending almost
      to his saddle-bow while performing his salutation to the queen.
    </p>
    <p>
      The field being thus taken by the challengers, who retired to the upper
      end of the court, a trumpet was thrice sounded by a herald, and an answer
      was immediately made by another herald stationed opposite Henry the
      Seventh's buildings. When the clamour ceased, the king fully armed, and
      followed by the Marquis of Dorset, Sir Thomas Wyat, and the Lord Clifford,
      rode into the lists.
    </p>
    <p>
      Henry was equipped in a superb suit of armour, inlaid with gold, and
      having a breastplate of the globose form, then in vogue; his helmet was
      decorated with a large snow-white plume. The trappings of his steed were
      of crimson velvet, embroidered with the royal arms, and edged with great
      letters of massive gold bullion, full of pearls and precious stones. He
      was attended by a hundred gentlemen, armourers, and other officers,
      arrayed in white velvet.
    </p>
    <p>
      Having ridden round the court like the others, and addressed his
      salutation exclusively to Jane Seymour, Henry took his station with his
      companions near the base of the Round Tower, the summit of which was
      covered with spectators, as were the towers and battlements around.
    </p>
    <p>
      A trumpet was now sounded, and the king and the Lord Rochford having each
      taken a lance from his esquire, awaited the signal to start from the Duke
      of Suffolk, who was seated in the left wing of the royal gallery. It was
      not long delayed. As the clarion sounded clearly and loudly for the third
      time, he called out that the champions might go.
    </p>
    <p>
      No sooner were the words uttered, than the thundering tramp of the steeds
      resounded, and the opponents met midway. Both their lances were shivered;
      but as the king did not, in the slightest degree, change his position, he
      was held to have the best of it. Courses were then run by the others, with
      varied success, the Marquis of Dorset being unhorsed by Sir Henry Norris,
      whose prowess was rewarded by the plaudits of the assemblage, and what was
      infinitely more dear to him, by the smiles of the queen.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have ridden well, Norris,&rdquo; cried Henry, advancing towards him. &ldquo;Place
      yourself opposite me, and let us splinter a lance together.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      As Norris reined back his steed, in compliance with the injunction, the
      tall monk stepped from out the line, and drawing near him, said, &ldquo;If you
      wish to prove victorious, aim at the upper part of the king's helmet.&rdquo; And
      with these words he withdrew.
    </p>
    <p>
      By the time Norris had placed his lance in the rest, the trumpet sounded.
      The next moment the word was given, and the champions started. Henry rode
      with great impetuosity, and struck Norris in the gorget with such good
      will that both he and his steed were shaken.
    </p>
    <p>
      But Norris was more fortunate. Following the advice of the monk, he made
      the upper part of the king's helmet his mark, and the blow was so well
      dealt, that, though he did not dislodge the royal horseman, it drove back
      his steed on its haunches.
    </p>
    <p>
      The success was so unequivocal that Norris was at once declared the victor
      by the judge. No applause, however, followed the decision, from a fear of
      giving offence to the king.
    </p>
    <p>
      Norris dismounted, and committing his steed to the care of an esquire, and
      his lance to a page, took off his helmet and advanced towards the royal
      gallery, near which the Earl of Surrey and Sir Thomas Wyat were standing
      talking with the other dames. As Norris drew near, Anne leaned over the
      edge of the gallery, and smiled at him tenderly, and, whether by design or
      accident, let fall her embroidered handkerchief.
    </p>
    <p>
      Norris stooped to pick it up, regarding her as he did so with a glance of
      the most passionate devotion. A terrible gaze, however, was fixed on the
      unfortunate pair at that moment. It was that of the king. While Henry was
      careering in front of the gallery to display himself before Jane Seymour,
      a tall monk approached him, and said, &ldquo;Look at Sir Henry Norris!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Thus addressed, Henry raised his beaver, that he might see more
      distinctly, and beheld Norris take up the embroidered handkerchief, which
      he recognised as one that he had given, in the early days of his
      affection, to the queen.
    </p>
    <p>
      The sight stung him almost to madness, and he had great difficulty in
      repressing his choler. But if this slight action, heightened to
      importance, as it was, by the looks of the parties, roused his ire, it was
      nothing to what followed. Instead of restoring it to the queen, Norris,
      unconscious of the danger in which he stood, pressed the handkerchief
      fervently to his lips.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am hitherto the victor of the jousts,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;may I keep this as the
      prize?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Anne smiled assent.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is the proudest I ever obtained,&rdquo; pursued Norris. And he placed it
      within his helmet.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Does your majesty see that?&rdquo; cried the tall monk, who still remained
      standing near the king.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Death of my life!&rdquo; exclaimed Henry, &ldquo;it is the very handkerchief I gave
      her before our union! I can contain myself no longer, and must perforce
      precipitate matters. What ho!&rdquo; he cried, riding up to that part of the
      gallery where the Duke of Suffolk was seated&mdash;&ldquo;let the jousts be
      stopped!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Wherefore, my dear liege?&rdquo; said Suffolk. &ldquo;The Earl of Surrey and Sir
      Thomas Wyat are about to run a course.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Let them he stopped I say!&rdquo; roared Henry, in a tone that admitted of no
      dispute. And wheeling round his charger, he dashed into the middle of the
      barriers, shouting in loud, authoritative accents, &ldquo;The jousts are at an
      end! Disperse!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The utmost consternation was occasioned by the announcement. The Duke of
      Suffolk instantly quitted his seat, and pressed through the crowd to the
      king, who whispered a few hasty words in his ear. Henry then called to the
      Earl of Surrey, the Marquis of Dorset, the Lord Clifford, Wyat, and some
      others, and bidding them attend him, prepared to quit the court. As he
      passed the royal gallery, Anne called to him in an agonised voice&mdash;&ldquo;Oh,
      Henry! what is the matter?&mdash;what have I done?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      But without paying the slightest attention to her, he dashed through the
      Norman Gate, galloped down the lower quadrangle, and quitted the castle.
    </p>
    <p>
      The confusion that ensued may be imagined. All saw that something
      extraordinary and terrible had taken place, though few knew precisely what
      it was. Dismay sat in every countenance, and the general anxiety was
      heightened by the agitation of the queen, who, uttering a piercing scream,
      fell back, and was borne off in a state of insensibility by her
      attendants.
    </p>
    <p>
      Unable to control himself at the sight, Norris burst through the guard,
      and rushing up the great staircase, soon gained the apartment to which the
      queen had been conveyed. Owing to the timely aid afforded her, she was
      speedily restored, and the first person her eyes fell upon was her lover.
      At the sight of him a glance of affection illumined her features, but it
      was instantly changed into an expression of alarm.
    </p>
    <p>
      At this juncture the Duke of Suffolk, who, with Bouchier and a party of
      halberdiers, had entered the room, stepped up to the queen, and said-&ldquo;Will
      it please you, madam, to retire to an inner apartment? I grieve to say you
      are under arrest.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Arrest!&rdquo; exclaimed Anne; &ldquo;for what crime, your grace?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are charged with incontinency towards the king's highness,&rdquo; replied
      Suffolk sternly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But I am innocent!&rdquo; cried Anne&mdash;&ldquo;as Heaven shall judge me, I am
      innocent!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I trust you will be able to prove yourself so, madam,&rdquo; said Suffolk. &ldquo;Sir
      Henry Norris, your person is likewise attached.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then I am lost indeed!&rdquo; exclaimed Anne distractedly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do not let these false and malignant accusations alarm you, madam,&rdquo; said
      Norri. &ldquo;You have nothing to fear. I will die protesting your innocence.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sir Henry Norris,&rdquo; said the duke coldly, &ldquo;your own imprudence has brought
      about this sad result.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I feel it,&rdquo; replied Norris; &ldquo;and I deserve the worst punishment that can
      be inflicted upon me for it. But I declare to you as I will declare upon
      the rack, if I am placed upon it&mdash;that the queen is wholly innocent.
      Let her not suffer for my fault.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You hear what Sir Henry says,&rdquo; cried Anne; &ldquo;and I call upon you to
      recollect the testimony he has borne.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I shall not fail to do so, madam,&rdquo; replied Suffolk. &ldquo;Your majesty will
      have strict justice.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Justice!&rdquo; echoed Anne, with a laugh of bitter incredulity. &ldquo;Justice from
      Henry the Eighth?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Beseech you, madam, do not destroy yourself,&rdquo; said Norris, prostrating
      himself before her. &ldquo;Recollect by whom you are surrounded. My folly and
      madness have brought you into this strait, and I sincerely implore your
      pardon for it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are not to blame, Norris,&rdquo; said Anne; &ldquo;it is fate, not you, that has
      destroyed me. The hand that has dealt this blow is that of a queen within
      the tomb.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Captain Bouchier,&rdquo; said the Duke of Suffolk, addressing that officer, who
      stood near him, &ldquo;you will convey Sir Henry Norris to the strong-room in
      the lower gateway, whence he will be removed to the Tower.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Farewell for ever, Norris!&rdquo; cried Anne. &ldquo;We shall meet no more on earth.
      In what has fallen on me I recognise the hand of retribution. But the same
      measure which has been meted to me shall be dealt to others. I denounce
      Jane Seymour before Heaven! She shall not long retain the crown she is
      about to snatch from me!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That imprecation had better have been spared, madam,&rdquo; said the duke.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Be advised, my gracious mistress,&rdquo; cried Norris, &ldquo;and do not let your
      grief and distraction place you in the power of your enemies. All may yet
      go well.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I denounce her!&rdquo; persisted Anne, wholly disregarding the caution; &ldquo;and I
      also denounce the king. No union of his shall be happy, and other blood
      than mine shall flow.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      At a sign from the duke she was here borne, half suffocated with emotion,
      to an inner apartment, while Norris was conveyed by Bouchier and a company
      of halberdiers to the lower gateway, and placed within the prison chamber.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0057" id="link2H_4_0057">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      VI.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     What passed between Anne Boleyn and the Duke of Suffolk, and
     how Herne the Hunter appeared to her in the Oratory.
</pre>
    <p>
      For some hours Anne Boleyn's attendants were alarmed for her reason, and
      there seemed good grounds for the apprehension, so wildly and incoherently
      did she talk, and so violently comport herself&mdash;she who was usually
      so gentle now weeping as if her soul would pass away in tears&mdash;now
      breaking into fearful hysterical laughter. It was a piteous sight, and
      deeply moved all who witnessed it. But towards evening she became calmer,
      and desired to be left by herself. Her wish being complied with, she fell
      upon her knees, and besought Heaven's forgiveness for her manifold
      offences.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;May my earthly sufferings,&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;avail me here&mdash;after, and
      may my blood wash out my guilt. I feel the enormity of my offence, and
      acknowledge the justice of my punishment. Pardon me, O injured Catherine&mdash;pardon
      me, I implore thee! Thou seest in me the most abject pitiable woman in the
      whole realm! Overthrown, neglected, despised&mdash;about to die a shameful
      death&mdash;what worse can befall me? Thine anguish was great, but it was
      never sharpened by remorse like mine. Oh! that I could live my life over
      again. I would resist all the dazzling temptations I have yielded to&mdash;above
      all, I would not injure thee. Oh! that I had resisted Henry's love&mdash;his
      false vows&mdash;his fatal lures! But it is useless to repine. I have
      acted wrongfully and must pay the penalty of my crime. May my tears, my
      penitence, my blood operate as an atonement, and procure me pardon from
      the merciful Judge before whom I shall shortly appear.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      In such prayers and lamentations she passed more than an hour, when her
      attendants entered to inform her that the Duke of Suffolk and the Lords
      Audley and Cromwell were without, and desired to see her. She immediately
      went forth to them.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We are come to acquaint you, madam,&rdquo; said Suffolk, &ldquo;that you will be
      removed at an early hour tomorrow morning, to the Tower, there to abide
      during the king's pleasure.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If the king will have it so, my lords,&rdquo; she replied, &ldquo;I must needs go;
      but I protest my innocence, and will protest it to the last. I have ever
      been a faithful and loyal consort to his highness, and though I may not
      have demeaned myself to him so humbly and gratefully as I ought to have
      done&mdash;seeing how much I owe him&mdash;yet I have lacked nothing in
      affection and duty. I have had jealous fancies and suspicions of him,
      especially of late, and have troubled him with them; but I pray his
      forgiveness for my folly, which proceeded from too much regard, and if I
      am acquitted of my present charge, I will offend him so no more.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We will report what you say to the king,&rdquo; rejoined Suffolk gravely; &ldquo;but
      we are bound to add that his highness does not act on mere suspicion, the
      proofs of your guilt being strong against you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There can be no such proofs,&rdquo; cried Anne quickly. &ldquo;Who are my accusers?
      and what do they state?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are charged with conspiring against the king's life, and dishonouring
      his bed,&rdquo; replied Suffolk sternly. &ldquo;Your accusers will appear in due
      season.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;They are base creatures suborned for the purpose!&rdquo; cried Anne. &ldquo;No loyal
      person would so forswear himself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Time will show you who they are, madam,&rdquo; said Suffolk.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But having now answered all your questions, I pray you permit us to
      retire.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Shall I not see the king before I am taken to the Tower?&rdquo; said Anne, upon
      whom the terror of her situation rushed with new force.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;His highness has quitted the castle,&rdquo; replied Suffolk, &ldquo;and there is no
      likelihood of his return to-night.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You tell me so to deceive me,&rdquo; cried Anne. &ldquo;Let me see him&mdash;let me
      throw myself at his feet! I can convince him of my innocence and move him
      to compassion! Let me see him, I implore of you&mdash;I charge you!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I swear to you, madam, that the king has departed for Hampton Court,&rdquo;
       replied Suffolk.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then take me to him there, under strong guard, or as secretly as you
      please,&rdquo; she cried passionately; &ldquo;I will return with you instantly, if I
      am unsuccessful.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Were I to comply with your request it would be fruitless, madam,&rdquo; replied
      Suffolk; &ldquo;the king would not see you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, Suffolk!&rdquo; cried Anne, prostrating herself before him, &ldquo;I have shown
      you many kindnesses in my season of power, and have always stood your
      friend with the king. Do me this favour now; I will never forget it.
      Introduce me to the king. I am sure I can move his heart, if I can only
      see him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It would cost me my head, madam,&rdquo; said the duke in an inexorable tone.
      &ldquo;Rise, I pray you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are more cruel than the king,&rdquo; said Anne, obeying. &ldquo;And now, my
      lords,&rdquo; she continued with more composure and dignity, &ldquo;since you refuse
      my last request, and plainly prove to me the sort of justice I may expect,
      I will not detain you longer. I shall be ready to attend you to the Tower
      tomorrow.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The barge will proceed an hour before dawn,&rdquo; said Suffolk.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Must I, then, go by water?&rdquo; asked Anne.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Such are the king's commands,&rdquo; replied Suffolk.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is no matter,&rdquo; she rejoined; &ldquo;I shall be ready when you will, for I
      shall not retire to rest during the night.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Upon this Suffolk and the others slowly withdrew, and Anne again retired
      to the oratory.
    </p>
    <p>
      She remained alone, brooding, in a state of indescribable anguish, upon
      the probable fate awaiting her, when all at once, raising her eyes, she
      beheld a tall dark figure near the arras.
    </p>
    <p>
      Even in the gloom she recognised Herne the Hunter, and with difficulty
      repressed a scream.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Be silent!&rdquo; cried Herne, with an emphatic gesture. &ldquo;I am come to deliver
      you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Anne could not repress a joyful cry.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not so loud,&rdquo; rejoined Herne, &ldquo;or you will alarm your attendants. I will
      set you free on certain conditions.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah! conditions!&rdquo; exclaimed Anne, recoiling; &ldquo;if they are such as will
      affect my eternal welfare, I cannot accept them.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You will repent it when it is too late,&rdquo; replied Herne. &ldquo;Once removed to
      the Tower I can no longer aid you. My power extends only to the forest and
      the castle.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Will you take me to the king at Hampton Court?&rdquo; said Anne.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It would be useless,&rdquo; replied Herne. &ldquo;I will only do what I have stated.
      If you fly with me, you can never appear again as Anne Boleyn. Sir Henry
      Norris shall be set free at the same time, and you shall both dwell with
      me in the forest. Come!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I cannot go,&rdquo; said Anne, holding back; &ldquo;it were to fly to a worse danger.
      I may save my soul now; but if I embrace your offer I am lost for ever.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Herne laughed derisively.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You need have no fear on that score,&rdquo; he said.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will not trust you,&rdquo; replied Anne. &ldquo;I have yielded to temptation
      already, and am now paying the penalty of it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are clinging to the crown,&rdquo; said Herne, &ldquo;because you know that by
      this step you will irrecoverably lose it. And you fancy that some change
      may yet operate to your advantage with the king. It is a vain delusive
      hope. If you leave this castle for the Tower, you will perish
      ignominiously on the block.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What will be, must be!&rdquo; replied Anne. &ldquo;I will not save myself in the way
      you propose.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Norris will say, and with reason, that you love him not,&rdquo; cried Herne.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then he will wrong me,&rdquo; replied Anne; &ldquo;for I do love him. But of what
      account were a few years of fevered happiness compared with endless
      torture?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will befriend you in spite of yourself,&rdquo; vociferated Herne, seizing her
      arm; &ldquo;you shall go with me!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will not,&rdquo; said Anne, falling on her knees. &ldquo;Oh, Father of Mercy!&rdquo; she
      cried energetically, &ldquo;deliver me from this fiend!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Take your fate, then!&rdquo; rejoined Herne, dashing her furiously backwards.
    </p>
    <p>
      And when her attendants, alarmed by the sound, rushed into the chamber,
      they found her stretched on the floor in a state of insensibility.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0058" id="link2H_4_0058">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      VII.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     How Herne appeared to Henry In the Home Park.
</pre>
    <p>
      On that same night, at a late hour, a horseman, mounted on a powerful
      steed, entered the eastern side of the home park, and stationed himself
      beneath the trees. He had not been there long, when the castle clock
      tolled forth the hour of midnight, and ere the deep strokes died away, a
      second horseman was seen galloping across the moonlit glade towards him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Has all been done as I directed, Suffolk?&rdquo; he demanded, as the newcomer
      approached him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It has, my liege,&rdquo; replied the duke. &ldquo;The queen is imprisoned within her
      chamber, and will be removed, at early dawn, to the Tower.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You had better start in an hour from this time,&rdquo; said the king. &ldquo;It is a
      long passage by water, and I am anxious to avoid all chance of attempt at
      rescue.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your wishes shall be obeyed,&rdquo; replied the duke. &ldquo;Poor soul! her grief was
      most agonizing, and I had much ado to maintain my composure. She implored,
      in the most passionate manner, to be allowed to see your highness before
      her removal. I told her it was impossible; and that even if you were at
      the castle, you would not listen to her supplications.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You did right,&rdquo; rejoined Henry; &ldquo;I will never see her more&mdash;not that
      I fear being moved by her prayers, but that, knowing how deceitful and
      faithless she is, I loathe to look upon her. What is expressed upon the
      matter by the household? Speak frankly.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Frankly then,&rdquo; replied the duke, &ldquo;your highness's proceedings are
      regarded as harsh and unjustifiable. The general opinion is, that you only
      desire to remove Anne to make way for Mistress Jane Seymour.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ha! they talk thus, do they?&rdquo; cried the king. &ldquo;I will silence their saucy
      prating ere long. Tell all who venture to speak to you on the subject that
      I have long suspected the queen of a secret liking for Norris, but that I
      determined to conceal my suspicions till I found I had good warrant for
      them. That occurred, as you know, some weeks ago. However, I awaited a
      pretext for proceeding against them, and it was furnished by their own
      imprudence to-day. Convinced that something would occur, I had made my
      preparations; nor was I deceived. You may add, also, that not until my
      marriage is invalidated, Anne's offspring illegitimatised, and herself
      beheaded, shall I consider the foul blot upon my name removed.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Has your majesty any further commands?&rdquo; said Suffolk. &ldquo;I saw Norris in
      his prison before I rode forth to you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Let him be taken to the Tower, under a strong escort, at once,&rdquo; said
      Henry. &ldquo;Lord Rochford, I suppose, has already been removed there?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He has,&rdquo; replied the duke. &ldquo;Shall I attend your majesty to your
      followers?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is needless,&rdquo; replied the king. &ldquo;They are waiting for me, close at
      hand, at the foot of Datchet Bridge. Fare well, my good brother; look well
      to your prisoners. I shall feel more easy when Anne is safely lodged
      within the Tower.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      So saying he wheeled round, and striking spurs into his steed, dashed
      through the trees, while the duke rode back to the castle.
    </p>
    <p>
      Henry had not proceeded far, when a horseman, mounted on a sable steed,
      emerged from the thicket, and galloped up to him. The wild attire and
      antlered helm of this personage proclaimed the forest fiend.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah! thou here, demon!&rdquo; cried the king, his lion nature overmastered by
      superstitious fear for a moment. &ldquo;What wouldst thou?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are on the eve of committing a great crime,&rdquo; replied Herne; &ldquo;and I
      told you that at such times I would always appear to you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To administer justice is not to commit crime,&rdquo; rejoined the king. &ldquo;Anne
      Boleyn deserves her fate.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Think not to impose on me as you have imposed on Suffolk!&rdquo; cried Herne,
      with a derisive laugh. &ldquo;I know your motives better; I know you have no
      proof of her guilt, and that in your heart of hearts you believe her
      innocent. But you destroy her because you would wed Jane Seymour! We shall
      meet again ere long&mdash;ho! ho! ho!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And giving the rein to his steed, he disappeared among the trees.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0059" id="link2H_4_0059">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      VIII.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     The Signal Gun.
</pre>
    <p>
      Anne Boleyn's arraignment took place in the great hall of the White Tower,
      on the 16th of May, before the Duke of Norfolk, who was created lord high
      steward for the occasion, and twenty-six peers. The duke had his seat
      under a canopy of state, and beneath him sat the Earl of Surrey as deputy
      earl-marshal.
    </p>
    <p>
      Notwithstanding an eloquent and impassioned defence, Anne was found
      guilty; and having been required to lay aside her crown and the other
      insignia of royalty, was condemned to be burned or beheaded at the king's
      pleasure.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the following day, she was summoned to the archiepiscopal palace at
      Lambeth, whither she was privately conveyed; and her marriage with the
      king was declared by Cranmer to be null and void, and to have always been
      so. Death by the axe was the doom awarded to her by the king, and the day
      appointed for the execution was Friday the 19th of May, at the hour of
      noon.
    </p>
    <p>
      Leaving the conduct of the fatal ceremony to the Duke of Suffolk, who had
      orders to have a signal gun fired from the summit of the White Tower,
      which was to be answered from various points, when all was over, Henry
      repaired to Windsor Castle on the evening of Thursday. Before this, he had
      formally offered his hand to Jane Seymour; and while the unfortunate queen
      was languishing within the Tower, he was basking in the smiles of his new
      mistress, and counting the hours till he could make her his own. On the
      Tuesday before the execution, Jane Seymour retired to her father's
      mansion, Wolff Hall, in Wiltshire, where preparations were made for the
      marriage, which it was arranged should take place there in private on the
      Saturday.
    </p>
    <p>
      On arriving at the castle, Henry gave out that he should hunt on the
      following morning in the great park, and retired to his closet. But he did
      not long remain there, and putting on the garb of a yeoman of the guard,
      descended by the narrow flight of steps (already mentioned as occupying
      the same situation as the existing Hundred Steps) to the town, and
      proceeded to the Garter, where he found several guests assembled,
      discussing the affairs of the day, and Bryan Bowntance's strong ale at the
      same time. Amongst the number were the Duke of Shoreditch, Paddington,
      Hector Cutbeard, and Kit Coo. At the moment of the king's entrance, they
      were talking of the approaching execution.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, the vanity of worldly greatness!&rdquo; exclaimed Bryan, lifting up his
      hands. &ldquo;Only seven years ago, last Saint George's Day, this lovely queen
      first entered the castle with the king, amid pomp and splendour and power,
      and with a long life&mdash;apparently&mdash;of happiness before her. And
      now she is condemned to die.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But if she has played the king false she deserves her doom,&rdquo; replied
      Shoreditch. &ldquo;I would behead my own wife if she served me the same trick&mdash;that
      is, if I could.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You do right to say 'if you could,'&rdquo; rejoined Paddington. &ldquo;The beheading
      of a wife is a royal privilege, and cannot be enjoyed by a subject.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Marry, I wonder how the king could prefer Mistress Jane Seymour, for my
      part!&rdquo; said Hector Cutbeard. &ldquo;To my thinking she is not to be compared
      with Queen Anne.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;She has a lovely blue eye, and a figure as straight as an arrow,&rdquo;
       returned Shoreditch. &ldquo;How say you, master?&rdquo; he added, turning to the king;
      &ldquo;what think you of Mistress Jane Seymour?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That she is passably fair, friend,&rdquo; replied Henry.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But how as compared with the late&mdash;that is, the present queen, for,
      poor soul! she has yet some hours to live,&rdquo; rejoined Shoreditch. &ldquo;How, as
      compared with her?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, I think Jane Seymour the more lovely, Undoubtedly,&rdquo; replied Henry.
      &ldquo;But I may be prejudiced.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not in the least, friend,&rdquo; said Cutbeard. &ldquo;You but partake of your royal
      master's humour. Jane Seymour is beautiful, no doubt, and so was Anne
      Boleyn. Marry! we shall see many fair queens on the throne. The royal
      Henry has good taste and good management. He sets his subjects a rare
      example, and shows them how to get rid of troublesome wives. We shall all
      divorce or hang our spouses when we get tired of them. I almost wish I was
      married myself, that I might try the experiment-ha! ha!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, here's the king's health!&rdquo; cried Shoreditch, &ldquo;and wishing him as
      many wives as he may desire. What say you, friend?&rdquo; he added, turning to
      Henry. &ldquo;Will you not drink that toast?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That will I,&rdquo; replied Henry; &ldquo;but I fancy the king will be content for
      the present with Mistress Jane Seymour.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;For the present, no doubt,&rdquo; said Hector Cutbeard; &ldquo;but the time will come&mdash;and
      ere long&mdash;when Jane will be as irksome to him as Anne is now.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah, God's death, knave! darest thou say so?&rdquo; cried Henry furiously.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, I have said nothing treasonable, I hope?&rdquo; rejoined Cutbeard, turning
      pale; &ldquo;I only wish the king to be happy in his own way. And as he seems to
      delight in change of wives, I pray that he may have it to his heart's
      content.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A fair explanation,&rdquo; replied Henry, laughing.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Let me give a health, my masters!&rdquo; cried a tall archer, whom no one had
      hitherto noticed, rising in one corner of the room. &ldquo;It is&mdash;The
      headsman of Calais, and may he do his work featly tomorrow!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ha! ha! ha! a good toast!&rdquo; cried Hector Cutbeard.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Seize him who has proposed it!&rdquo; cried the king, rising; &ldquo;it is Herne the
      Hunter!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I laugh at your threats here as elsewhere, Harry,&rdquo; cried Herne. &ldquo;We shall
      meet tomorrow.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And flinging the horn cup in the face of the man nearest him, he sprang
      through an open window at the back, and disappeared.
    </p>
    <p>
      Both Cutbeard and Shoreditch were much alarmed lest the freedom of their
      expressions should be taken in umbrage by the king; but he calmed their
      fears by bestowing a good humoured buffet on the cheek of the latter of
      them, and quitting the hostel, returned to the castle by the same way he
      had left it.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the following morning, about ten o'clock, he rode into the great park,
      attended by a numerous train. His demeanour was moody and stern, and a
      general gloom pervaded the company. Keeping on the western side of the
      park, the party crossed Cranbourne chase; but though they encountered
      several fine herds of deer, the king gave no orders to uncouple the
      hounds.
    </p>
    <p>
      At last they arrived at that part of the park where Sandpit Gate is now
      situated, and pursuing a path bordered by noble trees, a fine buck was
      suddenly unharboured, upon which Henry gave orders to the huntsmen and
      others to follow him, adding that he himself should proceed to Snow Hill,
      where they would find him an hour hence.
    </p>
    <p>
      All understood why the king wished to be alone, and for what purpose he
      was about to repair to the eminence in question, and therefore, without a
      word, the whole company started off in the chase.
    </p>
    <p>
      Meanwhile, the king rode slowly through the woods, often pausing to listen
      to the distant sounds of the hunters, and noticing the shadows on the
      greensward as they grew shorter, and proclaimed the approach of noon. At
      length he arrived at Snow Hill, and stationed himself beneath the trees on
      its summit.
    </p>
    <p>
      From this point a magnificent view of the castle, towering over its pomp
      of woods, now covered with foliage of the most vivid green, was commanded.
      The morning was bright and beautiful, the sky cloudless, and a gentle rain
      had fallen over night, which had tempered the air and freshened the leaves
      and the greensward. The birds were singing blithely in the trees, and at
      the foot of the hill crouched a herd of deer. All was genial and
      delightful, breathing of tenderness and peace, calculated to soften the
      most obdurate heart.
    </p>
    <p>
      The scene was not without its effect upon Henry; but a fierce tumult raged
      within his breast. He fixed his eyes on the Round Tower, which was
      distinctly visible, and from which he expected the signal, and then tried
      to peer into the far horizon. But he could discern nothing. A cloud passed
      over the sun, and cast a momentary gloom over the smiling landscape. At
      the same time Henry's fancy was so powerfully excited, that he fancied he
      could behold the terrible tragedy enacting at the Tower.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;She is now issuing forth into the green in front of Saint Peter's
      Chapel,&rdquo; said Henry to himself. &ldquo;I can see her as distinctly as if I were
      there. Ah, how beautiful she looks! and how she moves all hearts to pity!
      Suffolk, Richmond, Cromwell, and the Lord Mayor are there to meet her. She
      takes leave of her weeping attendants&mdash;she mounts the steps of the
      scaffold firmly&mdash;she looks round, and addresses the spectators. How
      silent they are, and how clearly and musically her voice sounds! She
      blesses me.&mdash;I hear It!&mdash;I feel it here! Now she disrobes
      herself, and prepares for the fatal axe. It is wielded by the skilful
      executioner of Calais, and he is now feeling its edge. Now she takes leave
      of her dames, and bestows a parting gift on each. Again she kneels and
      prays. She rises. The fatal moment is at hand. Even now she retains her
      courage&mdash;she approaches the block, and places her head upon it. The
      axe is raised&mdash;ha!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The exclamation was occasioned by a flash of fire from the battlements of
      the Round Tower, followed by a volume of smoke, and in another second the
      deep boom of a gun was heard.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the very moment that the flash was seen, a wild figure, mounted on a
      coal-black steed, galloped from out the wood, and dashed towards Henry,
      whose horse reared and plunged as he passed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There spoke the knell of Anne Boleyn!&rdquo; cried Herne, regarding Henry
      sternly, and pointing to the Round Tower. &ldquo;The bloody deed is done, and
      thou art free to wed once more. Away to Wolff Hall, and bring thy new
      consort to Windsor Castle!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      THUS ENDS THE SIXTH AND LAST BOOK OF THE CHRONICLE OF WINDSOR CASTLE <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">





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