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Placing the lamp on the stone floor of the dungeon, the guard withdrew, and locked the door after him. "Do you repent, my son?" demanded the friar, as soon as they were alone. "Certes, I repent having put faith in a treacherous fiend, who has deserted me-but that is all," replied Fenwolf, with his face turned to the ground.
"It will be useless, father," said Fenwolf. "I do not despair, my son," replied the canon; "and when I see you again in the morning I trust to find you in a better frame of mind." 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.
"Oh, do not detain Sir Thomas Wyat!" cried Mabel piteously; "do not deliver him to your dread master! Do what you will with me but let him go." "I will tell you what I will do," replied Fenwolf, in a low tone; "I will set Sir Thomas at liberty, and run all risks of Herne's displeasure, if you will promise to be mine." Mabel replied by a look of unutterable disgust.
"My way out will be easy enough," replied Herne; "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?" "I do," replied Fenwolf; "but I can think of nothing while I am tied thus."
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. 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.
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. "Well done!" cried the duke, as he witnessed the achievement; "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."
Saturn! hyke, Dragon Away! away, my merry men all." How Sir Thomas Wyat hunted with Herne. 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.
"I said not so," replied Wyat; "but she is very fair, and looks true-hearted." Fenwolf glanced at him from under his brows; and plunging his oars into the water, soon carried him out of sight of the maiden. It was high noon, and the day was one of resplendent loveliness.
"I will take my station near the blasted oak," said Surrey, galloping towards it: "the demon is sure to revisit his favourite tree before cock-crowing." "What is that?" cried the Earl of Surrey, pointing to a strange and ghastly-looking object depending from the tree. "Some one has hanged himself! It may be the caitiff, Morgan Fenwolf."
"Lead my mule across this swamp, thou senseless loon," said the cardinal, "and I will give thee my blessing." With a very ill grace Fenwolf complied, and conducted Wolsey to the farther side of the marsh. "If your grace pursues the path over the hill," he said, "and then strikes into the first opening on the right, it will bring you to the place you seek."
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