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Updated: June 11, 2025
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.
"Three days!" muttered Wyat. "The false juggling fiend promised her to me on the third day." "Fear not; Herne will be as good as his word," said Fenwolf. "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." Wyat acquiesced, and followed Fenwolf, who returned along the passage.
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. "Quiet, Hubert quiet!" cried Tristram. "It cannot be Morgan Fenwolf," he added. "He would never knock thus.
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. "Ah! what make you here?" he cried, instantly checking his career. "I bade you keep a strict watch over Mabel. Where is she?" "She has escaped with Sir Thomas Wyat," replied Fenwolf, "and we have been in search of them."
He then inquired her name from Fenwolf. "She is called Mabel Lyndwood, and is an old forester's granddaughter," replied the other somewhat gruffly. "And do you seek her love?" asked Wyat. "Ay, and wherefore not?" asked Fenwolf, with a look of displeasure. "Nay, I know not, friend," rejoined Wyat. "She is a comely damsel." "What! comelier than the Lady Anne?" demanded Fenwolf spitefully.
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. "We have now laid a trap from which Herne will scarcely escape," he observed, with a moody laugh, to Fenwolf.
"And so it is you, Morgan Fenwolf, who have served me this ill turn, eh?" cried the butcher, regarding him fiercely. "I now believe all I have heard of you." "What have you heard of him?" asked Surrey, advancing. "That he has dealings with the fiend with Herne the Hunter," replied Mark. "If I am hanged for a traitor, he ought to be burnt for a wizard."
"I did not," replied Surrey. "That is passing strange," rejoined the other. "I myself have seen him before, but never as he appeared to-night." "You are a keeper of the forest, I presume, friend?" said Surrey. "How are you named?" "I am called Morgan Fenwolf," replied the keeper; "and you?" "I am the Earl of Surrey; returned the young noble.
But since thou hast provoked it, take thy fate!" 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.
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. But Anne Boleyn escaped one danger only to encounter another equally serious.
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