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by William Harrison Ainsworth


  X.

  Of the Mysterious Disappearance of Herne the Hunter in the Lake.

  Unable to procure any mitigation of Surrey's sentence, the Duke ofRichmond proceeded to the Round Tower, where he found his friend in asmall chamber, endeavouring to beguile his captivity by study.

  Richmond endeavoured to console him, and was glad to find him in betterspirits than he expected. Early youth is seldom long dejected, andmisfortunes, at that buoyant season, seem lighter than they appear lateron in life. The cause for which he suffered, moreover, sustained Surrey,and confident of the Fair Geraldine's attachment, he cared littlefor the restraint imposed upon him. On one point he expressed someregret--namely, his inability to prosecute the adventure of Herne theHunter with the duke.

  "I grieve that I cannot accompany you, Richmond," he said; "but sincethat is impossible, let me recommend you to take the stout archer whogoes by the name of the Duke of Shoreditch with you. He is the very manyou require."

  After some consideration the duke assented, and, promising to return onthe following day and report what had occurred he took his leave, andwent in search of the archer in question. Finding he had taken up hisquarters at the Garter, he sent for him and proposed the matter.

  Shoreditch heard the duke's relation with astonishment, but expressedthe greatest willingness to accompany him, pledging himself, as Richmonddemanded, to profound secrecy on the subject.

  At the appointed hour--namely, midnight--the duke quitted the castle,and found Shoreditch waiting for him near the upper gate. The latter wasarmed with a stout staff, and a bow and arrows.

  "If we gain sight of the mysterious horseman to-night," he said, "acloth-yard shaft shall try whether he is of mortal mould or not. If hebe not a demon, I will warrant he rides no more."

  Quitting the Home Park, they shaped their course at once towards theforest. It was a stormy night, and the moon was obscured by thickclouds. Before they reached the hill, at the end of the long avenue, aheavy 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 totake refuge beneath a large beech-tree.

  It was evident, notwithstanding his boasting, that the courage ofShoreditch was waning fast, and he at last proposed to his leader thatthey should return as soon as the rain abated. But the duke indignantlyrejected the proposal.

  While they were thus sheltering themselves, the low winding of a hornwas heard. The sound was succeeded by the trampling of horses' hoofs,and the next moment a vivid flash of lightning showed a hart dartingpast, followed by a troop of some twenty ghostly horsemen, headed by thedemon hunter.

  The Duke of Richmond bade his companion send a shaft after them; but thelatter was so overcome by terror that he could scarcely fix an arrowon the string, and when he bent the bow, the shaft glanced from thebranches of an adjoining tree.

  The storm continued with unabated fury for nearly an hour, at theexpiration of which time it partially cleared off, and though it wasstill profoundly dark, the duke insisted upon going on. So they pressedforward beneath the dripping trees and through the wet grass. Ever andanon the moon broke through the rifted clouds, and shed a wild glimmerupon the scene.

  As they were tracking a glade on the farther side of the hill, thespectral huntsmen again swept past them, and so closely that they couldalmost touch their horses. To the duke's horror, he perceived amongthem the body of the butcher, Mark Fytton, sitting erect upon a powerfulblack steed.

  By this time, Shoreditch, having somewhat regained his courage,discharged another shaft at the troop. The arrow struck the body of thebutcher, and completely transfixed it, but did not check his career;while wild and derisive laughter broke from the rest of the cavalcade.

  The Duke of Richmond hurried after the band, trying to keep them insight; and Shoreditch, flinging down his bow, which he found useless,and grasping his staff, endeavoured to keep up with him. But though theyran swiftly down the glade, and tried to peer through the darkness, theycould see nothing more of the ghostly company.

  After a while they arrived at a hillside, at the foot of which lay thelake, whose darkling waters were just distinguishable through an openingin the trees. As the duke was debating with himself whether to go on orretrace his course, the trampling of a horse was heard behind them, andlooking in the direction of the sound, they beheld Herne the Hunter,mounted on his swarthy steed and accompanied only by his two blackhounds, galloping furiously down the declivity. Before him flew the owl,whooping as it sailed along the air.

  The demon hunter was so close to them that they could perfectly discernhis horrible lineaments, the chain depending from his neck, and hisantlered helm. Richmond shouted to him, but the rider continued hisheadlong course towards the lake, heedless of the call.

  The two beholders rushed forward, but by this time the huntsman hadgained 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 theduke caught of the flying figure, he fancied he perceived that it wasattended by a fantastic shadow, whether cast by itself or arising fromsome supernatural cause he could not determine.

  But what followed was equally marvellous and incomprehensible. As thewild huntsman reached the brink of the lake, he placed a horn to hismouth, and blew from it a bright blue flame, which illumined his owndusky and hideous features, and shed a wild and unearthly glimmer overthe surrounding objects.

  While enveloped in this flame, the demon plunged into the lake, andapparently descended to its abysses, for as soon as the duke couldmuster courage to approach its brink, nothing could be seen of him, hissteed, or his hounds.

  THUS ENDS THE FIRST BOOK OF THE CHRONICLE OF WINDSOR CASTLE

  BOOK II. HERNE THE HUNTER

 

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