VII.
How Wyat beheld Mabel Lyndwood--And how he was rowed by Morgan Fenwolf upon the Lake.
When perfect consciousness returned to him, Wyat found himself lyingupon a pallet in what he first took to be the cell of an anchorite; butas the recollection of recent events arose more distinctly before him,he guessed it to be a chamber connected with the sandstone cave. A smalllamp, placed in a recess, lighted the cell; and upon a footstool by hisbed stood a jug of water, and a cup containing some drink in which herbshad evidently been infused. Well-nigh emptying the jug, for he feltparched with thirst, Wyat attired himself, took up the lamp, and walkedinto the main cavern. No one was there, nor could he obtain any answerto his calls. Evidences, however, were not wanting to prove that a feasthad recently been held there. On one side were the scarcely extinguishedembers of a large wood fire; and in the midst of the chamber was a rudetable, covered with drinking-horns and wooden platters, as well as withthe remains of three or four haunches of venison. While contemplatingthis scene Wyat heard footsteps in one of the lateral passages, andpresently afterwards Morgan Fenwolf made his appearance.
"So you are come round at last, Sir Thomas," observed the keeper, in aslightly sarcastic tone.
"What has ailed me?" asked Wyat, in surprise.
"You have had a fever for three days," returned Fenwolf, "and have beenraving like a madman."
"Three days!" muttered Wyat. "The false juggling fiend promised her tome on the third day."
"Fear not; Herne will be as good as his word," said Fenwolf. "But willyou go forth with me? I am about to visit my nets. It is a fine day, anda row on the lake will do you good."
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 andknees. For some space the passage, or rather hole (for it was nothingmore) ran on a level. A steep and tortuous ascent then commenced, whichbrought them to an outlet concealed by a large stone.
Pushing it aside, Fenwolf crept forth, and immediately afterwards Wyatemerged into a grove, through which, on one side, the gleaming watersof the lake were discernible. The keeper's first business was to replacethe stone, which was so screened by brambles and bushes that it couldnot, unless careful search were made, be detected.
Making his way through the trees to the side of the lake, Fenwolfmarched along the greensward in the direction of Tristram Lyndwood'scottage. Wyat mechanically followed him; but he was so pre-occupied thathe scarcely heeded the fair Mabel, nor was it till after his embarkationin the skiff with the keeper, when she came forth to look at them, thathe was at all struck with her beauty. He then inquired her name fromFenwolf.
"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.
"I said not so," replied Wyat; "but she is very fair, and lookstrue-hearted."
Fenwolf glanced at him from under his brows; and plunging his oars intothe water, soon carried him out of sight of the maiden.
It was high noon, and the day was one of resplendent loveliness. Thelake sparkled in the sunshine, and as they shot past its tiny bays andwoody headlands, new beauties were every moment revealed to them. Butwhile the scene softened Wyat's feelings, it filled him with intolerableremorse, and so poignant did his emotions become, that he pressed hishands upon his eyes to shut out the lovely prospect. When he lookedup 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 restof the lake was fair and smiling. It was closed in by a high overhangingbank, crested by two tall trees, whose tangled roots protruded throughit like monstrous reptiles, while their branches cast a heavy shade overthe deep, sluggish water.
"Why have you come here?" demanded Wyat, looking uneasily round theforbidding spot.
"You will discover anon," replied Fenwolf moodily.
"Go back into the sunshine, and take me to some pleasant bank--I willnot land here," said Wyat sternly.
"Needs must when--I need not remind you of the proverb," rejoinedFenwolf, with a sneer.
"Give me the oars, thou malapert knave!" cried Wyat fiercely, "and Iwill put myself ashore."
"Keep quiet," said Fenwolf; "you must perforce abide our master'scoming."
Wyat gazed at the keeper for a moment, as if with the intention ofthrowing him overboard; but abandoning the idea, he rose up in theboat, and caught at what he took to be a root of the tree above. To hissurprise and alarm, it closed upon him with an iron grasp, and he felthimself dragged upwards, while the skiff, impelled by a sudden strokefrom Morgan Fenwolf, shot from beneath him. All Wyat's efforts todisengage himself were vain, and a wild, demoniacal laugh, echoed by achorus of voices, proclaimed him in the power of Herne the Hunter. Thenext moment he was set on the top of the bank, while the demon greetedhim with a mocking laugh.
"So you thought to escape me, Sir Thomas Wyatt," he cried, in a tauntingtone; "but any such attempt will prove fruitless. The murderer mayrepent the blow when dealt; the thief may desire to restore the gold hehas purloined; the barterer of his soul may rue his bargain; but theyare Satan's, nevertheless. You are mine, and nothing can redeem you!"
"Woe is me that it should be so!" groaned Wyat.
"Lamentation is useless and unworthy of you," rejoined Herne scornfully."Your wish will be speedily accomplished. This very night your kinglyrival shall be placed in your hands."
"Ha!" exclaimed Wyat, the flame of jealousy again rising within hisbreast.
"You can make your own terms with him for the Lady Anne," pursued Herne."His life will be at your disposal."
"Do you promise this?" cried Wyat.
"Ay," replied Herne. "Put yourself under the conduct of Fenwolf, and allshall happen as you desire. We shall meet again at night. I have otherbusiness on hand now. Meschines," he added to one of his attendants, "gowith Sir Thomas to the skiff."
The personage who received the command, and who was wildly andfantastically habited, beckoned Wyat to follow him, and after manytwistings and turnings brought them to the edge of the lake, where theskiff was lying, with Fenwolf reclining at full length upon its benches.He arose, however, quickly at the appearance of Meschines, and asked himfor some provisions, which the latter promised to bring, and while Wyatgot into the skiff he disappeared, but returned a few minutes afterwardswith a basket, which he gave to the keeper.
Crossing the lake, Fenwolf then shaped his course towards a verdant bankenamelled with wild flowers, where he landed. The basket being opened,was found to contain a flask of wine and the better part of a venisonpasty, of which Wyat, whose appetite was keen enough after his longfasting, ate heartily. He then stretched himself on the velvet sod,and dropped into a tranquil slumber which lasted to a late hour in theevening.
He was roused from it by a hand laid on his shoulder, while a deep voicethundered in his ear--"Up, up, Sir Thomas, and follow me, and I willplace the king in your hands!"
Windsor Castle Page 17