Windsor Castle [58]
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.
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 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.
"So you are come round at last, Sir Thomas," observed the keeper, in a slightly sarcastic tone.
"What has ailed me? " asked Wyat, in surprise.
"You have had a fever for three days," returned Fenwolf, "and have been raving like a madman."
"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. 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.
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.
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.
"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 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. 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
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 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.
"So you are come round at last, Sir Thomas," observed the keeper, in a slightly sarcastic tone.
"What has ailed me? " asked Wyat, in surprise.
"You have had a fever for three days," returned Fenwolf, "and have been raving like a madman."
"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. 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.
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.
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.
"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 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. 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