t V ^ >-'r^%^ ^ W\ --- ^^C>-yl<.^<^ £^1^ /^^t^t,^ C,^r-Ct.^^/-^ r^ I.t"lNi;cm' P'JJiT.lSHED .TO G.EC'TrTLED'.TE .VS OH S. BROADWAY, LirDGATF. HILL. oA^f HISTORICAL ROMANCE*. S3 (^ WlLLIAnmK.lS0llTlllI\(SWOKTK WINDSOR CASTLE AN HISTORICAL ROMANCE BY W. HARRISON AINSWORTH, Esc^ AUTHOR OF "THE TOWER OF LONDON" " About, about ! Search Windsor Castle, elves, within and out." Shakespeare. — Merry Wmes of Windsor ' There is an old tale goes, tliat Heme the Hunter, Sometime a keeper here in Windsor Forest, Doth all the winter time, at still midnight. Walk round about an oak, with great ragg'd horns. And there he blasts the tree. You have heard of such a spirit ; and well know The superstitious idle-headed eld Received, and did deliver to our age. This tale of Heme the Hunter for a tmth." — Ibid. ILLUSTRATED BY GEORGE CRUIKSHANK AND TONY JOHANNOT WITH DESIGNS ON WOOD, BY W. ALFRED DELAMOTTE LONDON GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS Broadway, Ludgate Hill NEW YORK: 416 BROOME STREET -ttUl. aSoofc tje jFi'rst. ANNE BOLEYN. 4qs SAINT OE0R3S S OATBWAT BDWARD THB THIRD'S TOW«I\, AWTJ Rl'THTJ »»Wia CONTENTS. ANNE BOLEYN. PAOB I. Of the Earl of Surrey's solitary ramble in the Home Park ; of the vision beheld by him in the Haunted Dell ; and of his meeting with Morgan Fenwolf, the keeper, beneath Heme's Oak ... 1 n. Of Bryan Bowntance, the host of the Garter ; of the Duke of Shore- ditch ; of the bold words uttered by Mark Fytton, the butcher, and how he was cast into the vault of the Curfew Tower ... 10 IV CONTENTS m. Of the grand procession to Windsor Castle ; of the meeting of King Henry the Eighth and Anne Boleyn at the Lower Gate; of their entrance into the Castle ; and how the butcher was hanged from the Curfew Tower „ 17 IV. How King Henry the Eighth held a Chapter of the Garter ; how he attended vespers and matins in Saint George's Chapel ; and how he feasted with the linights- Companions in Saint George's Hall 33 V. Of the ghostly chase beheld by the Earl of Surrey and the Duke of Richmond in Windsor Forest 43 VI. How the fair Geraldine bestowed a relic upon her lover ; how Surrey and Richmond rode in the forest at midnight ; and where they found the body of Mark Fytton, the butcher 49 VII. How the Earl of Surrey and the fair Geraldine plighted their troth in the cloisters of Saint George's Chapel 5G VIII. Of Tristram Lyndwood, the old forester, and his grand-daughter Mabel ; of the peril in which the Lady Anne Boleyn was placed during the chase ; and by whom she was rescued 61 IX. By what means Sir Thomas Wyat obtained an interview with Anne Boleyn; and how the Earl of Surrey saved them from the King's anger 68 X. Of the mysterious disappearance of Heme the Hunter in the Lake . 75 ?3oofe tjt ^tmxti. HERNE THE HUNTER. I. Of the compact between Sir Thomas Wyat and Heme the Hunter . 81 II. In what manner Wolsey put his scheme in operation 91 III. Of the visit of the two Guildford merchants to the forester's hut . . 97 IV. How Heme the Hunter shewed the Earl of Surrey the fair Geraldine in a vision 102 V. What befel Sir Thomas Wyat in the Sand-stone Cave ; and how he drank a maddening potion 106 VI. How Sir Thomas Wyat hunted with Heme 109 VU. How Wyat beheld Mabel Lyndwood ; and how he was rowed by Morgan Fen wolf upon the Lake 112 Viil. How the King and the Duke of Suffolk were assailed by Heme's band; and what followed the attack 115 CONTENTS. V PAGE IX. Shewing how Morgan Fenwolf escaped from the Garter Tower . 122 X. How Heme the Hunter was himself hunted 128 THE HISTORY OF THE CASTLE. I. Comprising the first two epochs in the history of Windsor Castle . . 135 H. Comprising the third great epoch in the history of the Castle ; and shewing how the most noble Order of the Garter was instituted 143 in. Comprising the fourth epoch in the history of the Castle; and shewing how Saint George's Chapel was rebuilt by King Edward the Fourth 150 TV. Containing the history of the Castle from the reign of Charles the Second to that of George the Third j with a few particulars conceniing the Parks and the Forest 160 V. The last great epoch in the history of the Castle .... . . 1G4 33oofe t!jc dTourtl;. CARDINAL WOLSEY. I. Of the interview between Henry and Catherine of An-agon in the Urswick Chapel ; and how it was interrupted 173 II. How Heme the Hunter appeared to Henry on the terrace . . . . 183 III. How Mabel Lyndwood was taken to the Castle by Nicholas Clamp; and how they encountered Morgan Fenwolf by the way . . 185 lY. How Mabel was received by the party in the kitchen ; and of the quarrel between the two jesters 191 V. Of the combat between Will Sommers and Patch ; and how it ter- minated 196 YI. The Legend of Heme the Hunter 202 YIL Of the mysterious noise heard in the Curfew Tower 212 Yin. Shewing the vacillations of the King between Wolsey and Anne Boleyn 216 IX. How TrLstram Lyndwood was interrogated by the King .... 220 X. Of the brief advantage gained by the Queen and the Cardinal . . 222 XI. How Tristram Lyndwood and Mabel were liberated 228 XII. How Wolsey was dis^aced by the King 234 CONTENTS. 53oo& t^e dTiftlj. MABEL LYNDWOOD. {■AGS % How the Earl of Surrey and the fair Geraldine met in King James's bower in the moat ; and how they were surprised by the Duke of Richmond 245 II. How Sir Thomas Wyat found Mabel in the Sand-stone Cave ; and what happened to him there 254 III. In what manner Heme declared his passion for Mabel 261 IV. How Sir Thomas Wyat was visited by Heme in the cell .... 265 V. How Mabel escaped from the cave with Sir Thoma:* Wyat . . . 268 VI. Of the desperate resolution formed by Tristram and Fenwolf ; and how the train was laid 271 Vn. How the train was fired ; and what followed the explosion . . . 274 JANE SEYMOUR. I. Of Henry's attachment to Jane Seymour 283 II. How Anne Boleyn received proof of Henry's passion for Jane Sey- mour , , 288 III. What passed between Norris and the tall Monk 291 IV. Of the secret interview between Korris and Anne Boleyn ; and of the dissimulation practised by the King 295 V. What happened at the jousts 299 VI. What passed between Anne Boleyn and the Duke of Suifolk ; and how Heme the Hunter appeared to her in the Oratory . . . 305 VII. How Heme appeared to Henry in the Home Park 308 Vin. The Signal Gun 310 ILLUSTRATIONS. rAOB PORTRAIT OP THE AUTHOR tO fttCC title THE MEETING OP HENRY THE EIGHTH AND ANNE BOLETN . . 29 THE BANQUET IN SAINT GEORGe's HALL 42 THE MEETING IN THE CLOISTERS OP SAINT GEOROE's CHAPEL . 58 THE ROYAL CHASE IN WINDSOR FOREST 68 henry's RECONCILIATION WITH ANNE BOLEYN 73 HERNE THE HUNTER PLUNGING INTO THE LAKE . . , , , 77 THE VISIT TO TRISTRAM LYNDWOOd's COTTAGE 101 THE VISION OP THE PAIR GERALDINE 105 MABEL LYNDWOOD INTERCEDING POR WYAT WITH HENRY . .119 THE SEARCH FOR HERNE THE HUNTER 131 HERNE THE HUNTER APPEARING TO HENRY ON THE TERRACE . 184 THE QUARREL IN THE KITCHEN OP THE CASTLE 195 THE DISAPPEARANCE OP HERNE IN THE CURFEW TOWER . . , 233 THE DISMISSAL OP CARDINAL WOLSEY 239 HERNE FLYING INTO THE BURNING WOODS WITH MABEL . . • 277 ANNE BOLEYN RECEIVING PROOF OP HENRY*S PASSION FOB JANE SEYMOUR 290 HENRY PERCEIVING NORRIS TAKE UP ANNE BOLBYn's HANDKER- CHIEF AT THE JOUSTS 302 THIE SlQNAIi 314 WOOD ENGRAVINGS. FAOB I. VIEW OP THE CASTLE IN 1530 • 135 II. WINDSOB GREAT PARK, 1529 .. •• ••» 163 III. PLAN or WINDSOR CASTLE, 1843 164 1. SAINT George's gateway and round towee iii 2. GRAND procession TO WINDSOR CASTLE 1 3. OLD BEECH-TREE IN THE HOME PARK ^ 4. KERNELS OAK .... ..• ....? 5. CURFEW TOWER, FROM THAMES STREET .,..., ... 10 6. EASTERN VIEW OF THE CURFEW TOWER • 14 7. INTERIOR OF THE CURFEW TOWER 15 8. VAULT IN THE CURFEW TOWER 16 9. BANQUET IN SAINT GEORGe's HALL 17 10. alms-knights' houses, and lieutenant's towee 29 11. norman tower, from the garden 30 12. garter tower, from the summit of the curfew tower . 31 13. mark fytton, the butcher, hanging from the curfew tower . 32 14. KING HENRY THE EIGHTH ATTENDING MASS IN ST. GEORGe's CHAPEL . 33 15. INTERIOR OF SAINT GEORGE's HALL 41 16. HAUNTED BEECH-TREE, NEAR NORFOLK FARM ........ 43 17. DELL ON THE EASTERN SIDE OP THE LONG WALK 45 18. BEECH-GROVE, NEAR THE EQUESTRIAN STATUE OF GEORGE THE THIRD 46 19. OLD BEECH-TREE, ON THE ROAD TO VIRGINIA WATER ..... 47 20. THE WILD HUNTSMEH 48 21. CASTLE AND LODGES, FROM THE LONG WALK .49 22. DOOR LEADING TO THE HUNDRED STEPS 52 23. CARDINAL WOLSBy's TOMB-HOUSE 56 24. CLOISTERS NEAR SAINT GEORGe's CHAPEL 58 25. BLACK HOLE IN HENRY THE EIGHTH's GATE 60 26. VIEW OF THE CASTLE, FROM THE GREAT PARK 61 27. OLD OAK AND BEECH-TREE IN WINDSOR FOREST 67 2ii. THE VICTORIA TOWER 81 «9. GATEWAY OP THE NORMAN TOW«B| FROM THE UPPER WAED . 83 WOOD ENGRAVINGS. M VAOB 30. COVERED WAT FROM THE NORMAM TOWER TO THJK ROUBTD TOWBB, 84 31. GEORGE THE FOURTh's TOWER, FROM THE TERRACE 88 32. FOREST GLADE LOOKING UPON COOk's HILL WOOD ...*,. 92 33. THE NORMAN TOWER, FROM THE MIDDLE WARD . . • .102 34. PART OF THE ROUND TOWER, FROM THE MOAT 103 35. THE CASTLE, FROM THE WESTERN SIDE OF SNOW HILL • . 109 36. VIEW OF THE CASTLE, FROM THE ADELAIDE PEEP . . . . 115 37. GUARD-CHAMBER IN HENRY THE EIGHTH's GATE . , . 122 38. PART OF THE HORSE-SHOE CLOISTERS 123 39. INTERIOR OF THE GARTER TOWER . , .125 40. GARTER TOWER, FROM THAMES STREET 127 41. OUTER DOOR LEADING TO THE HUNDRED STEPS 127 42. OLD OAKS, ON THE ROAD FROM LACHESTER LODGE TO HARDI- man's gate .... 128 43. COLOSSAL EQUESTRIAN STATUE OF GEORGE THE THIRD . . . 135 44. HENRY THE THIRD's TOWER 139 45. SOUTH SIDE OF THE ALMS-KNIGHTS' HOUSES, WITH HENRY THE third's tower, and THE GOVERNOR'S TOWER 140 46. LADY MARY FOx's DRAWING-ROOM IN THE NORMAN TOWER . . 141 47. MOAT OF THE ROUND TOWER, WITH HENBT THE THIRD's TOWLB, 148 ♦8. ROUND TOWER, FROM THE SOUTH-EAST, WITH CuVSZ2I> ^AY FROM SAINT George's gate . 149 49. HOUTH SIDE of SAINT GEORGE'S CHAPEL 150 50. INTERIOR OP SAINT GEORGES CHAPEL, LOOKING TOWARDS THE CHOIR ... 152 51. WEST END OF SAINT GEORGe's CHAPEL 154 52. VIRGINIA WATER 160 53. SLOPES, FROM THE NORTH-EAST ANGLE OF THE TERRACE . . 162 54. PRIVATE CHAPEL IN THE GREAT PARK 163 55. GEORGE THE FOURTH's GATEWAY, AND YORK AND LANCASTER TOWERS, WITH VICTORIA TOWER ON THE BIGHT 164 56. EAST AND NORTH FACADES OF THE CASTLE 165 57. THE CASTLE, FROM ETON PLAY-FIELDS .... .... 166 58. THE UPPER QUADRANGLE 167 59. CURFEW TOWER AND OTHER BUILDINGS, AS PROPOSED TC BB ALTERED BY WYATVILLB . . ... 168 60. CROWN AND PORTCULLIS 169 61. SUNK GARDEN AND EASTERN FACADE OF THE CASTLE . . . . 173 62. OLD OAK, NEAR BLACKNEST 187 63. HENRY THE EIGHTh's GATE, FROM THE LOWER WARD .... 189 64. HENRY THE SEVENTH's BUILDINGS ... 190 65. ANCIENT KITCHEN IN THE CASTLE « . 191 66. PART OP TttB SOVTQ SIDB Oy THE UPfBB (^UADBANGL^ . . , . 196 X: WOOD ENGRAVINGS. 67. SCATHED OAK-TREE IN THE HOME PABK ..,.,,. , 202 68. HAUNTED BEECH-TREE, LOOKING TOWARDS THE HILL p , . 209 69. PORT-HOLE IN THE CURFEW TOWER • • . 214 70. UPPER CHAMBER IN THE CURFEW TOWER 215 71. BASTION, NEAR THE HUNDRED STEPS ..216 72. ENTRANCE TO THE NEW COMMONS 223 73. HOUSE IN THE NORTH AMBULATORY OF THE DEAN's CLOISTERS 224 74. MOAT OF THE ROUND TOWER, WITH EDWARD THE THIRD's TOWER IN THE BACKGROUND 245 75. STAIRCASE TO THE ROUND TOWER 248 76. LANDING OF THE STAIRCASE IN THE ROUND TOWER 254 77. TOWER AND BUILDINGS, FROM THE HUNDRED STEPS . . . . . 261 78. GEORGE THE FOURTh's GATEWAY, FROM THE ENTRANCE TO THE GREAT PARK 274 79. THE CASTLE, FROM THE BROCAS . 283 80. THE TOWN OF WINDSOR, FROM THE CURFEW TOWBE 288 81. ENTRANCE TO THE DEAn's CLOISTERS 293 82. GOVERNOR OF THE ALMS-KNIGHTS' TOWER . . 294 83. OLD BUILDINGS, FROM THE HUNDRED STEPS .... ... 299 84. PRISON CHAMBER IN HENRY THE EIGHTHS GATEWAY 305 85. BASTION AND WALL, FROM THE HUNDRED STEPS 311 86. VIEW IN THE GREAT PARK, NEAR SAND-PIT QATB .... .313 87. FLAG-TOWER, WITH STANDARD IX>W£RBD . . ., . . SIA IS WINDSOR CASTLE. pearance of a page, was leaning over the terrace-wall on the north side of Windsor Castle, and gazing at the magnificent scene before him. On his right stretched the broad green ex- panse, forming tlie Home Park, studded with noble trees, chiefly consisting of ancient oaks, of which England had already learnt to be proud, thorns as old, or older than the oaks, wide-spreading beeches, tall elms, and hollies. The disposition of these trees was picturesque and beautiful in the extreme. Here, at the end of a sweeping vista, and in the midst of an open space, covered with the greenest sward, stood a mighty, broad-armed oak, beneath whose ample boughs, though as yet almost destitute of foliage, while the sod beneath them could scarcely boast a head of fern, couched a lierd of deer ; there, lay a thicket of thorns skirting a sand-bank, burrowed by rabbits ; on this hand, grew a dense and Druid-like grove, into whose intricacies the slanting sunbeams pierced ; on that, extended a long glade, formed by a natural avenue of oaks, across which, at intervals, deer were pass- ing. Nor were human figures wanting to give life and interest to the scene. Adown the glade came two keepers of the forest, having each a couple of buckhounds with them in leash, whose baying sounded cheerily amid the woods. Nearer the castle, and bending their way towards it, marched a party of falconers, with their well-trained birds, whose skill they had been approving, upon their fists, their jesses ringing as they moved along ; wliile nearer still, and almost at the foot of the terrace wall, was a minstrel, playing on a rebec, to which a keeper, in a dress of Lincoln green, with a bow over his shoulder, a quiver of arrows at his back, and a comely damsel under his arm, was listening. On the left, a view altogether different in character, though scarcely less beautiful, was offered to the gaze. It was formed by the town of Windsor, then not a third of its present size, but incomparably more picturesque in appearance, consisting almost entirely of a long straggling row of houses, chequered black and white, with tall gables and projecting stories, skirting the west and south sides of the castle; by the silver windings of the river, traceable for miles, and reflecting the glowing hues of the sky ; by the venerable college of Eton, embowered in a grove of trees ; and by a vast trs^ct of well-wooded and well-cultivated country beyond it, interspersed with villages, churches, old halls, Tnonasteries, and abbeys. Taking out his tablets, the youth, after some reflection, T.raced a few lines upon them, and then, quitting the parapet, proceeded slowly, and with a musing air, towards the north-west angle of the terrace. He could not be more than fifteen, perhaps not so much, but he was tall and well-grown, with slight, though remarkably well-proportioned limbs ; and it might have been safely predicted, that, when arrived at years of maturity, he would possess great personal vigour. His countenance was full of thought and intelligence; and he had a broads lofty brow. v;aptain bouchier. shaded by a profusion of light brcv/n ringlets, a long, straight, and finely-formed nose, a full, sensitive, and well-chisel fed mouth, and a pointed chin. His eyes were large, dark, and somewhat melancholy in expression, and his complexion possessed that rich, clear, brown tint, constantly met with in Italy or Spain, though but seldom seen in a native of our own colder clime. His dress was rich, but sombre ; consisting of a doublet of black satin, worked with threads of Venetian gold ; hose of the same material, and similarly embroidered ; a shirt curiously wrought with black siik, and fastened at the collar with black enamelled clasps ; a cloak of black velvet, passmented with gold, and lined with crimson satin ; a flat black velvet cap, set with pearls and goldsmith's work, and adorned with a short white plume ; and black velvet buskins. His arms were rapier and dagger, both having gilt and graven handles, and sheaths of black velvet. As he moved along, the sound of voices chanting vespers arose from Saint George's Chapel ; and while he paused to listen to the solemn strains, a door in that part of the castle used as the king's privy-lodgings, opened, and a person advanced towards him. The new-comer had broad, brown, martial-looking features, darkened still more by a thick coal-black beard, clipped short in the fashion of the time, and a pair of enormous moustachios- He was accoutred in a habergeon, which gleamed from beneath the folds of a russet-coloured mantle, and wore a steel-cap in lieu of a bonnet on his head, while a long sword dangled from beneath his cloak. When within a few paces of the youth, whose back was towards him, and who did not hear his approach, he announced himself by a loud cough, that proved the excel' lence of his lungs, and made the old walls ring again, startling the jackdaws roosting in the battlements. " What ! composing a vesper hymn, my Lord of Surrey ?" he cried with a laugh, as the other hastily thrust the tablets, which he had hitherto held in his hand, into his bosom. "You will rival Master Skelton, the poet-laureate, and your friend Sir Thomas Wyat, too, ere long. But will it please yc ur lordship to quit for a moment the society of the celestial Nine, and descend to earth, while I inform you that, acting as your representative, I have given all needful directions for his majesty's reception to- morrow." " You have not failed, I trust, to give orders to the groom of the chambers for the lodging of my fair cousin. Mistress Anne Boleyn, Captain Bouchier?" inquired the Earl of Surrey, with a significant smile. "Assuredly not, my lord '" replied the other, smiling in his turn. " She will be lodged as royally as if she were Queen of Eng- land. Indeed, the queen's own apartments are assigned her.*" "It is well," rejoined Surrey. "And you have also provided for the reception of the Pope's legate, Cardinal Campeggio ?*" Bouchier bowed. B 2, 4 WINi/SOR CASTLE. " And for Cardinal Wolsey ?" pursned the othei. The captain bowed again. " To save your lordship the necessity of asking any further questions," he said ; " 1 may state brielly, that I have done all as if you had done it yourself." " Be a little more particular, captain, I pray you," said Surrey. " WiUingly, my lord," replied Bouchier. "' In your lord- ship's name, then, as vice-chamberlain, in which character I presented myself, I summoned together the dean and canons of the College of Saint George, the usher of the black- rod, the governor of the alms-knights, and the whole of the officers of the household, and acquainted them, in a set speech, which, I flatter myself, was quite equal to any that your lord- ship, with all your poetical talents, could have delivered, that the king's highness being at Hampton Court, with the two cardinals, Wolsey and Campeggio, debating the matter of divorce from his queen, Catharine of Arragon, proposes to hold the grand feast of the most noble order of the Garter, at this his castle of Windsor, on Saint George's day, — that is to say, the day after to-morrow, — and that it is therefore his majesty's sovereign pleasure that the Chapel of Saint George, in the said castle, be set forth, and adorned with its richest furniture ; that the high altar be hung with arras representing the patron saint of the order on horseback, and garnished with the costliest images and ornaments in gold and silver ; that the pulpit be covered with crimson damask, inwrought with flowers-de-iuces of gold, portcullices, and roses ; that the royal stall be canopied w4th a rich cloth of state, with a haut-pas beneath it of a foot high ; that the stalls of the knights-companions be decked with cloth of tissue, with their scutcheons set at the back ; and that all be ready at the hour of tierce, — hord tertid vespertind, as appointed by his majesty's own statute, — at which time the eve of the feast shall be held to commence." " Take breath, captain," laughed the earl. " I have no need," replied Bouchier. " Furthermore, I delivered your lordship's warrant from the lord chamberlain to the usher of the black rod, to make ready and furnish Saint George's Hall, both for the supper to-morrow and the grand feast on the following day ; and I enjoined the dean and canons of the college, the alms-knights, and all the other officers of the order, to be in readiness for the occasion. And now having fulfilled my devoir, or rather your lordship's, I am content to resign my post as vice-chamberlain, to resume my ordinary one, that cf your simple gentleman, and to attend you back to Hampton Court, whenever it shall please you to set forth." " And that wdll not be for an hour at the least," replied the carl ; " for I intend to take a solitary ramble in the Home Park." " What ! to seek inspiration for a song, — or to meditate upon the charms of the fair Geraldmc. ch I my lord?" rejoined Bou- THE HOME PARK. chier. " But I will not question you too shrewdly. Only let mc caution you against going near Heme's Oak. It is said that the demon hunter walks at nightfall, and scares, if he does not in- jure, all those who cross his path. At curfew toll I must quit the castle, and will then, with your attendants, proceed to the Garter, in Thames Street, where I will await your arrival. If we reach Hampton Court by midnight, it will be time enough, and as the moon will rise in an hour, we shall have a pleasant ride." " Commend me to Bryan Bowntance, the worthy host of the Garter," said the earl ; " and bid him provide you with a bottle of his best sack in which to drink my health." " Fear me not," replied the other. " And I pray you.^ ^ord- ship not to neglect my caution respecting Heme the hm: er. In sober sooth, I have heard strange stories of his appearance tA late, and should not care to go near the tree after dark." The earl laughed somewhat sceptically, and the captain reite - rating his caution, they separated; — Souchier retuming the way he came, and Surrey proceeding towards a small drawbridge crossing the ditch on the eastern side of the castle, and forming a means of communication with the Little Park. He was challenged by a sentinel at the drawbridge, but on giving the password, he was allowed to cross it, and to pass through a gate on the further side opening upon the park. Brushing the soft and dewy turf, with a footstep almost as light and bounding as that of a fawn, he speeded on for more than a quarter of a mile, when he reached a noble beech- tree, standing at the end of a clump of timber. A number of rabbits were feeding beneath it, but at his approach they instantlj plunged into their burrows. OLD BKKCa TR>> IN IBB BOMB TABM. 6 WINDSOR CASTLE. r., Here he baited to look at the castle. The sun had sunk be, . hind it, dilating its massive keep to almost its present height, and tinging the summits of the whole line of ramparts and , towers, ince rebuilt and known as the Brunswick Tower, the Chester Tower, the Clarence Tower, and the Victoria Tower with rosy lustre, Fh'nging himself at the foot of the beech-tree, the youthfd earl indulged his poetical reveries for a short time, and thei^ rising, retraced his steps, and in a few minutes the whole o' the south side of the castle lay before him. The view compre- hended the two fortifications recently removed to make way for the York and Lancaster towers, between whicli stood a gate approached by a drawbridge ; the Earl Marshal's Tower, now : styled, from the monarch in whose reign it was erected, Edwarcf the Third's Tower ; the Black-rod's lodgings ; the Lieutenant^ — now Henry the Third's Tower; the line of embattled walls, constituting the lodgings of the Alms-Knights ; the tower tenanted by the governor of that body, and still allotted to the same officer; Henry the Eighth's Gateway; and the Chancellor of the Garter's Tower, — the latter terminating the line of build- ing. A few rosy beams tipped the pinnacles of Saint George's Cliapel, seen behind the towers above mentioned, with fire; but ■with this exception, the whole of the mighty fabric looked cold and grey. At this juncture, the upper gate was opened, and Captain Boiichier and his attendants issued from it, and passed over the drawbridge. The curfew bell then tolled ; the drawbridge was raised ; the horsemen disappeared ; and no sound reached the listener's ear, except the measured tread of the sentinels on the ramparts, audible in the profound stillness. The youthful earl made no attempt to join his followers, but having gazed on the ancient pile before him, till its battlements and towers grew dim in the twilight, he struck into a footpath leading across the park, towards Datchet, and pursued it until it brought him near a dell tilled with thorns, hollies, and underwood, and overhung by mighty oaks, into wliich he unhesitatingly plunged, and soon gained the deepest part of it. Here, owing to the tiiickness of the hollies, and the projecting arms of other large overhanging timber, added to the uncertain light above, the gloom was almost impervious, and he could scarcely see a yard before him. Still he pressed on unhesitatingly, and with a sort of leasurable sensation at the difficulties he was encountering uddenly, however, he was startled by a blue phosphoric light streaming through the bushes on the left, and, looking up, he be- held at the foot of an enormous oak, whose giant roots protruded like twisted snakes from the bank, a wild, spectral-looking object, possessing some slight resemblance to humanity, and habited, so far as it could be •^letermined, in the skins of deer. • THE HAUNTED DEl.L. Strangely disposed about its gaunt and tawny-coloured limhs. On its head was seen a sort of helmet, formed of the skull of ^ stag, from which branched a large pair of antlers ; from its left arm hung a heavy and rusty-looking chain, in the links of which burnt the phosphoric fire before mentioned ; while on its right wrist was perched a large horned owl, with feathers erected, and red staring eyes. Impressed with the superstitious feelings common to the age, the young earl, fully believing he was :n the presence of a super- natural being, could scarcely, despite his courageous nature, which no ordinary matter would have shaken, repress a cry. Crossing himself, he repeated, with great fervency, a prayer against evil spirits, and as he uttered it, the light was extinguished, and the spectral figure vanished. The clanking of the chain was heard, succeeded by the hooting of the owl ; then came a horrible burst of laughter ; then a fearful wail ; and all was silent. Up to this moment,, the young earl had stood still, as if spell- bound ; but being now convinced that the spirit had fled, he pressed forward, and, ere many seconds, emerged from the brake The full moon was rising, as he issued forth, and illuminating the glades and vistas, and the calmness and beauty of all around seemed at total variance with the fearful vision he had just wit- nessed. Throwing a shuddering glance at the haunted dell, in? was about to hurry towards the castle, when a large lightning- scathed and solitary oak, standing at a little distance from hino, attracted his attention. BSRMB S 04X % WINDSOR CASTLtt. This was the very tree connected with the wild legend of Ilerne the hunter, which Captain Bouchier had warned him not to ap- proach, and he now forcibly recalled the caution. Beneath it he Eerceived a figure, which he at first took for that of the spectral unter ; but his fears were relieved by a shout from the person, who at the same moment appeared to catch sight of him. Satisfied that, in the present instance, he had to do with a being of this world, Surrey ran towards the tree, and on approaching it perceived that the object of his alarm was a young man, of very athletic proportions, and evidently, from his garb, a keeper of the •brest. He was habited in a jerkin of Lincoln-green cloth, with the ^oyal badge w^oven in silver on the breast, and his head was protected by a flat green cloth cap, ornamented with a pheasant's tail. Under his right arm he carried a cross-bow ; a long, silver- tipped horn was slung in his baldric; and he was armed wdth a short hanger, or wood-knife. His features were harsh and prominent ; and he had black beetling brows, a large coarse mouth, and dark eyes, lighted up wdth a very sinister and malignant ex- pression. He was attended by a large, savage-looking stag-hound, whom he addressed as Bawsey, and whose fierceness had to be restrained as Surrey approached. " Have you seen anything ?" he demanded of the earl. " I have seen Heme the hunter himself, or the fiend in his likeness," replied Surrey. And he briefly related the vision he had beheld. " Ay, ay, you have seen the demon hunter, no doubt," replied the keeper, at the close of the recital. " I neither saw the light, nor heard the laughter nor the wailing cry you speak of; but Bawsey crouched at my feet, and whined, and I knew some evil thing was at hand. Heaven shield us !" he exclaimed, as the houn( 1 crouched at his feet, and directed her gaze towards the oak, uttering a low, ominous whine. " She is at the same trick again." The earl glanced in the same direction, and half expected to see the knotted trunk of the tree burst open and disclose the figure of the spectral hunter. But nothing was visible — at least to him • though it would seem, from the shaking limbs, fixed eyes, and ghastly visage of the keeper, that some appalling object wr^s pre- sented to his gaze. ** Do you not see him ?" cried the latter, at length, in thrilling accents — " He is circling the tree, and blasting it. There ! he passes us now — do you not see him?" " No," replied Surrey ; " but do not let us tarry here longer." So saying, he laid his hand upon the keeper's arm. The touch seemed to rouse him to exertion. He uttered a fearful cry, and set off at a quick pace along the park, followed by Bawsey, with MOIUJAN FEN WOLF. 9 her tail between her legs. The earl kept up with him, and neither halted till they had left the wizard oak at a considerable distance behind them. " And so you did n Jt see him ?" said the keej)er, in a tone o^ exhaustion, as he wiped the thick drops from his brow. " I did not," replied Surrey. " That is passing strange," rejoined the other. " 1 myself haw 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. "What!" exclaimed Fen wolf, making a reverence ; "the son to his grace of Norfolk." The earl replied in the affirmative. " Why then you must be the young nobleman whom I used to see so often with the king's son, the Duke of Richmond, three or four years ago, at the castle ?" rejoined Fenwolf. " You are altogether grown out of my recollection." " Not unlikely," returned the earl. " I have been at Oxford, and have only just completed my studies. This is the first time 1 have been at Windsor since the period you mention." " 1 have heard that the Duke of Richmond was at Oxford, likewise," observed Fenwolf. " We were at Cardinal College together," replied Surrey. " But the duke's term was completed before mine. He is my senior by three years." " I suppose your lordship is returning to the castle ?" said Fenwolf. " No," replied Surrey. " My attendants are waiting for me at the Garter, and if you will accompany me thither, I will bestow a cup of good ale upon you to recruit you after the fright you have undergone." Fenwolf siffnified his grateful acquiescence, and they walked Dn in silence, for the earl could not help dwelling upon the vision he tiaa witnessed, and his companion appeared equally abstracted. In this sort, they descended the hill near Henry the Eightti's iirate, and entered Thames-street. C □ R F E W II. HP BllVAN BOWNTANCE, THIi HOST OK THE GARTER; — OF THE DUKE OF SHORB> DITCH ; OF THE BOLD WORDS UTTERED BY MARK FYTTON, THE BUTCHER, AND HOW HE WAS CAST INTO THE VAULT OF THE CURFEW TOWER. TuiiNiNG off on the right, the earl and his companion con- tinued to descend the hill, until they came in sight of the Garter, — a snug little hostel, situated immediately beneath the Curfew Tower. Before the porch were grouped the earPs attendants, most of whom had dismounted, and were holding their steeds by the bridles. At this juncture, the door of the hostel opened, and a fat, jolly-looking personage, with a bald head, and bushy grey beard, and clad in a brown serge doublet, and hose to match, issued forth, bearing a foaming jug of ale, and a horn cup. His appearance was welcomed by a joyful shout from the attend- ants. " Come, my masters ! " he cried, filling the horn — " here is a cup of stout Windsor ale, in the which to drink the health of our jolly monarch, bluff King Hal; and there's no harm, I trust, in calling him so." ^' Marry, is there not, mine host," cried the foremost attendant. " I spoke of him as such in his own hearing not long ago, and he laughed at me in right merry sort. 1 love the royal bully, and will drink his health ojladly, and Mistress Anne Bolevn's to boot.*" THE DUKE OF SHOllKDITCK. li And he emptied the horn. "They tell ine Mistress Anne Boleyn is coming to Windsor with the king and the knights-companions to-morrow — is it so?" asked the host, again filling the horn, and handing it t^ another attendant. The person addressed nodded, but he was too much engrosser by the horn to speak. " Then tliere will be rare doings in the castle," chuckled the host; "and many a lusty pot will be drained at the Garter. Alack a day ! how times are changed since I, Bryan Bown- tance, first stepped into my father's shoes, and became host of the Garter. It was in 1501 — twenty-eight years ago — when King Henry the Seventh, of blessed memory, ruled the land, and when his elder son, Prince Arthur, was alive likewise. In that year, the young ])rince espoused Catharine of Arragon, our present queen, and soon afterwards died ; whereupon the old kin"-, not likinfj — for he loved his treasure better than his own flesh — to part with her dowry, gave her to his second son, Henry, our gracious sovereign, whom God preserve ! Folks said then the match wouldn't come to good ; and now we find they spoke the truth, for it is likely to end in a divorce." "Not so loud, mine host!" cried the foremost attendant; *M)ere comes our young master, the Earl of Surrey." "Well, I care not," replied the host, bluffly. " Tve spoken no treason. I love my king; and if he wishes to have a divorce, I hope his holiness the pope will grant him one, tiiat's all." As he said this, a loud noise was heard within the hostel, and a man was so suddenly and so forcibly driven forth, that he almost knocked down Bryan Bowntance, who was rushing in to see what was the matter. The person thus ejected, who was a powerfully-built young man, in a leathern doublet, with his mus- cular arms bared to the shoulder, turned his rage upon the host, and seized him by the throat with a gripe that threatened him with strangulation. Indeed, but for the intervention of the earlV attendants, who rushed to his asssistance, such might have been his fate. As soon as he was liberated, Bryan cried, in a voice of mingled rage and surprise, to his assailant — " Why, what's the matter, Mark Fvtton ? — are you gene mad, or do you mistake me for a sheep or a bullock, that you attack me in this fashion ? My strong ale must have got into your addle pate with a vengeance."*' " The knave has been speaking treason of the king's highness,'' said a tall man. whose doublet and hose of the finest green cloth, as well as the bow and quiverfull of arrows at his back, pro- claimed him an archer — " and therefore we turned him out!" *' And you did well. Captain Barlow," cried the host. " Call me, rather, the Duke of Shoreditch," rejoined the tall archer; "for since his majesty conferred the title upon me, though it were but in jest, when I won this silver buffle, I shall ever 12 WINDSOR casi'm:. claim it. I am always designated by my neighbours in Shoreditcb as his grace ; and I require the same attention at your hands, l^o-morrow I shall have my comrades, the Marquises of Clerken- well, Islington, Hogsden, Pancras, and Paddington, with me, and then you will see the gallant figure we shall cut." " I crave your grace's pardon for my want of respect," replied /he host. " I am not ignorant of the distinction conferred upon you at the last mat(\h at the castle-butts by the king. But to the matter in hand. What treason hath Mark Fy tton, the butcher, been talking ?" " I care not to repeat his words, mine host,*' replied the duke ; " but he hath spoken in unbecoming terms of his highness and Mistress Anne Boleyn." " He means not what he says," rejoined the host. " He is a loyal subject of the king ; but he is apt to get quarrelsome over his cups." " Well said, honest Bryan," cried the duke ; " you have one quality of a good landlord — that of a peacemaker. Give the knave a cup of ale, and let him wash down his foul w ords in a health to the king, wishing him a speedy divorce and a new queen, and he shall then sit among us again." " I do not desire to sit with you, you self-dubbed duke," re- joined Mark; "but if you will doff your fine jerkin, and stand up with me on the green, I will give you cause to remember laying hands on me." " Well challenged, bold butcher!" cried one of Surrey's at- tendants. " You shall be made a duke yourself" " Or a cardinal," cried Mark. " I should not be the first of my brethren who has met with such preferment." " He derides the church in the person of Cardinal Wolsey !" cried the duke. " He is a blasphemer as well as traitor." " Drink the king's health in a full cup, Mark," interposed the host, anxious to set matters right, " and keep your mis- chievous tongue between your teeth." " Beshrew me if I drink the king's health, or that of his minion, Anne Boleyn !" cried Mark, boldly. " But I will tell you what I will drink. I will drink the health of King Henry's lawful consort, Catharine of Arragon ; and I will add to it a wish, that the pope may forge her marriage chains to her royal hus- band faster than ever." " A foolish wish," cried Bryan. " Why, Mark, you are clean crazed !" " It is the king who is crazed, not me !" cried Mark. " He would sacrifice his rightful consort to his unlawful passion ; and you, base hirelings, support the tyrant in his wrongful conduct !" " Saints protect us !" exclaimed Bryan. " Why this is flat treason. Mark, I can no longer uphold you." " Not if 3^ou do not desire to share his prison, mine host," MARK FYTTON. 13 cried the Duke of Shoreditcb. " You have all heard him call the king a tyrant. Seize him, my masters !" " Let them lay hands upon me, if they dare !*' cried the butcher, resolutely. " I have felled an ox with a blow of my (ist before this, and I promise you 1 will shew them no better treatment." Awed by Mark's determined m.anner, tlie bystanders kept alooi. " I command you, in the king's name, to seize him !" roared Shoreditch. " If he offers resistance, he will assuredly be hanged." " No one shall touch me !" cried Mark, fiercely. " That remains to be seen," said the foremost of the Earl ot Surrey's attendants. " Yield, fellow !" " Never!" replied Mark ; " and I warn you to keep off." The attendant, however, advanced ; but before he could lay hands on the butcher, he received a blow from his ox-like fist that sent him reeling backwards for several paces, and finally stretched him at full length upon the ground. His companions drew their swords, and would have instantly fallen upon the sturdy ofl^'ender, if Morgan Fenwolf, who, with the Earl of Surrey, was standing among the spectators, had not rushed forward, and, closing with Mark before the latter could strike a blow, gra})pled with him, and held him fast till he was secured, and his arms tied behind him. " 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 ycu." " What have you heard of him ?" asked Sun'cy, advancing. " That he has dealings with the fiend, — with Heme the hunter," replied Mark. " If I am hanged for a traitor, he ought to be burnt for a wizard." " Heed not what the villain says, my good fellow," said the Duke of Shoreditch ; " you have captured him bravely, and I will take care your conduct is duly reported to his majesty. To the casUe with him ! To the castle ! He will lodge to-night in the de^ipest dungeon of yon fortification," pointing to the Curfew T'Aver above them, " there to await the king's judgment ; and t>morrow night it will be well for him if he is not swinging iiom the gibbet near the bridge. Bring him along !" And followed by Morgan Fenwolf and the others, with th'^ prisoner, he strode up the hill. Long before this. Captain Bouchier had issued from the hostel, and joined the earl, and they walked together after the crowd. In a few minutes, the Duke of Shoreditch reached Henry the Eighth's Gate, where he shouted to a sentinel, and told him j^^hat had occurred. After some delay, a wicket in the gate was opened, and the chief persons of the party were allowed to pass ihrcugh it, with the prisoner, who was assigned to the custody of a couple of arquebusiers. 14 WlNDSOll CASTLE. By this time, an officer had arrived, and it was agreed, at the suggestion of tlie Duke of Shoreditch, to take the offender to the Curfew Tower. Accordingly, they crossed the lower ward, and passing beneath an archway near the semicircular range of habi- tations allotted to the petty canons, traversed the space before the west end of St. George's Chapel, and descending a short flight of stone steps at the left, and threading a narrow passage, presently arrived at the arched entrance in the Curfew Tower, whose hoary walls shone brightly in the moonlight. EASTERN VIEW OF THE CDRFE77 TOWER, They had to knock for some time against the stout oak door, be- fore any notice was taken of the summons. At length, an old man, who acted as bellringer, thrust his head out of one of the narrow pointed windows above, and demanded their business. Satisfied with the reply, he descended, and opening the door, admitted them into a lofty chamber, the roof of which was composed of stout planks, crossed by heavy oaken rafters, and supported by beams of the same material. On the left, a steep, ladder-like flight of wooden steps led to an upper room ; and from a hole in THE CURFEW TOWER. 15 the roof, descended a bell-rope, which was fastened to one of the beams, shewing the use to which the chamber was put. IMTIIRIOEl or TEK CORFBW T3WI Some further consultation was now held among tlie party as to the propriety of leaving the prisoner in this chamber, under the guard of the arquebusiers ; but it was at last decided against doing so, and the old bellringer being called upon for the keys of the dungeon beneath, he speedily produced them. They then went forth ; and descending a flight of stone steps on the left, came to a low, strong door, which they unlocked, and obtained admission to a large octangular chamber with a vaulted roof, and deep embrasures terminated by narrow loopholes. The light of a lamp carried by the bellringer shewed the dreary extent of the vault, and the enormous thickness of its walls. " A night's solitary confinement in this place will be of infi- nite service to our prisoner," said tlie Duke of Shoreditch, gazing around. " I'll be sworn he is now ready to bite off the foolish tongue that has brought him to such a pass."" The butcher made no reply ; but being released by the arque- busiers, sat down upon a bench that constituted the sole fur- niture of the vault. 16 WINDSOR CASTLE IN THE CORFK " Shall 1 leave him the lamp ?" asked the bellringer. " He may beguile the time by reading the names of former prisoners scratched on the walls and in the embrasures." "No; he shall not even have that miserable satisfaction," returned the Duke of Shoreditch. " lie shall be left in the darkness to his own bad and bitter thoughts." With this, the party withdrew, and the door was fastened upon the prisoner. An arquebusier was stationed at the foot of the steps ; and the Earl of Surrey and Captain Bouchier having fully satisfied their curiosity, shaped their course towards the castle gate. On their w^ay thither, the earl looked about for Morgan Fenwolf, but could nowhere discern him. He then passed through the wicket with Bouchier, and proceeding to the Garter, they mounted their steeds, and galloped off towards Datchet, and tlicnce to Staines and Hampton Courl. ,,^^^^ OF TDE GRAND PROCESSION TO WINDSOR CAS- TLE; — OF THE MEETING OF KING HENRY THE EIGHTH AND ANNE BOLEYN AT THE I-OWER GATE; OF THEIR ENTRANCE INTO THE CASTLE; — AND HOW THE BUTCHER WAS HANGED FROM THE CURFEW TOWER. \ JOYOUS (lay was it for Wind- sor, and great were the prepa- rations made by its loyal inha- bitants for a suitable reception to their sovereign. At an early- hour, the town was thronged with strangers from the iieigh" 18 WINDSOR CASTLE bouring villages, and later on, crowds began to arrive from London; some having come along the higliway on horseback, and others having rowed in various craft up the river. All were clad in holiday attire, and the streets presented an ap- pearance of unwonted bustle and gaiety. Ihe may-pole in Bachelors'* Acre was hung with flowers. Several bootlis, with ilags floating above them, were erected in the same place, wherj' tile, mead, and hypocras, together with cold pasties, hams, capon-i. and large joints of beef and mutton, might be obtained. Mum- mers and mm^trels were in attendance, and every kind of diver- sion was going forward. Here was one party wrestling ; there, another casting the bar ; on this side, a set of rustics were dancino- a merry round with a bevy of buxom Berkshire lasses ; on that, stood a fourth group listening to a youth playing on the recorders. At one end of the Acre large fires were lighted, before which two whole oxen were roasting, provided in honour of the occasion, bv the mayor and burgesses of the town ; at the other, butts were set, against which the Duke of Shoreditch, and his companions, the five marquesses, were practising. Tiie duke himself shot admirably, and never failed to hit the bull's eye ; but the great feat of the day was performed by Morgan Fen wolf, 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 Heme the hunter. Old wdves tell us he used to split the arrows of his comrades in that fashion." " He must have learnt the trick from Heme himself in the forest," cried one of the bystanders. Morgan Fenwolf looked fiercely round in search of the speaker, but could not discern him. He, however, shot no more, and refusing a cup of hypocras offered him by Shoreditch, disappeared among the crowd. Soon after this, the booths w^ere emptied, the bar thrown down, the ma3^-pole and the butts deserted, and the whole of Bachelors' A.cre cleared of its occupants — except those who were compelled 10 attend to the mighty spits turning before the fires, — by the loud discharge of ordnance from the castle gates, accompanied by the ringing of bells, announcing that the mayor and burgesses of Windsor, together with the officers of the order of the Garter, v/ere setting forth to Datchet Bridge, to meet the royal procession. Those who most promptly obeyed this summons beheld the lov/er castle gate, built by the then reigning monarch, open, Yvhile from it issued four trumpeters clad in emblazoned coats, vvith silken bandrols depending from their horns, blowing loud ^infares. They were followed by twelve henchmen, walking four -joreast, arrayed in scarlet tunics, with the royal cipher, f^.B.., orked in gold on the breast, and carrying gilt pole-axes over cheir shoulders. Next came a company of archers, equipped in helm and brigandine, and armed with long pikes, glittering, as THE CHIEF OFFICERS OF THE GARTER. 1^ did their steel accoutrements, in the bright sunshine. i'hey were succeeded by the baihfFs and burgesses of the town, riding three abreast, and enveloped in gowns of scarlet cloth; after whom rode the mayor of Windsor, in a gown of crimson velvet, and attended by two footmen, in v/hite and red damask, •carrying white wands. The mayor was followed by a company of the town guard, with partisans over the shoulders. Then came the sheriff of the county and his attendants. Next followed the twenty-six alms-knights, (for such was then their number,) walking two and two, and wearing red mantles, with a scutcheon of Saint George on the shoulder, but without the garter sur- rounding it. Then came the thirteen petty canons, in murrey- coloured {^wns, A^ith trie arms of Saint George wrought in a roundel on the shoulder; then the twelve canons, similarly attired ; and lastl}', the dean of the college in his cope. A slight pause ensued, and the chief officers of the Garter made their appearance. First walked the Black-rod, clothed in a russet- coloured mantle, faced with alternate panes of blue and red, em- blazoned with flower de luces of gold, and crowned lions. He carried a small black rod, the ensign of his office, surmounted with t he lion of England in silver. After the Black-rod came the Garter, habited in a gown of crimson satin, paned and emblazoned like t !iat of the officer who preceded him, bearing a white crown with a scc})tre upon it, and having a gilt crown, in lieu of a cap, upon nis head. The Garter was followed by the Register, a grave personage, in a black gown, with a surplice over it, covered by a mantelet of hirs. Then came the chancellor of the order, in his robe of nuirrey-coloured velvet lined with sarcenet, with a badge on the shoulder consisting of a gold rose, enclosed in a garter wrought with pearls of damask gold. Lastly, came the Bishop of Winchester, the prelate of the order, wearing his mitre, and habited in a robe of crimson velvet lined with white taffeta, faced with blue, and em- broidered on the right shoulder with a scutcheon of Saint George, encompassed with the garter, and adorned with cordons of blue silk mingled with gold. Brought up by a rear-guard of halberdiers, the procession moved slowly along Thames Street, the houses of which, as well as those in Peascod Street, were all more or less decorated, — the humbler sort being covered with branches of trees, intermin- gled v/ith garlands of flowers, while the better description was hung with pieces of tapestry, carpets, and rich stuffs. Nor should it pass unnoticed that the loyalty of Bryan Bowntance, the host of the Garter, had exhibited itself in an arch thrown across the road opposite his house, adorned with various coloured ribands and flowers, in the midst of which was a large shield, exhibiting the letters fi>. and 21. (in mystic allusion to Henry and Anne Boleyn) intermino-lcd, and surrounded by love knots. Turning off on the left into the lower road, skirting the north of the Castle, and following the course of the river to Datchet, c 2 20 WINDSOR CASTLE. by which it was understood the royal cavalcade would make its approach, the procession arrived at an open space by the side of the river, where it came to a halt, and the dean, chan- cellor, and prelate, together with other officers of the Garter, em- barked in a barge moored to the bank, which was towed slowly down the stream in the direction of Datchet Bridge, — a band of minstrels stationed within it, playing all the time. Meanwhile, the rest of the cavalcade, having again set forward, pursued their course along the banks of the river, proceeding at a foot's pace, and accompanied by crowds of spectators, cheering them as they moved along. The day was bright and beautiful, and nothing was wanting to enhance the beauty of the spectacle. On the left, flowed the silver Thames, crowded with craft, filled with richly dressed pe?'sonages of both sexes, amid which floated the pompous barge appropriated to the officers of the Garter, which was hung with banners and streamers, and decorated at the sides with targets, emblazoned with the arms of Saint George. On the green sward edging the stream, marched a brilliant cavalcade ; and on the right lay the old woods of the Home Park, with long vistas opening through them, giving exquisite peeps of the towers and battlements of the castle. Half an hour brought the cavalcade to Datchet Bridge, at the foot of which a pavilion was erected for the accommodation of the mayor and burgesses. And here, having dismounted, they awaited the king's arrival. Shortly after this, a cloud of dust on ttie Staines road seemed to announce the approach of the royal party, and all rushed forth, and held themselves in readiness to meet it. But the dust appeared to have been raised by a company of horsemen, headed by Captain Bouchier, who rode up the next moment. Cour- teously saluting the mayor, Bouchier informed him that Mistress Anne Boleyn was close behind, and that it was the king's pleasure that she should be attended in all state to the lower gate of the castle, there to await his coming, as he himself intended to enter it with her. The mayor replied that the sovereign's behests should be implicitly obeyed; and he thereupon stationed himself at the further side of the bridge in expectation of Anne Boleyn's arrival. Presently, the sound of trumpets smote his ear, and a nu- merous and splendid retinue was seen advancing, consisting of nobles, knights, esquires, and gentlemen, ranged according to their degrees, and all sumptuously apparelled in cloths ot gold and silver, and velvets of various colours, richly embroidered. Be -ides these, there were pages and other attendants in the liveries of their masters, together with Serjeants of the guard and henchmen, in their full accoutrements. Among the nobles were tlie Dakes of Norfolk and Suffolk, — the king being desirous cf honouring as much as possible, her whom he had resolved to make his queen: the former was clothed in tissue, embroidered with ANNE BOLKYN. 21 roses ct gold, with a baldric across his body of massive gold, and was mounted on a charger likewise trapped in gold ; and the latter wore a mantle of cloth of silver, pounced in the form of letters, and lined with blue velvet, while his horse was trapped bard wise in harness embroidered with bullion gold curiously wrought. Both also wore the collar of the order of the Garter. Near them rode Sir Thomas Boleyn, who, conscious of the dignity to wliich his daughter was to be advanced, comported himself with almost intolerable haughtiness. Immediately behind Sir Thomas Boleyn came a sumptuous litter covered with cloth of gold, drawn by four white palfreys capari- soned in white damask down to the ground, and each having a page in white and blue satin at its head. Over the litter was borne a canopy of cloth of gold supported by four gilt staves, and ornamented at the corners with silver bells, ringing forth sweet music as it moved along. Each staff was borne by a knight, of whom sixteen were in attendance to relieve one another when fatigued In this litter sat Anne Boleyn. She wore a surcoat of white tissue, and a mantle of the same material lined with ermine. Her gown, which, however, was now concealed by the surcoat, was of cloth of gold tissue, raised with pearls of silver damask, with a stomacher of purple gold similarly raised, and large open sleeves lined with chequered tissue. Around her neck she wore a chain of orient pearls, from which depended a diamond cross. A black velvet cap, richly embroidered with pearls and other pre- cious stones, and ornamented with a small white plume, covered her head ; and her small feet were hidden in blue velvet brode- quins, decorated with diamond stars. Anne Boleyn's features were exquisitely formed, and though not regular, far more charming than if they had been so. Her nose was slightly aquiline, but not enough so to detract from its beauty, and had a little retrousse point that completed its attrac- tion. The rest of her features were delicately chiselled ; the chin being beautifully rounded, the brows smooth and white as snow, while the rose could not vie with the bloom of her cheek. Her neck— alas! that the fell hand of the executioner should ever touch it — was long and slender, here3^es large and blue, and of irresistible witchery — sometimes scorching the beholder like a sunbeam, anon melting him with soul-subduing softness. Of her accomplishments other opportunities will be found to speak ; but it may be mentioned that she was skilled on many in- struments, danced and sung divinely, and had rare powers of conversation and wit. If to these she had not added the dan- gerous desire to please, and the wish to hold other hearts than the royal one she had enslaved, in thraldom, all might, perhaps have been well. But, alas ! like many other beautiful womea, she had a strong tendency to coquetry. How severely she suf* fered for it, it is the purpose of this history to relate. An eyr«l- 22 WINDSOR CASTLE. lent description of her has been given by a contemporary writer, the Comte de Chateaubriand, who, while somewhat disparaging her personal attractions, speaks in rapturous terms of her accom- plishments ! — '^Anne,^^ writes the C^omte, " avait un esprit si deslis qui cestoit d qui Vouiroit desgoiser ; et si venoit-elle a poetiser, telle qu Orpheus, clle eustfaict les ours et rochers attentifs : puis saltoiL balloit, etdanqoit toutes dances Anglaises on Estranges, et en imagina nombre qui out garde son nom ou celluy du galantpour qui lesfeit; puis sgavoit tons lesjeux, qii elle jouoit avec nonplus dlieur que dliabilite ; puis chantoit comme sgreue, s accompagnant de luth ; harpoit mieuelx que le roy David, et manioit fort geiitilment fleuste et rebec ; pui^ s^accoustroit de tant et si merveilleuses faqons, que ses inventions^ faisoient d'elle le parangon de toutes les dames les plus sucrees de la court ; mais nullc n'avoit sa grace, laquellc, au dire dhin ancien, passe venuste.'^ Such was the opinion of one who knew her well during her residence at the French court, when in attendance on Mary of England, consort of Louis XIL, and afterwards Duchess of Suffolk. At this moment, Anne's eyes were fixed with some tenderness upon one of the supporters of her canopy on the right, — a very handsome young man, attired in a doublet and hose of black tylsent, paned and cut, and whose tall, well-proportioned figure, was seen to the greatest advantage, inasmuch as he had divested himself of his mantle, for his better convenience in walking. " 1 fear me you will fatigue yourself. Sir Thomas Wyat," said Anne Boleyn, in tones of musical sweetness, which made the heart beat, and the colour mount to the cheeks of him she addressed. " Yon had better allow Sir Thomas Arundel or Sir John Hulstone to relieve you.*' " I can feel no fatigue w^hen near you, madam," replied A yat, in a low tone. A slight blush overspread Anne's features, and she raised her embroidered kerchief to her lips. " If I had that kerchief! would wear it at the next lists, and defy all comers," said Wyat. " You shall have it, then," rejoined Anne. " I love all chivalrous exploits, and will do my best to encourage them." "Take heed. Sir Thomas," said Sir Francis Weston, the knight who held the staff on the other side, " or we shall have the canopy down. Let Sir Thomas Arundel relieve you." " No," rejoined Wyat, recovering himself; " I will not rest till w^e come to the bridge." " You are in no haste to possess the kerchief," said Anne, petulantly. " There you wrong me, madam !" cried Sir Thomas, eagerly. " What ho, good fellows !" he shouted to the attendants at the palfreys' heads ; " your lady desires ;^ou to stop." " And I desire them to go on, — I, Will Sommers, jester to the high and mightv King Harr.v the Eifihth !" cried a voice of mock AVJLL ftOMMliKS, THE KIXg's JESTER. gg authority behind the knight ; " what, if Sir Thomas Wyat lias undertaken to carry the canopy further than any of his com- panions, is that a reason he should be relieved? Of a surety not — go on, I say !" The person who thus spoke then stepped forward, ana threw a glance so full of significance at Anne Boleyn that she did not care to dispute the order, but on the contrary, laughingly ac- quiesced in it. Will Sommers, the king's jester, as he described himself, was a small, middle-aged personage, with a physiognomy in which goodnature and malice, folly and shrewdness, w*ere so oddly blended, that it was difficult to say which predominated. His look was cunning and sarcastic, but it was tempered by great drollery and oddity of manner, and he laughed so heartily at his own jests and jibes, that it was scarcely possible to help joining him. His attire consisted of a long, loose gown, of spotted crim- son silk, with the royal cipher woven in front in gold ; hose of blue cloth, guarded with red and black cloth ; and red cordovan buskins* A sash tied round his waist served him instead of a girdle, and he wore a trencher-shaped velvet cap on his head, with a whitb. tufted feather in it. In his hand he carried a small horn. He was generally attended by a monkey, habited in a crimson doublet and hood, which sat upon his shoulder, and played very diverting tricks, but the animal was not with him on the present occasion. Will Sommers was a great favourite with the king, and ven- tured upon familiarities which no one else dared to use with him. The favour in which he stood with his royal master pro- cured him admittance to his presence at all hours, and at all seasons, and his influence, though seldom exerted, was very great. He was especially serviceable in turning aside the edge of the king's displeasure, and more frequently exerted himself to allay the storm, than to raise it. His principal hostility was directed against Wolsey, whose arrogance and grasping practices were the constant subjects of his railing. It was seldom, such was his privileged character, and the protection he enjoyed from the sovereign, that any of the courtiers resented his remarks ; but Sir Thomas Wyat's feelings being now deeply interested, he turned sharply round, and said — "How now, thou meddling varlet, what business hast thou to interfere ?" *• I interfere to prove my authority, gossip Wyat," replied Sommers, " and to shew that, varlet as I am, I am as powerful as Mistress Anne Boleyn ; nay, that I am yet more powerful, because I am obeyed, while she is not." " Were I at liberty," said Sir Thomas, angrily, " I would make thee repent thine insolence." " But thou art not at liberty, good gossip," replied the jester screaming with laughter ; " thou art tied like a slave to the oar. and cannot free thyself from it — ha! ha!" Having enjoyed the knight's discomposure for a few seconds, he advanced towards him, and whiskered in his ear* — " Don't mistake me, gossip. I 24 WINDSOR CASTLE. have done thee good service in preventing thee from taking that kerchief. Hadst thou received it in the presence of these witnesses, thou wouldst have been lodgred in the Round Tower of Windsor Castle to-morrow, instead of feasting with the knights-companions in Saint George's Hall." " I believe thou art right, gossip," said Wyat, in the same tone. " Rest assured I am," replied Sommers ; " and I furthermore counsel thee to decline this dangerous gift altogether, and to think no more of the fair profferer, or if thou must think of her, let it be as of one beyond thy reach. Cross not the lion's path. Take a friendly hint from the jackall." And without waiting for a reply, he darted away, and mingled with the cavalcade in the rear. Immediately behind Anne Boleyn's litter rode a company of henchmen of the royal household, armed with gilt partisans. Next succeeded a chariot covered with red cloth of gold, and drawn by four horses richly caparisoned, containing the old Duchess of Norfolk and the old Marchioness of Dorset. Then came the king's natural son, the Duke of Richmond — a young man formed on the same large scale, and distinguished by the same haughty port and the same bluff manner, as his royal sire. The duke's mother was the Lady Talboys, esteemed one of the most beautiful women of the age, and who had, for a long time, held the capricious monarch captive. Henry was warmly attached to his son; showered favours without number upon him ; and might have done yet more, if fate had not snatched him away at an early age. Though scarcely eighteen, the Duke of Richmond looked more than twenty, and nis lips and chin were clothed with a well grown, though closely-clipped beard. He was magnifi- cently habited in a doublet of cloth of gold of bawdekin, the placard and sleeves of which were wrought with flat gold, and fastened with aiglets. A girdle of crimson velvet, enriched with precious stones, encircled his waist, and sustained a poniard, and a Toledo sword, damascened w^ith gold. Over all he wore a loose robe, or housse, of scarlet mohair, trimmed with minever ; and was further decorated with the collar of the order of the Garter. His cap was of white velvet, ornamented with emeralds, and from the side depended a small azure plume. He rode a mag- nificent black charger trapped in housings of cloth of gold, powdered with ermine. By the duke's side rode the Earl of Surrey, attired as upon the previous day, and mounted on a fiery Arabian, trapped in crimson velvet, fringed with Venetian gold. Both nobles were attended by their esquires in their liveries. Behind them came a chariot covered with cloth of silver, and drawn, like the first, by four horses in rich housings, contain- ing two very beautiful damsels, one of whom attracted so much of the attention of the youthful nobles, that it was with difficulty they could rrcscrvo un- dance of merriment. Arrived at the area in front of the lower gatcAvay, Anne Boleyn's litter was drawn up in the midst of it, and the whole of the cavalcade grouping around her, presented a magnificent sight to the archers and anjuebusiers stationed on the towers and walls. Just at this moment, a signal gun was heard from Datchet Bridge, announcing that the king had reached it, and the Dukes of Suffolk, Norfolk, and Richmond, together with the Earl of Surrey, Sir Thomas Wyat, and a few of their gentlemen, rode back to meet him. They had scarcely, however, reached the foot of the hill when the royal party appeared in view, for the king, with his characteristic impatience, on drawing near the castle, had urged his attendants quickly forward. First came half a dozen trumpeters, with silken bandrols fluttering in the breeze, blowing loud flourishes. Then a party of halberdiers, whose leaders had pennons streaming from the tops of their tall pikes. Next came two gentlemen-ushers bare- headed, but mounted and richly habited, belonging to the cardi- nal of York, who cried out, as they pressed forward — " On before, my masters, on before I — make way for my lord's grace." Then came a serjeant of arms bearing a great mace of silver, and two gentlemen carrying each a pillar of silver. Next rode a gentleman carrying the cardinal's hat, and after him came Wolsey himself, mounted on a mule trapped in crimsoi! velvet, with a saddle covered with the same stuff', and gilt stirrups. His large person was arrayed in n^hes of the finest crimson satin 28 WINDSOR CASTLE. engrained, and a silk cap ot the same colour contrasted by its brightness with the pale, p!u-ple tint of his sullen, morose, and bloated features. The cardinal took no notice of the clamour around him, but now and then, when an expression of dislike was uttered against him, for he had already began to be un- popular with the people, he would raise his eyes and direct a withering glance at the hardy speaker. But these expressions were few, for, though tottering, VVolsey was yet too formidable to be insulted with impunity. On either side of him were two mounted attendants each carrying a gilt pole-axe, who, if he had given the word, would have instantly chastised the insolence of the by-standers ; while behind him rode his two cross-bearers, upon horses trapped in scarlet. Wolsey's princely retinue was followed by a litter of crimson velvet, in which lay the Pope's legate. Cardinal Campeggio, whose infirmities were so great that he could not move without assistance. Campeggio was Hkewise attended by a numerous train. After a long line of lords, knights, and esquires, came Henry the Eighth. He was appareled in a robe of crimson velvet furred with ermines, and wore a doublet of raised gold, the placard of which was embroidered with diamonds, rubies, eme- ralds, large pearls, and other precious stones. About his neck- was a baldric of balas rubies, and over his robe he wore the collar of the order of the Garter. His horse, a charger pf the largest size, and well able to sustain his vast weight, was trapped in crim- son velvet purfled with ermines. His knights and esquires were clothed in purple velvet, and his henchmen in scarlet tunics of the same make as those w^orn by the warders of the Tower at the present day. Henry was in his thirty-eightL year, and though somewhat overgrown and heavy, had lost none of his activity, and but little of the grace of his noble proportions. His size and breadth of limb were well displayed in his magnificent habiliments. His countenance was handsome and manly, with a certain broad burly look, thoroughly English in its character, which won him much admiration from his subjects ; and though it might be ob- jected that the eyes were too small, and the mouth somewhat too diminutive, it could not be denied that the general expres- sion of the face was kingly in the extreme. A prince of a more " royal presence" than Henry the Eighth was never seen, and though he had many and grave faults, want of dignity was not amongst the number. Henry entered Windsor amid the acclamations of the spec- tators, the fanfares of trumpeters, and the roar of ordnance from ihe castle walls. Meanwhile, Anne Boleyn, having descended from her litter, which passed through the gate into the lower ward, stood with her ladies beneath the canopy awaiting his arrival. A wide clear space was preserved before her, into which, however, Wolsey j)enetrated, and* dismounting, placed himself so '^^- MEETING OF HENRY AND ANNE BOLE\N. 29 that he cuuld witness the meeting between her and the king. Be- hind him stood the jester, Will Sommers, who was equally curious with himself. The litter of Cardinal Campeggio passed through the gateway and proceeded to the lodgings reserved for his eminence. Scarcely had Wolsey taken up his station than Henry rode up, and, alighting, consigned his horse to a page, and, followed by the Duke of Richmond and the Earl of Surrey, advanced towards Anne Boleyn, who immediately stepped forward to meet him. " Fair mistress," he said, taking her hand, and rcgardin-g her with a look of passionate devotion, " I welcome you to this my castle of Windsor, and trust soon to make you as absolute mis- tress of it, as I am lord and master." Anne Boleyn blushed, and cast down her eyes, and Sir Thomas Wyat, who stood at some little distance with his hand upon his saddle, regarding her, felt that any hopes he might have enter- tained were utterly annihilated. " Heard you that, my lord cardinal?" said W^ill Sommers to Wolsey. " She will soon be mistress here. As she comes in, you go out — mind that :'' The cardinal made no answer further than was conveyed by the deepened colour of his cheeks. Amid continued fanfares and acclamations, Harry then led Anne Boleyn through the gateway, followed by the ladies in waiting, who were joined by Richmond and Surrey. The prelate, chancellor, register, black-rod, and other officers of the Garter, together with the whole of the royal retinue who had dismounted, came after them. A vast concourse of spectators, ( \u liding almost as far as the Lieutenant's Tower, was collected '-._-^"^ mi. OF THE GHOSTLY CHASE BEHELD BY THE EARL OP SURREY AKD THE DUKE OF RICHMOND, IN "WINDSOR FOREST. S^9 On that same night, and just as the castle clock ,^0^ was on the stroke of twelve, the Earl of Surrey and the Duke of Richmond issued from the upper gate, and took their way towards Heme's oak. The moon was shining brightly, and its beams silvered the foliage of the noble trees with which the park w^as studded. The youthful friends soon reached the blasted tree ; but nothing was to be seen near it, and all looked so tranciuil, so free from malignant influence, that the Duke of 44 WINDSOR CASTLE. * Richmond could not hcip laughing at his companion, telling him that the supposed vision must have been the offspring of his over-excited fancy. Angry at being thus doubted, the earl walked off, and plunged into the haunted dell. The duke followed, but though they paused for some time beneath the gnarled oak tree, the spirit did not appear. " And thus ends the adventure of Heme the hunter !" laughed the duke, as they emerged from the brake. " By my halidom, Surrey, I am grievously disappointed. You must have mistaken some large stag, caught by its antlers in the branches of the oak tree, for the demon." " I have told you precisely what occurred," replied Surrey* angrily. " Ha ! there he is — look ! look !" And he pointed to a weird figure, mounted on a steed as weird-looking as itself, galloping through the trees with extra- ordinary swiftness, at a little distance from them. This ghostly rider wore the antlered helmet described by Surrey, and seemed to be habited in a garb of deer skins. Before him flew a large owl, and a couple of great black dogs ran beside him. Staring in speechless wonder at the sight, the two youths watched the mysterious being scour a glade brightly illumined by the moon, until reaching the pales marking the confines of the Home Park, he leaped them, and disappeared. " What think you of that ?" cried Surrey, as soon as he had re- covered from his surprise, glancing triumphantly at the duke. " Was that the offspring of my fancy ?" " It was a marvellous sight, truly !" exclaimed Richmond. *' Would we had our steeds to follow him !" " We can follow him on foot," replied the earl — " he is evi- dently gone into the forest." And they set off at a quick pace in the --^-^ectioQ taken by the ghostly rider. Clambering the park pairs, they crossed the road leading to Old Windsor, and entered that part of the forest which, in more recent times, has been enclosed and allotted to the grounds of Frogmore. Tracking a long vista, they came to a thick dell, overgrown with large oaks, at the bottom of which lay a small pool. Fleeter than his companion, and therefore somewhat in advance of him, the Earl of Surrey, as he approached this dell, perceived the spectral huntsman and his dogs standing at the edge v^f the water. The earl instantly shouted to him, and the horseman turning his head, shook his hand menacingly, while the hounds glared fiercely at the intruder, and displayed their fangs, but did not bark. As Surrey, however, despite this caution, continued to advance, the huntsman took a strangely- shaped horn that hung by his side, and placing it to his lips, flames and thick smoke presently issued from it, and before the vapour had cleared off, he and his dogs had disappeared. The witnesses of this marvellous spectacle crossed themselves reve- DISAPPEARANCE OF THE GHOSTLY UUNTER. 45 rently, and descended to the brink of the pool ; but the numerous foot-prints of deer, that came there to drink, prevented them from distinguishing any marks of the steed of the ghostly hunter. " Shall we return, Surrey ?" asked the duke. " No," replied the earl ; " I am persuaded we shall see the mysterious huntsman again. You can return, if you think proper. I will go on." " Nay, I will not leave you," rejoined Richmond. And they set off again at the same quick pace as before. Mounting a hill covered with noble beeches and elms, a mag- nificent view of the castle burst upon them, towering over the groves they had tracked, and looking almost like the work of enchantment. Charmed with the viev?, the young men continued to contemplate it for some time. They then struck off on the right, and ascended still higher, until they came to a beautiful grove of beeches cresting the hill where the equestrian statue of George the Third is now placed. Skirting this grove, they dis- turbed a herd of deer, which started up, and darted into the valley below. At the foot of two fine beech-trees lay another small pool, and Surrey almost expected to see the spectral huntsman be- side it. 46 wrxrsou castle. From this spot the}^ could discern the whole of the valley beyond, and they scanned it in the hope of perceiving the object of their search. Though not comparable to the view on the nearer side, the prospect was nevertheless exceedingly beautiful. Long vistas and glades stretched out before them, while in the far distance might be seen glittering in the moonbeams the lake or mere, which in later days has received the name of Virginia Water. While they were gazing at this scene, a figure habited like a keeper of the forest suddenly emerged from the trees at the lower end of one of the glades. Persuaded that this person had some mysterious connexion with the ghostly huntsman, the jarl determined to follow him, and hastily mentioning his sus- picions and design to Richmond, he hurried down the hill. But oefore he accomplished the descent, the keeper was gone. At length, however, on looking about, they perceived him mounting ihe rising ground on the left, and immediately started after him, taking care to keep out of sight. The policy of this course was §oon apparent. Supposing himself no longer pursued, the keeper relaxed his pace, and the others got nearer to him. In this way both parties went on, the keeper still hurry- ing forward, every now and then turning his head to see whether any one was on his track, until he came to a road cut through the trees, that brought him to the edge of a descent leading to the lake. Just at this moment, a cloud passed over the moon, burying all in comparative obscurity. The watchers, iowever, could perceive the keeper approach an ancient beech- tree of enormous growth, and strike it thrice with the short iiunting-spear which he held in his grasp. THE DEMON-HUNTiiR SUMMONED. OLD BBECH TREK, OM THK ROAD TO VIRQINIJL WATSR. The signal remaining unanswered, he quitted the tree, and shaped his course along the side of a hill on the right. Keeping under the shelter of the thicket on the top of the same hill, Surrey and Richmond followed, and saw him direct his steps towards another beech tree of almost double the girth of that he had just visited. Arrived at this mighty tree, he struck it with his spear, while a large owl, seated on a leafless branch, began to hoot ; a bat circled the tree ; and two large snakes, glistening in the moonlight, glided from its roots. As the tree was stricken for the third time, the same weird figure that the watchers had seen ride along the home park burst from its rifted trunk, and addressed its summoner in tones apparently menacing and imperious, but whose import was lost upon the listeners. The curiosity of the beholders was roused to the highest pitch; but an undefinable awe prevented them from rushing forward. Suddenly, the demon-hunter waved a pike with which he was armed, and uttered a peculiar cry, resembling the hooting of an owl. At this sound, and as if by magiC;, a couple of steeds, accompanied by the two hounds, started from the brake. In an instant, the demon huntsman vaulted upon the back of A' WINDSOR CASTLE. tne horse nearest to him, and the keeper almost as quickly mounted the other. The pmr then galloped off through the glen, the owl %ing before them, and the hounds coursing by their side. The two friends gazed at each other, for some time, in speech- less wonder. Taking heart, they then descended to the haunted tree, but could perceive no traces of the strange being by whom it had been recently tenanted. After a while, they retraced their course towards the castle, hoping they might once more en- counter the wild huntsmen. Nor were they disappointed. As they crossed a glen, a noble stag darted by. Close at its heels came the two black hounds, and after them the riders hurrying forward at a furious pace, their steeds appearing to breathe forth flame and smoke. In an instant, the huntsmen and hounds were gone, and the trampling of the horses died away in the distance. Soon afterwards, a low sound, like the winding of a horn, broke upon the ear, and the listeners had no doubt that the buck was brought down. They hurried in the direction of the sound, but though the view was wholly unobstructed for a considerable distance, they could see nothing either of horsemen, hounds, or deer. YJ. HOW THE FAIR GERALDINE BESTOWED A RELIC UPON HER LOVER. — HOW SURREY AND RICHMOND RODE IN THE F< REST AT MIDNIGHT, — AND WHERE THEY FOUND THE BOLT OF MARK FYTTON, TRE BUTCHER. Surrey and Richmond agreed to say nothing for the present of their mysterious adventure in the forest; but their haggard looks, as they presented themselves to the Lady Anne Boleyn in the reception-chamber, on the following morning, proclaimed that something had happened, and they had to undergo much ques- tioning from the fair Geral- dine and the Lady Mary Howard. "I never saw you so out of spirits, my lord," remarked the fair Geraldine to Surrey ; " you must have spent the whole night in study — or what is more probable, you have again seen Heme the hunter. Confess now, you have been in the forest." ^ "C^r ''^^^"^^xi 50 WINDSOR CASTLE. ** I will confess anything you please," replied Surrey, eva- sively. " And what have you seen ? —a stranger vision than the first ?" ^ejoined the fair Geraldine. " Since your ladyship answers for me, there is no need for explanation on my part," rejoined Surrey, with a faint laugh. '* And know you not, that those who encounter supernatural beings are generally bound to profound secrecy ?" " Such, I hope, is not your case, Henry ?" cried the Lady Mary Howard, in alarm ; — " nor yours, my lord ?" she added, to the Duke of Richmond. " I am bound equally with Surrey," returned the Duke, mys- teriously. "You pique my curiosity, my lords," said the fair Ge- raldine ; " and since there is no other way of gratifying it, if the Lady Mary Howard will accompany me, we will ourselves venture into the forest, and try whether we cannot have a meeting with this wild huntsman. Shall we go to-night ?" " Not for worlds," replied the Lady Mary, shuddering; " were ^ to see Heme, I should die of fright." "Your alarm is groundless," observed Richmond, gallantly. * The presence of two beings, fair and pure as yourself and the Lady Elizabeth Fitzgerald, would scare away aught of evil." The Lady Mary thanked him with a beaming smile, but the fair Geraldine could not repress a slight laugh. " Your grace is highly flattering," she said. " But, with all faith in beauty and purity, I should place most reliance in a relic I possess, — the virtue of which has often been ap- proved against evil spirits. It was given by a monk — who had been sorely tempted by a demon, and who owed his delivevanco to it — to my ancestor, Luigi Geraldi of Florence ; and from him it descended to me." " Would I had an opportunity of proving its efficacy !" ex- claimed the Earl of Surrey. " You shall prove it, if you choose," rejoined the fair Geral- dine. " I will give you the relic, on condition that you never part with it to friend or foe." And detaching a small cross of gold, suspended by a chain from her neck, she presented it to the Earl of Surrey. " This cross encloses the relic," she continued ; " wear it, and may it protect you from all ill !" Surrey's pale cheek glowed as he took the gift. " I will never part with it but with life !" he cried, pressing the cross to his lips, and afterwards placing it next his heart. " I would have given half my dukedom to be so favoured," said Richmond, moodily. And quitting the little group, he walked towards the Lady Anne. " Henry," said the Lady Mary, taking her brother aside ; " you will lose your friend." SURREY COUNSELLED BY HIS SISTER. fij *' 1 care not," replied Surrey. " But you may incur his enmity," pursued the Lady Mary. " 1 saw the glance he threw at you just now, and it was exactly like the king's terrible look, when offended." " Again 1 say I care not," replied Surrey. " Armed with this relic, I defy all hostility." " It will avail little against Richmond's rivalry and opjjosition,** rejoined his sister. " We shall see," retorted Surrey. " Were the king himself my rival, I would not resign my pretensions to the fair Geral dine !'" " Bravely resolved, my lord," said Sir Thomas Wyat, who having overheard the exclamation, advanced towards him. " Heaven grant you may never be placed in such jeopardy !" '• I say amen to that prayer, Sir Thomas," rejoined Surrey. " I would not prove disloyal, and yet under such circumstances " " What would you do ?" interrupted Wyat " My brother is but a hasty boy, and has not learned dis- cretion. Sir Thomas," interposed the Lady Mary, trying by a significant glance to impose silence on the Earl. " Young as he is, he loves well, and truly," remarked Wya.^ in a sombre tone. " What is all this ?" inquired the fair Geraldine, who had been gazing through the casement into the court below. " I was merely expressing a wish that Surrey may never have a monarch for a rival, fair lady," replied Wyat. " It matters little who may be his rival," rejoined Geraldine, " provided she he loves be constant." " Right, lady, right," said Wyat, with great bitterness. At tins moment. Will Sommers approached them. " I come to bid you to the Lady Anne's presence, Sir Thomas, and you to the king's, my lord of Surrey," said the jester. *^ I noticed what has just taken place," he remarked to the latter, as they proceeded towards the royal canopy, beneath which Henry and the Lady Anne Boleyn were seated ; " but Rich- mond will not relinquish her tamely, for all that." Anne Boleyn had summoned Sir Thomas Wyat, in order to gratify her vanity, by shewing him the unbounded influence she possessed over his royal rival ; and the half-suppressed agony displayed by the unfortunate lover at the exhibition, afforded her a pleasure such as only the most refined coquette can feel. Surrey was sent for by the king to receive instructions, in his quality of vice-chamberlain, respecting a tilting-match and hunt- ing-party to be held on successive days, — the one in the upper quadrangle of the castle, the other in the forest. Anxious, now that he was somewhat calmer, to avoid a rupture with Richmond, Surrey, as soon as he had received the king's instructions, drew near the duke; and the latter, who had likewise reasoned himself out of his resentment, was £ 2 62 WINDSOR CASTLE. speedily appeased, and they became, to all appearance, as good friends as ever. Soon afterwards, the Lady Anne and her dames retired, and the court breaking up, the two young nobles strolled forth to the stately terrace av the north of the castle, where, while gazing at the glorious view it commanded, they talked over the myste- rious event of the previous night. " I cannot help suspecting that the keeper we beheld with the demon-hunter, was Morgan Fenwolf," remarked the earl. " Sup- pose we make inquiry whether he was at home last iiight. We can readily find out his dwelling from Bryan Bowntance, the host of the Garter." Richmond acquiesced in the proposal, and they accordingly proceeded to the cloisters of Saint George's Chapel, and threading some tortuous pas- sages contrived among the canons' houses, passed through a small porch, guarded by a sentinel, and opening upon a precipitous and somewhat dan- gerous flight of steps, hewn out of the rock, and leading to the town. None except the more im- portant members of the royal household were allowed to use this means of exit from the castle ; but of course the pri- vilege extended to Richmond and Surrey. Here in later times, and when the castle was not so strictly guarded, a more convenient approach was built, and designated, from the number of its stairs, *' The hundred steps." Having accomplished the descent in safety, and given the pass-word to the sentinel at the foot of the steps, the two young nobles emerged into the street, and the first object they beheld was the body of the miserable butcher swinging from the summit of the Curfew Tower, where it was left by order of the king. Averting their gaze from this ghastly spectacle, they took their way up Thames-street, and soon reached the Garter. Honest Bryan was seated on a bench before the dweUing, with a flagon of his own ale beside him, and rising as he saw the others approach, he made them a profound salutation. On learning what they sought, he told them that Morgan .r«nwolf dwelt in a small cottage by the river side, not far from DOOR LEADINa TO THB HDNDBED STEPS MORGAN FEN wolf's HABITATION. 53 the bridge, and if it pleased them, he would guide them to it himself, — an offer which they gladly accepted. " Do you know anything of this Fenwolf ?" asked Surrey, as they proceeded on their way. " Nothing particular," replied Bryan, with some hesitation ; there are seme strange reports about him, but I don't be- ve 'em." ** What reports are they, friend ?" asked the Duke of Rich- ond. " Why, your grace, one ought to be cautious what one says, for fear of bringing an innocent man into trouble," returned the host. " But if the truth must be spoken, people do say that Morgan Fenwolf is in league with the devil — or with Heme the hunter, which is the same thing." Richmond exchanged a look with his friend. " Folks say strange sights have been seen in the forest, of late," pursued Bryan — " and it may be so. But I myself have seen ncthing, — but then, to be sure, I never go there. The keepers used to talk of Heme the hunter when I was a lad — but I believe it was only a tale to frighten deer-stealers ; and I fancy it's much the same thing now." Neither Surrey nor Richmond made any remark, and they presently reached the keeper's dwelUng. It was a small wooden tenement, standing, as the host had stated, on the bank of the river, about a bow-shot from the bridge. The door was opened by Bryan, and the party entered without further ceremony. They found no one within except an old woman, with harsh, wrinkled features, and a glance as ill- omened as that of a witch, whom Bryan Bowntance told them was Fenwolf 's mother. This old crone regarded the intruders uneasily. " Where is your son, dame ?" demanded the duke. " On his walk in the forest," replied the old crone, bluntly. " What time did he go forth ?" inquired Surrey. " An hour before daybreak, as is his custom," returned the woman, in the same short tone as before. •' You are sure he slept at home last night, dame .•^" said Surrey. " As sure as I am that the question is asked me," she replied. ** I can shew you the very bed on which he slept, if you desire to see it. He retired soon after sunset — slept soundly, as he always sleeps — and arose as I have told you. I hghted a fire, and made him some hot pottage myself." " If she speaks the truth, you must be mistaken," observed Richmond, in a whisper, to his friend. " I do not believe her," replied Surrey, in the same tone. " Shew us his chamber, dame." The old crone sullenly complied, and thi.nwing open a side door, disclosed an inner apartment, in which there was a small bed. There was nothing noticeable in the room, except a couple 54 WINDSOR CAST'LE. of fishing-nets, a hunting-spear, and an old cross-bow. A small open casement looked upon the river, whose clear sparkling waters flowed immediately beneath it. Surrey approached the window, and obtained a fine view of the Brocas meads on the one hand, and the embowered college of Eton on the other. His attention, however, was diverted by a fierce barking without ; and the next moment, in spite of the vociferations of the old woman, a large, black staghound, which Surrey recognised as Fenwolfs dog, Bawsey, burst through the door, and rushed furiously towards him. Surrey drew his dagger to defend himself from the hound's attack ; but the precaution was needless. Bawsey's fierceness changed suddenly to the most abject submission, and with a terrified howl, she retreated from the room with her tail between her legs. Even the old woman uttered a cry of surprise. " Lord help us !" exclaimed Bryan — " was ever the like o' that seen. Your lordship must have a strange mastery over dogs. That hound," he added, in a whisper, " is said to be a familiar spirit." "The virtue of the relic is approved," observed Surrey, to Richmond, in an under tone. " It would seem so," replied the duke. The old woman now thought proper to assume a more re- spectful demeanour towards her visitors, and inquired whether her son should attend upon them on his return from the forest ; but they said it was unnecessary. " The king is about to have a grand hunting-party the day after to-morrow," observed Surrey, " and we wished to give vour son some instructions respecting it. They can, however, be delivered to another keeper." And they departed with Bryan, and returned to the castle. At midnight, they again issued forth. Their steeds awaited them near the upper gate, and mounting, they galloped across the green sward in the direction of Heme's Oak. Discerning no trace of the ghostly huntsman, they shaped their course towards the forest. Urging their steeds to their utmost speed, and skirting the long avenue, they did not draw the rein till they reached the emi- nence beyond it ; having climbed which, they dashed down the further side, at the same swift pace as before. The ride greatly excited them ; but they saw nothing of the wild huntsman ; nor did any sound salute their ears, except the tramp of their own horses, or the occasional darting forth of a startled deer. Less than a quarter of an hour brought them to the haunted beech-tree. But all was as silent and solitary here as at the blasted oak. In vain Surrey smote the tree. No answer was returned to the summons, and finding all efforts to evoke the demon fruitless, they quitted the spot, and turning their horses' heads to the right, slowly ascended the hill-side. MIDNIGHT RIDE rN THE FOREST. 55 Before they had gained the brow of the hill, the faint blast of horn saluted their ears, apparently proceeding from the valley, near the lake. They instantly stopped, anr^ looked in that di- rection, but could see nothing. Presentlyy however, the blast ^as repeated more loudly than before, and, guided by the sound, they discerned the spectral huntsman riding beneath the trees at some quarter of a mile's distance. Striking spurs into their steeds, they instantly gave him chase; but though he lured them on through thicket, and over glade — now climbing a hill, now plunging into a valley, until their steeds began to shew symptoms of exhaustion — they fot no nearer to him ; and at length, as they drew near the lome Park, to which he had gradually led them, he disappeared from view. " 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 Fen wolf " With one accord they dashed forward ; and as they drew nearer the tree, they perceived that the object that had attracted their attention was the body of Mark Fy tton, the butcher, which they had so recently seen swinging from the summit of the Cm-few Tower. It was now suspended from an arm of the wizard oak. A small scroll was stuck upon the breast of the corpse, and, taking it off, Surrey read these words, traced in uncouth cha- racters : " Mark Fytton is now one of the band of Heme the Hunter.''^ " By my fay, this passes all comprehension," said Richmond, after a few moments' silence. " This castle and forest seem under the sway of the powers of darkness. Let us return. I have had enough of adventure for to-night." And he rode towards the castle, followed more slowly by the earl. WINDSOR CASTLE. VII. HOW THE EARL OF SURREY AND THE FAIR GERALDINE PLIGHTED THEIR TROTH IN THE CLOISTERS OF SAINT GEORGE's CHAPEL. Barriers were erected on the following day in the upper ward of the castle, and the Lady Anne and her dames assembled in the balcony in front of the royal lodgings, which was decorated with arras, costly carpets, and rich stuffs, to view the spectacle. Perfect in all manly accomplishments, Henry splintered several lances with his brother-in-law, the Duke of Suffolk, who formed an admirable match for him in point of weight and strength ; and at last, though he did not succeed in unhorsing the duke, he struck off his helmet, the clasp of which, it was whispered, was left designedly unfastened; and being thereupon declared the victor, he received the prize — a scarf embroidered by her own hands — from the fair Anne herself. He then retired from the lists, leaving them free for the younger knights to run a course at the ring. The first to enter the arena was Sir Thomas Wyat ; and as he was known to be a skilful jouster, it was expected he would come off tri- umphantly. But a glance from the royal balcony rendered his arm unsteady, and he missed the mark. Next came the Duke of Richmond, superbly accoutred. SURREY CARRIES OFF THE RING AT THE LISTS. 57 Laughing at Wyat's ill success, he howed to the fair Geraldine, and taking a lance from his esquire, placed it in the rest, and rode gallantly forward. But he was equally unsuccessful, and retired, looking deeply chagrined. The third knight who presented himself was Surrey. Mounted on his favourite black Arabian — a steed which, though of fiery temper, obeyed his slightest movement. His light symmetrical figure was seen to the greatest advantage in his close-fitting habiliments of silk and velvet. Without venturing a look at the royal balcony, the Earl couched his lance, and bounding forward, bore away the ring on its point. Amid the plaudits of the spectators, he then careered round the arena, and approaching the royal balcony, raised his lance, and proffered the ring to the fair Geraldine, who blushingly received it. Henry, though by no means pleased with Surrey's success, earned as it was at the expense of his son, complimented him upon his skill, and Anne Bolcyn joined warmly in his praises. The lists were then closed, and the royal party retired to partake of refreshments, after which they proceeded to the butts erected in the broad mead at the north of the castle, where the Duke of Shoreditch and his companions shot a well-contested match with the long bow. During these sports, Surrey placed himself as near as he could to the fair Geraldine, and though but few opportunities occurred of exchanging a syllable with her, his looks spoke a sufficiently intelligible language. At last, just as they w^ere about to return to the palace, he breathed in an imploring tone in her ear — " You will attend vespers at Saint George's Chapel this even- ing. Return through the cloisters. Grant me a moment's interview alone there." " I cannot promise," replied the fair Geraldine. And she followed in the train of the Lady Anne. The earl's request had not been unheard. As the royal train proceeded towards the castle. Will Sommers contrived to approach the Duke of Richmond, and said to him, in a jeering tone, — " You ran but indifferently at the ring to-day, gossip. The galliard Surrey rode better, and carried off the prize." " Pest on thee, scurril knave, be silent !" cried Richmond, angrily. " Failure is bad enough without thy taunts !" "If you had only missed the ring, gossip, I should have thought nothing of it," pursued Will Sommers ; " but you lost a golden opportunity of ingratiating yourself with your lady- love. All your hopes are now at an end. A word in your ear. The fair Geraldine will meet Surrey alone, this evening." ^ " Thou liest, knave !" cried the duke, fiercely. " Your grace will find the contrary, if you will be at Wolsey's tomb-house at vesper-time," replied the jester. " I will be there,'* replied the Duke : " but if I am brought 58 WINDSOR CASTLE. on a bootless errand, not even my royal father shall save thee from chastisement." " I will bear any chastisement your grace may choose to inflict upon me, if I prove not the truth of my assertion," replied Sora- mers. And he dropped into the rear of the train. The two friends, as if by mutual consent, avoided each other during the rest of the day — Surrey feeling he could not u^n- burthen his heart to Richmond, and Richmond brooding jea- lously over the intelligence he had received from the jester. At the appointed hour, the duke proceeded to the lower ward, and stationed himself near Wolsey's tomb-house. Just as he arrived there, the vesper hymn arose from the adjoining fane, an^ its solemn strains somewhat soothed his troubled spirit. But they died away ; and as the jester came not, Richmond grew impatient, and began to fear he had been duped by his in- formant. At length, the service concluded, and, losing all patience, he was about to depart, when the jester peered round the lower angle of the tornb-house, and beckoned to him. Obeying the summons, the duke followed his conductor down the arched passage leading to the cloisters. JLOISTFR3 KEAJl SAINT OKOROB S OHAFXL. " Tread softly, gossip, or you will alarm them," said Sommers, in a low tone. They turned the comer of the cloisters; and there, near the entrance of the chapel, stood the youthful pair, — the fair Geral- dine, half reclining upon the Earl's breast, while his arm en- circled her slender waist. " There !" whispered the jester, chuckling: maliciously — ** there ! did I speak falseh^ — eh ! gossip ?" Richmond laid his hand upon his sword. TUb MEETING IN THE CLOISTERS. 59 " Hist !" said the jester — " hear what the fair Geraldine has to say." " We must meet no more thus, Surrey," she murmured : " I feel I was wrong in granting the interview, but I could not help it. If, when a few more years have flown over your head, your heart remains unchanged " " It will never change !" interrupted Surrey. " I here solemnly pledge my troth to you." "And I return the pledge," replied the fair Geraldine, earnestly. " I vow to be yours, and yours only." " Would that Richmond could hear your vow I" said Surrey — *' it would extinguish his hopes." " He has heard it!" cried the duke, advancing. "But his hopes are not yet extinguished." The fair Geraldine uttered a slight scream, and disengaged herself from the earl. " Richmond, you have acted unworthily in thus playing the spy," said Surrey, angrily. " None but a spy can surprise interviews like these," rejoined Richmond, bitterly. " The Lady Elizabeth Fitzgerald had better have kept her chamber, than come here to plight her troth with a boy, who will change his mind before his beard is grown." "' Y'^ur grace shall find the boy man enough to avenge an insult," rejoined Surrey, sternly. " I am glad to hear it !" returned the duke. " Lady Eliza- beth Fitzgerald, I must pray you to return to your lodgings. The king's jester will attend you. This way, my lord !" Too much exasperated to hesitate, Surrey followed the duke^ down the passage, and the next moment, the clashing of swords was heard. The fair Geraldine screamed loudly, and Will Som- mers began to think the jest had been carried too far. " What is to be done ?" he cried. " If the king hears of this quarrel, he will assuredly place the Earl of Surrey in arrest. I now repent having brought the duke here." " You acted most maliciously," cried the fair Geraldine ; " but fly, and prevent further mischief." Thus urged, the jester ran towards the lower ward, and find- ing an officer of the guard and a couple of halberdiers near the entrance of Saint George's Chapel, told them what was taking place, and they immediately hastened with him to the scene of the conflict " My lords !" cried the officer to the combatants, " I com- mand you to lay down your weapons." But finding no respect paid to his injunctions, he rushed be- tween them, and with the aid of the halberdiers, forcibly sepa- rated them. " My lord of Surrey," said the officer, " you are my prisoner. I demand your sword." " On what plea, sir?" rejoined the ^^her t)0 WINDSOR CASTLE. " Vou have drawn it against the king's son — and the act is treason," replied the officer. " I shall take you to the guard- house until the king's pleasure is known." " But I provoked the earl to the conflict," said Richmond ; " I was the aggressor." " Your grace will represent the matter as you see fit to your royal father," rejoined the officer, " I shall fulfil my duty. My lord, to the guard-house !" " I will procure your instant liberation, Surrey," said Rich- mond. The earl was then led away, and conveyed to a chamoer in the lower part of Henry the Eighth's gate, now used as a place of military punishment, and denominated the " black hole." «Jtl»'^ HOtJi m HXMRT THK KtOHTH S 0*T« ^:Mm 4^\'J:^lJ|J vfm tf^i^^ VIII. OF TRISTBAM LYNDWOOD, THE OLD FORESTER, AND HIS GRAND- DAUGHTER MABEL ; OF THE PERIL IN WHICH THE LADY ANNE BOLEYN WAS PLACED DURING THE CHASE ; AND BY WHOM SHE WAS RESCUED. In consequence of the announcement that a grand hunting-party would be held in the forest, all the ver- derers, rangers, and keepers, assembled at an early hour on the fourth day after the king's arrival at Windsor, in an open space on the west side of the great avenue, where a wooden stand was erected, > canopied over with green boughs and fes- tooned with garlands of flowers, for the ac- commodation of the Lady Anne Boleyn and her dames, who, it was under- stood, would be present at the ^ chase. "" At a little distance from the stand, an extensive covert was fenced ^:^^^^^^^fe^^ round with ,, '^^'-j^^^".^ stoutpoles^.jjty^^':^'^:^- ^-^^-;:'Us^>iy 62 WINDSOR CAS-i'LE. to which nets were attached, so as to form a haye or pre- serve, where the game intended for the royal sport was con- fined ; and though many of the animals thus brought together were of hostile natures, they were all so terrified, and seem- ingly so conscious of the danger impending over them, that they did not molest each other. The foxes and martins, of which there were abundance, slunk into the brush-wood with the hares and rabbits, but left their prey untouched. The harts made violent efforts to break forth, and entangling their horns in the nets, were with difficulty extricated and driven back ; while the timid does, not daring to follow them, stood warily watching the result of the struggle. Amongst the antlered captives was a fine buck, which, having been once before hunted by the king, was styled a *' hart royal," and this noble animal would certainly have effected his escape, if he had not been attacked and driven back by Morgan Fenwolf, who throughout the morning's proceedings displayed great energy and skill. The compliments bestowed on Fenwolf tor his address by the chief verderer excited the jealousy of some of his comrades; and more than one asserted that he had been assisted in his task by some evil being, and that Bawsey herself was no better than a familiar spirit in the form of a hound. Morgan Fenwolf scouted these remarks ; and he was sup- ported by some others among the keepers, who declared that it required no supernatural aid to accomplish what he had done — that he was nothing more than a good huntsman, who could ride fast and boldly — that he was skilled in all the exercises of the chase — and possessed a stanch and well- trained hound. The party then sat down to breakfast beneath the trees, and the talk fell upon Heme the hunter, and his frequent appear- ance of late in the forest (for most of the keepers had heard of, or encountered the spectral huntsman); and while they were discussing this topic, and a plentiful allowance of cold meat, bread, ale, and mead, at the same time, two persons were seen approaching along a vista on the right, who specially attracted their attention, and caused Morgan Fenwolf to drop the hunting- knife, with which he was carving his viands, and start to his feet. The new comers were an old man, and a comely ycung damsel. The former, though nearer seventy than sixty, was still hale and athletic; with fresh complexion, somewhat tanned by the sun, and a keen grey eye, which had lost nothing of its fire. He was habited in a stout leathern doublet, hose of the same material, and boots rudely fashioned out of un tanned ox-hide, and drawn above the knee. In his girdle was thrust a large hunting-knife ; a horn with a silver mouth-piece, depended from his shoulder; and he wore a long bow, and a quiver full of arrows at his back. A flat bonnet, made of fox-skin, and ornamented with a raven's wing covered his hair, which was as white as silver. But it was not upon this old forester, for such his attire pro- MABEL LYXDWOOD. <>3 claimed him, that the attention of the beholders, and of Morgan f enwolf in especial, was fixed, — but upon his companioa. Amongst the many lovely and high-born dames, who had so recently graced the procession to the castle, were few, if any, comparable to this lowly damsel. Her dress — probably owing to the pride felt in her by her old relative — was somewhat superior to her station. A tightly-laced green kirtle displayed to perfection her slight, but exquisitely-formed figure. A gown of orange-coloured cloth, sufficiently short to display her small ancles, and a pair of green buskins, embroidered with silver, together with a collar of the whitest and finest linen, though shamed by the neck it concealed, and fastened by a small clasp, completed her attire. Her girdle was embroidered with silver, and her sleeves were fastened by aiglets of the same metal. " How proud old Tristram Lyndwood seems of his grand- daughter I" remarked one of the keepers. " And with reason," replied another. " Mabel Lyndwood is the comeliest lass in Berkshire." " Ay, marry is she," rejoined the first speaker ; " and to my thinking, she is a fairer and sweeter flower than any that blooms in yon stately castle — the flower that finds so much favour in the eyes of our royal Hal not excepted." " Have a care, Gabriel Lapp," observed another keeper. " Recollect that Mark Fytton, the butcher, was hanged for speak- ing slightingly of the Lady Anne Boleyn ; and you may share his fate, if you disparage her beauty." "Nay, 1 meant not to disparage the Lady Anne," replied Gabriel. " Hal may marry her when he will, and divorce her as soon afterwards as he pleases, for aught I care. If he marries fifty wives, I shall like him all tlie better. The more the merrier, say L But if he sets eyes on Mab Lyndwood, it may somewhat unsettle his love for the Lady Anne." " Tush, Gabriel !" said Morgan Fenvvolf, darting an angry look at him. " What business have you to insinuate that the king would heed other than the lady of his luve ?" " You are jealous, Morgan Fenwolf," rejoined Gabriel, with a malignant grin. " We all know you are in love with Mabel yourself." " And we all know, likewise, that Mabel will have nothing to say to you !" cried another keeper, while the others laughed in chorus. " Come and sit down beside us, Morgan, and finish your breakfast." But the keeper turned moodily away, and hied towards Tris- tram Lyndwood and his grand-daughter. The old forester shook him cordially by the hand, and after questioning him as to what had taken place, and hearing how ne had managed to drive the hart royal into the haye, clapped him on the shoulder, and said—" Thou art a bra\e huntsman, Morgan. 1 wish Mab could only think as well of tbco as I do." d4 WINDSOR CASTLE. To this speech, Mabel not only paid no attention, but looked fitudioiisly another way. " I am glad your grandfather has brought you out to see the chase to-day, Mabel," observed Morgan Fenwolf. " I came not to see the chase, but the king," she replied, somewhat petulantly. " It is not every fair maid who would confess so much,'* observed Fenwolf, frowning. " Then I am franker than some of my sex," replied Mabel. " But who is the strange man looking at us from behind that tree, grandfather?" " I see no one," replied the old forester. " Neither do I," added Morgan Fenwolf, with a shudder. " You are wilfully blind," rejoined Mabel. " But see, the per- son I mentioned stalks forth. Now, perhaps, he is visible to you both." And as she spoke, a tall, wild-looking figure armed with a hunting spear, emerged from the trees, and advanced towards them. The garb of the new-comer somewhat resembled that of a forester ; but his arms and lower limbs were destitute of covering, and appeared singularly muscular, while his skin was swarthy as that of a gipsy. His jet black hair hung in elf- locks over his savage-looking features. In another moment, he was beside them, and fixed his dark, piercing eyes on Mabel, in such a manner as to compel her to avert her gaze. '* What brings you here this morning, Tristram Lyndwood ?" he demanded, in a hoarse, imperious tone. " The same motive that brought you, Valentine Hagthorne," replied the old forester, — " to see the royal chase." " This, I suppose, is your grand-daughter ?" pursued Hag- thorne. *^ Ay," replied Tristram, bluntly. " Strange I should never have seen her before," rejoined the other. " She is very fair. Be ruled by me, friend Tris- tram — take her home again. If she sees the king, ill will come of it. You know, or should know, his character." " Hagthorne advises well," interposed Fenwolf. " Mabel will be better at home." ^•' But she has no intention of returning at present," replied Mabel. " You brought me here for pastime, dear grandfather, and will not take me back at the recommendation of this strange man?'^ " Content you, child — content you," replied Tristram, kindly. " You shall remain where you are.'' " You will repent it !" cried Hagthorne.. And hastily darting among the trees, he disappeared from view. Affecting to laugh at the occurrence, though evidently an- noyed by it, the old forester led his grand-daughter towards the stand, where he was cordially gireeted by ihe keepers, most of 9 -•* * ' .j„ .. THE ROYAL HUNTING PAllTY. 1p5 whom, while expressing their pleasure at seeing him, strove to render themselves agreeal)Ie in the eyes of Mabel. From this scene Morgan Fenwoif kept aloof, and remained leaning against a tree, with his eyes riveted upon the damsel. He was roused from his reverie by a slight tap upon the shoulder; and turning at the touch, beheld Valentine Hagthome. Obe- dient to a sign from the latter, he followed him amongst the trees, and they both plunged into a delL An hour or two after this, when the sun was higher in the heavens, and the dew dried upon the greensward, the king, and a large company of lords and ladies, rode forth from the upper gate of the castle, and taking their way along the great avenue, struck off on the right, when about half way up it, and shaped their course towards the haye. A goodly sight it was to see this gallant company riding be- neath the trees ; and pleasant was it, also, to hsten to the blithe sound of their voices, amid which, Anne Boleyn's musical laugh could be plainly distinguished. Henry was attended by his customary band of archers and yeomen of the guard ; and by the Duke of Shoreditch and his followers. On reaching the haye, the king dismounted, and assisting the Lady Anne from lier steed, ascended the stand with her. He then took a small and beautifully-fashioned bow from an attendant, and stringing it, presented it to her. " I trust this will not prove too strong for your fair hands," he said. " I will make shift to draw it," replied Anne, raising the bow, and gracefully pulling the string. " Would I could wound your majesty as surely as 1 shall hit the first roe that passes." " That were a needless labour," rejoined Henry, " seeing that you have already stricken me to the heart. You should cure the wound you have already made, sweetheart — not inflict a new one." At this juncture, the chief verderer, mounted on a powerful steed, and followed by two keepers, each holding a couple of stag-hounds in leash, rode up to the royal stand, and placing his horn to his lips, blew three long mootes from it. At the same moment, part of the net-work of the haye was lifted up, and a roe-buck set free. By the management of the keepers, the animal was dri^ren past the royal stand; and Anne Boleyn, who had drawn an arrow nearly to the head, let it fly with such good aim, that she pierced the buck to the heart. A loud shout from the spec- tators rewarded the prowess of the fair huntress ; and Henry was so enchanted, that he bent the knee to her, and pressed her hand to his lips. Satisfied, however, with the achievement, Anne prudently declined another shot. Henry then took a bow from one of the archers, and other roes being turned out, he approved upon them his unerring skill as a marksman. F 66 WINDSOR CASTLE. Meanwhile, the hounds, being held in leash, kept up a loud and incessant baying; and Henry, wearying of his slaughterous sport, turned to Anne, and asked her whether she was dis- posed for the chase. She answered in the affirmative, and the king motioned his henchmen to bring forward the steeds. In doing this, he caught sight of Mabel, who was standing with her grandsire among the keepers, at a little distance from the stand, and, struck with her extraordinary beauty, he regarded her for a moment intently, and then called to Gabriel Lapp, who chanced to be near him, and demanded her name. " It is Mabel Lyndwood, an' please your majesty," replied Gabriel. "She is grand-daughter to old Tristram Lyndwood, who dwells at Black Nest, near the lake, at the further extre- mity of Windsor Forest, and who was forester to your royal father. King Henry the Seventh, of blessed memory." " Ha ! is it so ?" cried Henry. But he was prevented from further remark by Anne Boleyn, who perceiving how his attention was attracted, suddenly inter- posed. " Your majesty spoke of the chase," she said, impatiently. " But perhaps you have found other pastime more diverting ?"' " Not so, — not so, sweetheart," he replied, hastily. " There is a hart royal in the haye," said Gabriel Lapp. " Is it your majesty's pleasure that I set him free ?" " It is, good fellow — it is," replied the king. And as Gabriel hastened to the netted fencework, and prepared to drive forth the hart, Henry assisted Anne Boleyn, who could not help exhibiting some slight jealous pique, to mount her steed, and having sprung into his own saddle, they waited the libera- tion of the buck, which was accomplished in a somewhat unex- pected manner. Separated from the rest of the herd, the noble animal made a sudden dart towards Gabriel, and upsetting him in his wild career, darted past the king, and made towards the upper part of the forest. In another instant, the hounds were uncoupled, and at his heels, while Henry and Anne urged their steeds after him, the king shouting at the top of his lusty voice. The rest of the royal party fotlowed as they might, ana the woods resounded with their joyous cries. The hart royal proved himself worthy of his designation. Dash- ing forward with extraordinary swiftness, he rapidTy gained upon his pursuers — for though Henry, by putting his courser to hi? utmost speed, could have kept near him, he did not choose to quit his fair companion. In this way, they scoured the forest, until the king, seeing they should be speedily distanced, commanded Sir Thomas Wyat, who, with the Dukes of Suffolk and Norfolk, was riding close behind him, to cross by the lower ground on the left, and turn the stag. Wyat instahtly obeyed, and plunging his spurs deeply THE II ART ROYAL. 67 into his horse's sides, started off at a furious pace, and was soon after seen shaping his rapid course through a devious glade. Meanwhile, Henry and his fair companion rode on without relaxing their pace, until they reached the summit cf a knoll, crowned by an old oak and beech-tree, and commanriing a superb view of the castle, where they drew in the rein. eU> e^X AMD BIKCBTRKR IK WINDSOR FORKBT From this eminence, ihey could witness the progress of the chase, as it continued in the valley beyond. An ardent lover of hunting, the king watched it with the deepest interest, rose in his saddle, and uttering various exclamations, shewed, from his impatience, that he was only restrained by the stronger passion of love from joining it. Ere long, stag, hounds, and huntsmen, were lost amid a thicket, and nothing could be distinguished but a distant baying and shouts. At last, even these sounds died away. Henry, who had ill brooked the previous restraint, now grew so impatient, that Anne begged him to set off after them, when, suddenly, the cry of hounds burst upon their ear, and the hart was seen issuing from the dell, closely followed by his pursuers. The affrighted animal, to the king's great satisfaction, made his way directly towards the spot where he was stationed ; but' on reaching the side of the knoll, and seeing his new foes, he darted off on the right, and tried to regain the thicket below: But he was turned by another band of keepers, and again driven towards the knoll. V a 68 WINDSOR CASTLE. Scarcely had Sir Thomas Wyat reined in his steed by the side of the king, than the hart again appeared bounding up the hill. Anne Boleyn, who had turned her horse's head to obtain a better view of the hunt, alarmed by the animal's menacing appearance, tried to get out of his way. But it was too late. Hemmed in on all sides, and driven to desperation by the cries of hounds and huntsmen in front, the hart lowered his horns, and made a furious push at her. Dreadfully alarmed, Anne drew in the rein so suddenly and sharply, that she almost pulled her steed back upon his haunches ; and in trying to avoid the stag's attack, caught hold of Sir Thomas Wyat, who was close beside her. 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 appear- ance from behind the beech-tree, brought him to the ground. But Anne Boleyn escaped one danger only to encounter another equally serious. On seeing her fling herself into the arms of Sir Thomas Wyat, Henry regarded her in stern dis- pleasure for a moment, and then calling angrily to his train, ivithout so much as deigning to inquire whether she had sustained smy damage from the accident, or making the slightest remark ipon her conduct, rode sullenly towards the castle. IX. »iY WHAT MEANS SIR THOMAS WYAT OBTAINED AN INTERVIEW WITH ANNE BOLEYN ; AND HOW THE EARL OF SURREY SAVED THEM FROM THE KING's ANGER. The incident above related gave new life to the adherents of Catherine of Arragon, while it filled those devoted to Anne Boleyn with alarm. Immediately on Anne's return to the castle. Lord Rochford had a private interview with her, and bitterly reproached her for endangering her splendid prospects. Anne treated the matter very lightly ; said it was only a temporary gust of jealousy ; and added that the king would be at her feet again before the day was past. " You are over-confident, mistress !'* cried Rochford, angrily. " Henry is not an ordinary gallant." " It is you who are mistaken, father," replied Anne. " The king differs in no respect from any of his love-smitten subjects. I have him in my toils, and will not let him escape." " You have a tiger in your toils, daughter, and take heed he breaks not forcibly through them," rejoined Rochford. " Henry is more wayward than you suppose him. Once let him take up a notion, and nothing can shake him from it. He has resolved upon the divorce as much from self-will as from any other con- sideration. If you regain vour position with him, of which you .k iillifiilijii\liij{iiiiiilk .>i INTERVIEW BETWEEN ANNE BOLEYN AND WYAT. 69 seem so confident, do not consider yourself secure — not even when you are crowned queen — but be warned by Catherine of Arragon." *' Catherine has not the art to retain him," said Anne. " Henry will never divorce /wc." " Take care he does not rid himself of you in a more sum- mary manner, daughter," rejoined Rochford. " If you would stand well with him, you nmst study his lightest word, look, and action, — humour him in every whim, — and yield to every caprice. Above all, you must exhibit no jealousy." " You are wrong in all but the last, father," returned Anne. " Henry is not to be pleased by such nice attention to his hu- mours. It is because I have shewn myself careless of them that I have captivated him. But I will take care not to exhibit jealousy, and sooth to say, I do not think I shall have cause." " Be not too sure of that," replied Rochford. " And, at all events, let not the king have cause to be jealous of you. I trust Wyat will be banished from court. But if he is not, do not let him approach you more." " Poor Sir Thomas !" sighed Anne. " He loved me very dearly." " But what is his love compared to the king's ?" cried Rochford. " Tut, tut, girl ! think no more of him." " I will not, my lord," she rejoined ; " I see the prudence of your counsel, and will obey it. • Leave me, I pray you. I will ^^)on win back the affections of the king." No sooner had Rochford quitted the chamber than the arras at the further end was raised, and Wyat stepped from behind it. His first proceeding was to bar the door. " What means this. Sir Thomas?" cried Anne, in alarm. " How have you obtained admittance here ?" "Through the secret staircase," replied Wyat, bending the knee before her. " Rise, sir !" cried Anne, in great alarm — " Return, I beseech you, as you came. You have greatly endangered me by coming here. If you are seen to leave this chamber, it will be in vain to assert my innocence to Henry. Oh, Sir Thomas, you cannot love me, or you would not have done this I" " Not love you, Anne !" he repeated, bitterly ; " not love you I Words cannot speak my devotion. I would lay down my head on the scaffold to prove it. But for my love for you, I would throw open that door, and walk forth so that all might see me, — so that Henry might experience some part of the anguish I now feel." ** But you will not do so, good Sir Thomas — dear Sir Thomas," cried Anne Bolcyn, in alarm. "Have no fear," rejoined Wyat, with some contempt — "I will sacrifice even vengeance to love." " Sir Thomas, I have tolerated this too long," said Anne , begone. You terrify me." 70 WIJ^DSOR CASTLE. " It is my last interview with you, Anne," said Wyat, iniplor- jQgly, — " do not abridge it. Oh, bethink you of the happy hours ive have passed together — of the vows we have interchanged — of the protestations you have listened to, and returned — ay, re- turned, Anne. Are all these forgotten ?" " Not forgotten, Sir Thomas," replied Anne, mr-urnfully ; " but they must not be recalled. I cannot listen to you longer. You must go. Heaven grant you may get hence in safety !" " Anne," replied Wyat, in a sombre tone, " the thought of Henry's happiness drives me mad. 1 feel that I am grown a traitor, — that I could slay him." " Sir Thomas !" she exclaimed, in mingled fear and anger. " I will not go," he continued, flinging himself into a seat. " Let them put what construction they will upon my presence. I shall at least wring Henry's heart. I shall see him suffer as I have suffered ; and I shall be content." " This is not like you, Wyat," cried Anne, in great alarm. '^ You were wont to be noble, generous, kind. You will not act thus disloyally?" " Who has acted disloyally, Anne," cried Wyat, springing to his feet, and fixing his dark eyes, blazing with jealous fury, upon her — " you or I ? Have you not sacrificed your old affections at the shrine of ambition ? Are you not about to give yourself to one, to whom — unless you are forsworn — you cannot give your heart ? Better had you been the mistress of Allington Castle — better the wife of a humble knight like myself, than the queen of the ruthless Henry." " No more of this, Wyat," said Anne. " Better far you should perish by his tyranny for a supposed fault now than hereafter," pursued Wyat, fiercely. " Think not Henry will respect you more than her who has been eight and twenty years his wife. No, when he is tired of your charms — when some other dame, fair as yourself, shall enslave his fancy, he will cast you off, or, as your father truly intimated, will seek a readier means of ridding himself of you. Then you Jvill think of the different fate that might have been yours if you had adhered to your early love." " Wyat, W^yat ! 1 cannot bear this, — in mercy spare me !" cried Anne. " I am glad to see you weep," said Wyat ; " your tears make you look more like your former self." "Oh, Wyat, do not view^ my conduct too harshly!" she said. ** Few of my sex would have acted other than I have done." " I do not think so," replied Wyat, sternly ; " nor will I foreg; my vengeance. Anne, you shall die. You know Henry too well to doubt your fate if he finds me here." " You cannot mean this," she rejoined, with difficulty repress- ing a scream ; " but if I perish, you will perish with me." , " I wish to do so," he rejoined, with a bitter laugh. " Wyat," cried Anne, throwino; herself on her knees '?ofore surrey's devotion to ANNE BOLEYN. 71 him, " by your former love for me, I implore you to spare me I Do not disgrace me thus." But Wyat continued inexorable. " Oh God !" exclaimed Anne, wringing her hands in agony. A terrible silence ensued, during which Anne regarded Wyat, but she could discern no change in his countenance. At this juncture, the tapestry was again raised, and the Earl of Surrey issued from it. " You here, my lord ?" said Anne, nishing towards him. " I am come to save you, madam," said the earl ; " I have been just liberated from arrest, and was about to implore your intercession with the king, when I learned he had been in- formed by one of his pages, that a man was in your chamber. Luckily, he knows not who it is, and while he was summoning his attendants to accompany him, I hurried hither by the secret staircase. I have arrived in time. Fly — fly I Sir Thomas Wyat !" But Wyat moved not. At this moment, footsteps were heard approaching the door — the handle was tried — and the stem voice (^f the king was heard commanding that it might be opened. " W^ill you destroy me, Wyat ?" cried Anne. " You have destroyed yoursplf," he rejoined. " Why stay you here. Sir Thomas ?" said Surrey, seizing his arm. " You may yet escape. By heaven ! if you move not, I will stab you to the heart !" " You would do me a favour, young man," said Wyat, coldly ; " but I will go. I yield to love, and not to you, "tyrant !" he added, shaking his hand at the door. " May the worst pangs of jealousy rend your heart !" And he disappeared behind the arras. " I hear voices," cried Henry from without. " God's death ! madam, open the door — or I will burst it open !" " Oh heaven ! what is to be done !" cried Anne Boleyn, in despair. " Open the door, and leave all to me, madam," said Surrey ; " I will save you, though it cost me my life !" Anne pressed his hand, with a look of ineffable gratitude, and Surrey concealed himself behind the arras. The door was opened, and Henry rushed in, followed by Richmond, Norfolk, Suffolk, and a host of attendants. " Ah ! God's death ! where is the traitor ?" roared the king, gazing round. " Why is my privacy thus broken upon?" said Anne, as- suming a look of indignation. " Your privacy!" echoed Henry, in a tone of deep derision — *' your privacy ! — ha ! ha ! You bear yourself bravely, it must be confessed. My lords, you heard the voices as well as myself. Where is Sir Thomas W^yat ?" 72 WINDSOR CASTLE. " He is not here," replied Anne, firmly. ^' Aha ! we shall see that, mistress," rejoined Henry, fiercely "But if Sir Thomas VVyat is not here — who is? for 1 am wc^ assured that some one is hidden in your chamber." " What if there be ?" rejoined Anne, coldly. " Ah ! by Saint Mary, you confess it !" cried the King. " Let the traitor come forth." " Your majesty shall not need to bid twice," said Surrey, issuing from his concealment. " The Earl of Surrey I" exclaimed Henry, in surprise. " How come you here, my lord ? Methought you were under arrest at the guard-house." " He was set free by my orders," said the Duke of Rich- mond. " First of all, I must entreat your majesty to turn your resentment against me," said the Earl. " I am solely to blame, and I would not have the Lady Anne suffer for my fault. I forced myself into her presence. She knew not of my coming." " And wherefore did you so, my lord?" demanded Henry, sternly. " Liberated from the guard-house, at the Duke of Rich- mond's instance, my liege, I came to entreat the Lady Anne to mediate between me and your majesty, and to use her influ- ence with your highness to have me betrothed to the Lady Elizabeth Fitzgerald." " Is this so, madam ?'' asked the king. Anne bowed her head. " But why was the door barred ?" demanded Henry, again frowning suspiciously. " I barred it myself," said Surrey, " and vowed that the Lady Anne should not go forth till she had granted my request." " By our Lady ! you have placed yourself in peril, my lord," said Henry, sternly. " Your majesty will bear in mind his youth," said the Duke of Norfolk, anxiously. " For my sake overlook the indiscretion," cried the Duke of Richmond. "It will not, perhaps, avail him to hope that it may be overlooked for mine," added Anne Boleyn. " The offence must not pass unpunished," said Henry, musingly. "My lord of Surrey, you must be content to re- main for two months a prisoner in the Round Tower of this castle." '* Your majesty !" cried Richmond, bending the knee in suj>- plication. " The sentence is passed," replied Henry, coldly ; " and the earl may thank you it is not heavier. Richmond, you will think no more of the fair Geraldine; and it is my pleasure, Lady Anne, that the young dame withdraw from the court for a short while." ^oii{^ QrjuJfsiUflJC^ h^l ViK^ib Al^>' ilEXKY SEF.IvS A RKCONV'IIJ ATION WITH a.n.s-. Your majesty shall be obeyed," said Anne ; " but- " But me no buts, sweetheart," said the king, peremptorily • Surrey's explanation is satisfactory so far as it goes, but I was told Sir Thomas VVyat was here." " Sir Thomas Wyat is here," said Will Sommers, pointing jut the knight, who had just joined the throng of courtiers at the door. " I have hurried hither from my chamber, my liege," said Wyat, stepping forward, " hearing there was some inquiry con- cerning me." " Is your majesty now satisfied ?" asked Anne Boleyn. " Why, ay, sweetheart, well enough," rejoined Henry. " Sir Thomas Wyat, we have a special mission for you to tne court of our brother of France. You will set out to-morrow.'* W^yat bowed. " You have saved your head, gossip," whispered Will Som- mers in the knight's ear. " A visit to Francis the First is better than a visit to the Tower." " Retire, my lords," said Henry, to the assemblage ; " we owe some apology to the Lady Anne for our intrusion, and desire an opportunity to make it." Upon this, the chamber was instantly cleared of its occupants, and the Earl of Surrey was conducted under a guard to the Round Tower. Henry, however, did not find it an easy matter to makti peace with the Lady Anne. Conscious of the advantage she had gained, she determined not to relinquish it, and after half an hour's vain suing, her royal lover proposed a turn in the long gallery, upon which her apartments opened. Here they continued conversing — Henry pleading in the most passionate manner, and Anne maintaining a show of offended pride. At last, she exhibited some signs of relenting, and Henry led her into a recess in the gallery, lighted by a window filled with magnificent stained glass. In this recess was a seat and a small table, on which stood a vase filled with flowers, arranged by Anne's own hand; and here the monarch hoped to adjust his differences with her. Meanwhile, word having reached Wolsey and Campeggio of the new cause of jealousy which the king had received, it was instantly resolved that the former should present to him, while in bis present favourable mood, a despatch received that morning from Catherine of Arragon. Armed with the letter, Wolsey repaired to the king's closet. Not finding him there, and being given to understand by an usher that he was in the great gallery, he proceeded thither. As he walked softly along the polished oak floor, he hoard voices in one of the recesses, and distinguished the tones of Henry and Anne Roleyn. Henry was clasping the snowy fingers of his favourite, and gaziniE j)a3sionatelv at her, as the cardinal approached. /4 WINDSOR CASTLK. *' Your majesty shall not detain my hand," said Anne, "un- less you swear to me, by your crown, that you will not again be jealous without cause." " I swe.ar it !" replied Henry. " Were your majesty as devoted to me as you would have me belie^ve, you would soon bring this matter of the divorce to an issue," said Anne. " I would fain do so, sweetheart," rejoined Henry ; " but these cardinals perplex me sorely." " I am told by one who overheard him, that Wolsey has de- clared the divorce shall not be settled these two years," said Anne ; " in which case it had better not be settled at all ; for I care not to avow I cannot brook so nmch delay. The warmth of my affection will grow icy cold by that time." " It were enough to try the patience of the most forbearing," rejoined the king, smiling — " but it shall not be so — by this lily jiand it shall not ! And now, sweetheart, are we entirely recon- ciled r " " Not yet," replied Anne. " I shall claim a boon from your majesty before I accord my entire forgiveness." " Name it," said the king, still clasping her hand tenderly, and intoxicated by the witchery of her glance. " I ask an important favour," said Anne — "but as it is one which will benefit your majesty as much as myself, I have the iess scruple in requesting it. I ask the dismissal of one who has abused your favour — who, by his extortion and rapacity, has in some degree alienated the affections of your subjects trom you — and who solely opposes your divorce from Catherine of Ar- ragon because he fears my influence may be prejudicial to him." " You cannot mean Wolsey ?" said Henry, uneasily. " Your majesty has guessed aright," replied Anne. " Wolsey has incurred my displeasure oft of late," said Henry , " and yet his fidelity " " Be not deceived, my liege," said Anne ; " he is faithful to you only so far as serves his turn. He thinks he rules you." Before Henry could reply, the cardinal stepped forward. "I bring your majesty a despatch, just received from the c Cfjvoiuclc of ^3»tutr£iov Castle. isoofe tt)t ittoni. HERNE THE HUNTEIL Tn« VIOTOUIA TOWER OF THE COMPACT BETWEEN SIR THOMAS WYAT AND HERNE THE HUNTER. On the day after his secret interview with Anne Boleyn, Sir Thomas Wyat received dispatches from the king for the court of France. " His majesty bade me tell you to make your pre- parations quickly, Sir Thomas," said the messenger who de- livered the dispatches. " He cares not how soon you set forth.'' " The king's pleasure shall be obeyed," rejoined Wyat. And the messenger retired. Left alone, Wyat remained for some time in profound and melancholy thought. Heaving a deep sigh, he then arose, and paced the chamber with rapid strides. " Yes, it is better thus," he ejaculated ; " if I remain near her, I shall do some desperate deed. Better — far better — 1 should go. And yet to leave her with Henry — to know that he is ever near her — that he drinks in the music of her voice, and basks in the sunshine of her smile — while I am driven forth to 82 WINDSOR CASTLE. darkness and despair — the thought is madness ! I will not obey the hateful mandate ! I will stay and defy him!" As he uttered aloud this wild and unguarded speech, the arras screening the door was drawn aside, and gave admittance to Wolsey. Wyat's gaze sunk oefore the penetrating glance fixed upon nim by the cardinal. " I did not come to play the eaves-dropper, Sir Thomas," said Wolsey : " but I have heard enough to place your life in my power. So, you refuse to obey the king's injunctions. You refuse to proceed to Paris. You refuse to assist in bringing about the divorce, and prefer remaining here to brave your sove- reign, and avenge yourself upon a fickle mistress. Ha ?" Wyat returned no answer. " If such be your purpose," pursued Wolsey, after a pause, during which he intently scrutinized the knight's countenance, " I will assist you in it. Be ruled by me, and you shall have a deep and full revenge." " Say on," rejoined Wyat ; — his eyes blazing with infernal fire, and his hand involuntarily clutching the handle of his dagger. " If I read you aright," continued the cardinal, " you are arrived at that pitch of desperation, when life itself becomes indifferent, and when but one object remains to be gained ' " And that is vengeance I" interrupted Wyat, fiercely. ** Right, cardinal — right. I will have venL,eance — terrible ven- jrcaiice I" " You shall. But I will not deceive you. You will purchase what you seek at the price of your own head." " I care not," replied Wyat. " All sentiments of love and loyalty are swallowed up by jealousy and burning hate. Nothing but blood can allay the fever that consumes me. Shew me how to slay him !" " Him r echoed the cardinal, in alarm and horror. " Wretch ! would you kill your king? God forbid that I should counsel the injury of a hair of his head ! I do not want you to play the assassin, Wyat," he added, more calmly, "but the just avenger. Liberate the king from the thraldom of the capricious syren who enslaves him, and you will do a service to the Avhole country. A word from you — a letter — a token — will cast her from the king, and place her on the block. And what matter? The gory scaff'old were better than Henry's bed." " I cannot harm her," cried Wyat, distractedly, " I love her still, devotedly as ever. She was in my power yesterday, and without your aid, cardinal, I could have wreaked my vengeance upon her, if I had been so minded." " You were then in her chamber, as the king suspected ?" cried Wolsey, with a look of exultation. '* Trouble yourself no more, Sir Thomas. I will take the part of vengeance off your hands." WYAT REJECTS NVOLSEY'S PROPOSAL. 83 " My indiscretion will avail you little, cardinal," replied Wyat, sternl}^ " A hasty word proves nothing. I will perish on the rack sooner than accuse Anne Boleyn. I am a desperate man, but not so desperate as you suppose me. A moment ago, 1 might have been led on, by the murtherous and traitorous impulse that prompted me to lift my hand against the king, but I never could have injured her." " You arc a madman 1" cried Wolsey, impatiently ; " and it is a waste of time to argue with you. I wish you good speed on your journey. On your return, you will find Anne Boleyn Queen of England." " And you disgraced," rejoined Wyat, as, with a malignant and vindictive look, the cardinal quitted the chamber. Again left alone, Wyat fell into another fit of despondency, from which he roused himself with difficulty, and went forth to visit the Earl of Surrey in the Round Tower. Some delay occurred before he could obtain access to the earl. The halberdier stationed at the entrance to the keep near the Norman Tower, refused to admit him without the order of the kT«W»T OF lUf NOKk-AN lO'VKU R-ROU THK DPPER WARD 84 WINDSOR CASTLE. officer in command of the Tower, and as the latter was not in the way at the moment, Wyat had to remain without, till he made his appearance. While thus detained, he beheld Anne Boleyn and her royal lover mount their steeds, in the upper ward, and ride forth, with their attendants, on a hawking expedition. Anne Boleyn bore a beautiful falcon on her wrist — Wyat's own gift to her in happier days — and looked full of coquetry, animation, and de- light — -without the vestige of a cloud upon her brow, or a care on her countenance. With increased bitterness of heart, he turned from the sight, and shrouded himself beneath the gate- way of the Norman lower. Soon after this, the officer appeared, and at once according Wyat permission to see the earl, preceded him up the long flight of stone steps communicating with the upper part of the keep, and screened by an embattled and turreted structure, consti- tuting a covered way to the Round Tower. Arrived at the landing, the officer unlocked a door on the left, and ushered his companion into the prisoner's chamber COVERED WAT FROM THE NORMAN TOWER •i O THE RODND TOW 'R WYAT VISITS SURREY IN UIS CONFINEMENT. 86 Influenced by the circular shape of the structure in which it was situated, and of which it formed a segment, the further part of this chamber was almost lost to view, and a number of cross-beams and wooden pillars added to its sombre and mys- terious appearance. The walls were of enormous thickness, and a narrow loop-hole, terminating a deep embrasure, afforded but scanty light. Opposite the embrasure sat Surrey, at a small table covered with books and writing materials. A lute lay beside him on the floor, and there were several astrological and alchemical implements within reach. So immersed was the youthful prisoner in study, that he was not aware, until a slight exclamation was uttered by Wyat, of the entrance of the latter. He then arose, and gave him welcome. Nothing material passed between them as long as the officer remained in the chamber, but on his departure, Surrey observed, laughingly, to his friend — " And how doth my fair cousin, the Lady Anne Boleyn ?" " She has just ridden forth with the king, to hawk in the park," replied Wyat, moodily. " For myself, I am ordered on a mission to France, but I could not depart without entreating your forgiveness for the jeopardy in which I have placed you. Would I could take your place." " Do not heed me," replied Surrey — " I am well content with what has happened. Virgil and Homer, Dante and Petrarch, are the companions of my confinement ; and in good sooth, I am glad to be alone. Amid the distractions of the court, I could find little leisure for the Muse." " Your situation is, in many respects, enviable, Surrey," re- plied Wyat. " Disturbed by no jealous doubts and fears, you can beguile the tedious hours in the cultivation of your poetical tastes, or in study. Still, I must needs reproach myself with being the cause of your imprisonment." " I repeat you have done me a service," rejoined the earl. " 1 would lay down my life for my fair cousin, Anne Boleyn, and I am glad to be able to prove the sincerity of my regard for you, Wyat. I applaud the king's judgment in sending you to France, and if you will be counselled by me, you will stay there long enough to forget her who now occasions you so much uneasiness." " Will the fair Geraldine be forgotten when the term of your imprisonment shall expire, my lord ?" asked Wyat. " Of a surety, not," replied the earl. " And yet, in less than two months, I shall return from France," rejomed Wyat " Our cases are not alike," said Surrey. "The Lady Elizabeth Fitzgerald has plighted her troth to me." " Anne Boleyn vowed eternal constancy to me," cried Wyat, bitterly : " and you see how she has kept her oath ! The absent 86 WINDSOR CASTLE. are always in danger ; and few women are proof against ambition. Vanity — vanity is the rock they split upon. May you never expe- rience from Richmond the wrong I have experienced from his father." " I have no fear," replied Surrey. As he spoke, there was a slight noise in that part of the chamber which was buried in darkness. " Have we a listener here ?" cried Wyat, grasping his sword. " Not unless it be a four-legged one from the dungeons be- neath," replied Surrey. " But you were speaking of Richmond. He visited me this morning, and came to relate the particulars of a mysterious adventure that occurred to him last night." And the earl proceeded to detail what had befallen the duke in the forest. " A marvellous story, truly !" said Wyat, pondering upon the relation. "I will seek out the demon huntsman myself." Again, a noise similar to that heard a moment before, resounded from the lower part of the room. Wyat immediately flew thither, and drawing his sword, searched about with its point, but ineffectually. " It could not be fancy," he said ; " and yet nothing is to be found." " I do not like jesting about Heme the hunter," remarked Surrey, " after what I myself have seen. In your present frame of mind, I advise you not to hazard an interview with the fiend. He has power over the desperate." Wyat returned no answer. He seemed lost in gloomy thought, and soon afterwards took his leave. On returning to his lodgings, he summoned his attendants, and ordered them to proceed to Kingston ; adding that he would join them there early the next morning. One of them, an old serving man, noticing the exceeding haggardness of his looks, endeavoured to persuade him to go with them ; but Wyat, with a harshness totally unlike his customary manner, which was gracious and kindly, in the extreme, peremptorily refused. " You look very ill, Sir Thomas," said the old servant; " worse than I ever remember seeing you. Listen to my counsel, I be- seech you. Plead ill health with the king in excuse of your mission to France, and retire, for some months, to recruit your strength and spirits at Allington." " Tush ! Adam Twisden — I am well enough," exclaimed Wyat, impatiently. " Go and prepare my mails." " My dear, dear master," cried old Adam, bending the knee before him, and pressing his hand to his lips ; " something tells me that if I leave you now, I shall never see you again. There is a paleness in your cheek, and a fire in your eye, such as I have never before observed in you, or in mortal man. I tremble to say it, but you look like one possessed by the fiend. Forgive ADAM TWISDEN's FEARS FOR ^iS MASTER. 87 my boldness, sir. I speak from aifcction and duty. I was serving-man to your father, good Sir Henry Wyat, before you, and I love you as a son, while I honour you as a master. I have heard that there are evil beings in the forest — nay, even within the castle— who lure men to perdition by promising to accomplish their wicked desires. I trust no such being has crossed your path." " Make yourself easy, good Adam," replied Wyat ; " no fiend has tempted me." " Swear it, sir," cried the old man, eagerly, — " swear it by the Holy Trinity!" " By the Holy Trinity, I swear it !'' replied Wyat. As the words were uttered, the door behind the arras was Suddenly shut with violence. " Curses on you, villain ! you have left the door open I" cried Wyat, fiercely. " Our conversation has been overheard." " I will soon see by whom," cried Adam, springing to his feet, and rushing towards the door, which opened upon a long corridor. " Well !" cried Wyat, as Adam returned the next moment, with cheeks almost as white as his own — " was it the car- dinal?" " It was the devil, I believe !" replied the old man. " I could see no one.'* " It would not require supernatural power to retreat into an adjoining chamber, fool !" replied Wyat, affecting an incredulity he was far from feeling. " Your worship's adjuration was strangely interrupted," cried the old man, crossing himself devoutly. " Saint Dunstan and Saint Christopher shield us from evil spirits !" " A truce to your idle terrors, Adam," said Wyat. " Take these packets," he added, giving him Henry's dispatches, " and guard them as you would your life. I am going on an ex- pedition of some peril to-night, and do not choose to keep them about me. Bid the grooms have my steed in readiness an hour before midnight." " I hope your worship is not about to ride into the forest at that hour?" said Adam, trembling. "I was told by the stout archer, whom the king dubbed Duke of Shoreditch, that he and the Duke of Richmond ventured thither last night ; and tliat they saw a legion of demons mounted on coal-black horses, and amongst them Mark Fytton, the butcher, who was hanged a few days ago from the Curfew Touer by the king's order, and whose body so strangely disappeared. Do not go into the forest, dear Sir Thomas !" " No more of this !" cried Wyat, fiercely. " Do as I bid you, and if I join you not before noon to-morrow, proceed to Rochester, and there await my cominjz;.'' WINDSOR CASTLE. " I never expect to sec you again, sir!" groaned the old man, as he took his leave. The anxious concern evinced in his behalf bj his old and trusty servant, was not without effect on Sir Thomas Wyat, and made him hesitate in his design ; but, by and by, another access of jealous rage came on, and overwhelmed all his better reso- lutions. He remained within his chamber to a % late hour, and then issu- ing forth, proceeded to the terrace at the north -' of the castle, where he was challenged by a sentinel, but was suf- fered to pass on, on giving the watch-word. OBOROE THE FOURTH 3 TOWER. FROM THE TERRACE The night was profoundly dark, and the whole of the glorious prospect commanded by the terrace shrouded from view. But Wyat's object in coming thither was to gaze, for the last time, at that part of the castle which inclosed Anne Boleyn, and knowing well the situation of her apartments, he fixed his eyes upon the windows ; but though numerous lights streamed from the adjoining corridor, all here was buried in obscurity. Suddenly, however, the chamber was illumined, and he be- held Henry and Anne Boleyn enter it, preceded by a band of attendants bearing tapers. It needed not Wyat's jealousy- sharpened gaze to read, even at that distance, the king's ena- moured looks, or Anne Boleyn's responsive glances. He saw that one of Henry's arms encircled her waist, while the other caressed her yielding hand. They paused. Henry bent for- ward, and Anne half averted her head, but not so much so as to prevent the king from imprinting a long and fervid kiss upon her lips. TUE DARK FIGURE ON THE TERRACE. 89 Terrible was its effect upon Wjat. An adder's bite would have been less painful. His hands convulsively clutched to- gether ; his hair stood erect upon his head ; a shiver ran through his frame ; and he tottered back several paces. When he re- covered, Henry had bidden good night to the object of his love, and having nearly gained the door, turned and waved a tender valediction to her. As soon as he was gone, Anne looked round with a smile of ineffable pride and pleasure at her attendants, but a cloud of curtains dropping over the window, shrouded her from the sight of her wretched lover. In a state of agjtation wholly indescribable, Wyat staggered towards the edge of the terrace, — it might be with the design of flinging himself from it, — but when within a few yards of the low parapet wall, defending its precipitous side, he perceived a tall dark figure standing directly in his path, and halted. Whether the object he beheld was human or not he could not determine, but it seemed of more than mortal statare. It was wrapped in a long black cloak, and wore a high conical cap on its head. Before Wyat could speak, the figure addressed him. " You desire to see Heme the hunter," said the figure, in a deep, sepulchral tone. " Ride hence to the haunted beech-tree near the marsh, at the further side of the forest, and you will find him." " You are Heme, — I feel it," cried Wyat. " Why go into the forest ? Speak now." And he stepped forward, with the intention of grasping the figure. But it eluded him, and, with a mocking laugh, melted into the darkness. Wyat advanced to the edge of the terrace, and looked ovei the parapet, but he could see nothing except the tops of the tall trees springing from the side of the moat. Flying to the sentinel, he inquired whether any one had passed him, but the man returned an angry denial. Awe-stricken and agitated, Wyat quitted the terrace, and seeking his steed, mounted him, and galloped into th^ forest. '• If he I have seen be not indeed the fiend, he will scarcely outstrip me in the race," he cried, as his steed bore him at a furious pace up the long avenue. The gloom was here profound, being increased by the dense masses of foliage beneath which he was riding. By the time, however, that he reached the summit of Snow Hill, the moon struggled through the clouds, and threw a wan glimmer over the leafy wilderness around. The deep slumber of the woods was unbroken by any sound save that of the frenzied rider bursting through them. Well acquainted with the forp«t, Wyat held on a direct course. 90 WINDSOR CASTLE. His brain was on fire, and the fury of his career increasec} his fearful excitement. Heedless of all impediments, he pressed forward — now dashing beneath overhanging boughs at the risk of his neck — now skirting the edge of a glen where a false ste}) might have proved fatal. On — on he went, his frenzy increasing each moment. At length, he reached the woody height overlooking the marshy tract that formed the limit of his ride. Once more, the moon had withdrawn her lustre, and a huge indistinct black mass alone pointed out the position of the haunted tree. Around it wheeled a large white owl, distinguishahle by its ghostly plumage through the gloom, like a sea-bird in a storm; and hooting bodingly as it winged its mystic flight. No other sound was heard, nor living object seen. While gazing into the dreary expanse beneath him, Wyat, for the first time since starting, experienced a sensation of doubt and dread ; and the warning of his old and faithful at- tendant rushed upon his mind. He tried to recite a prayer, but the words died away on his lips, — neither would his fingers fashion the symbol of the cross. But even these admonitions did not restrain him. Springing from his foaming and panting steed, and taking the bridle in his hand, he descended the side of the ac-clivity. Ever and anon, a rustling among the grass told him that a snake, with which description of reptile the spot abounded, was gliding away from him. His horse, which had hitherto been all fire and impetuosity, now began to manifest symptoms of alarm, quivered in every limb, snorted, and required to be dragged along forcibly. When within a few paces of the tree, its enormous rifted trunk became fully revealed to him. But no one was beside it. Wyat then stood still, and cried; in a loud, commanding tone — " Spirit, I summon thee ! — appear !" At these words, a sound like a peal of thunder rolled over- head, accompanied by screeches of discordant laughter. Other strange and unearthly noises were heard, and amidst the din, a blue, phosphoric light issued from the yawning crevice in the tree, while a tall, gaunt figure, crested with an antlered helm, sprang from it. At the same moment, a swarm of horribly- grotesque, swart objects, looking like imps, appeared amid the branches of the tree, and grinned and gesticulated at Wyat, whose courage remained unshaken during the fearful ordeal. Not so his steed. After rearing and plunging violently, the affrighted animal broke its hold, and darted off into the swamp, where it floundered, and was lost. " You have called me, Sir Thomas Wyat," said the demon, in a sepulchral tone ; " I am here. What would you ?" " My name being known to you, spirit of darkness, my errand should be also," replied Wyat, l)oldly. WYAT'S COMPACT WITH HERNE THE HUNTER. 91 *' Your errand is known to me," replied the demon. " You have lost a mistress, and would regain her ?" '•' I would give my soul to win her back from my kingly rival," cried Wyat. " I accept your offer," rejoined the spirit. " Anne Boieyn shall be yours. Your hand upon the compact." Wyat stretched forth his hand, and grasped that of the demon. His hngers were compressed as if by a vice, and he felt himself dragged towards the tree, while a stifling and sulphureous vapour rose around him. A black veil fell over his head, and was rapidly twined around his brow, in thick folds. Amid yells of fiendish laughter, he was then lifted from the ground, thrust into the hollow of the tree, and thence, as it seemed to him, conveyed into a deep subterranean cave. 11. IN WHAT MANNER WOLSEY PUT HIS SCHEME IN OPERATION. Foiled in his scheme of making Wyat the instrument of Anne Boleyn's overthrow, Wolsey determined to put into immediate operation the plan he had conceived of bringing forward a rival to her with the king. If a choice had been allowed him, he would have selected some high-born dame for the purpose ; but as this was out of the question — and as, indeed, Henry had of late proved insensible to the attractions of all the beauties that crowded his court except Anne Boieyn — he trusted to the forester's fair grand-daughter to accomplish his object. The source whence he had received intellio;ence of the kind's admiration of Mabel Lyndwood, was his jester. Patch, — a shrewd varlet who, under the mask of folly, picked up many an im- portant secret for his master, and was proportionately rewarded. Before executing the scheme, it was necessary to ascertain whether the damsel's beauty was as extraordinary as it had been represented ; and with this view, Wolsey mounted his mule one morning, and, accompanied by Patch and another attendant, rode towards the forest. It was a bright and beautiful morning, and preoccupied as he was, the plotting cardinal could not be wholly insensible to the loveliness of the scene around him. Crossinor»S HISTORY. 95 attire could leave her in no doubt as to his high ecclesiastical dignity, she spranj? ashore at the landing-place, and fastened her bark to the side of the boat-house. " You are Mabel Lyndwood, I presume, fair maiden ?" inquired the cardinal, in his blandest tones. '' Such is my name, your grace," she replied ; " for your garb tells me I am addressing Cardinal Wolsey." The cardinal graciously incUned his head. " Chancing to ride in this part of the forest," he said, " and iiaving heard of your beauty, I came to see whether the reality equalled the description, and I find it far transcends it." Mabel blushed deeply, and cast down her eyes. ** Would that Henry could see her now!" thought the cardinal, ** Anne Boleyn's reign were nigh an end. How long have you dwelt in this cottage, fair maid ?" he added, aloud. '•' My grandsire, Tristram Lyndwood, has lived here fifty years and more," replied Mabel ; " but I have only been its inmate within these few weeks. Before that time, I lived at Chertsey, under the care of one of the lay sisters of the monastery there — sister Anastasia." " And your parents — where are they?" asked the cardinal, curiously. " Alas I your grace, I have none," replied Mabel, with a sigh. " Tristram Lyndwood is my only living relative He used to come over once a month to see me at Chertsey — and latterly, finding his dwelling lonely, for he lost the old dame who tended it for him, he brought me to dwell with him. Sister Anastasia was loath to part with me — and I was grieved to leave her — but I could not refuse my grandsire." " Of a surety not," replied the cardinal, musingly, and gazing hard at her. " And you know nothing of your parents ?" " Little, beyond this," replied Mabel: — " My father was a keeper of the forest, and being unhappily gored by a stag, perished of the wound — for a hurt from a hart's horn, as your grace knows, is certain death — and my mother pined after him, and speedily followed him to the grave. I was then placed by my grandsire with Sister Anastasia, as I have just related — and this is all my history." " A simple, yet a curious one," said Wolsey, still musing. 'You are the fairest maid of low degree I ever beheld. You saw the king at the chase the other day, Mabel ?" " Truly, did I, your grace," she replied, her eyes brightening, and her colour rising — " and a right noble king he is." " And as gentle and winning as he is goodly to look upcii, ' said Wolsey, smiling. " Report says otherwise," rejoined Mabel. " Report speaks falsely," cried Wolsey ; " I know him well — and he is what I describe him." " I am glad to hear it," repliet' Mabel " and I must own I 96 WlNDSOh CASILE. formed the same opinion myself — for the smile he threw upon me was one of the sweetest and kindliest I ever be- held." " Since you confess so much, fair maiden," rejoined Wolsey, " T will be equally frank, and tell you it was from the king's own lips I heard of your beauty." " Your grace !" she exclaimed. " Well, well," said Wolsey, smiling ; " if the king is bewitched, I cannot marvel at it. And now, good day, fair maiden. You will hear more of me." " Your grace will not refuse me your blessing ?" said Mabel. " Assuredly not, my child," replied Wolsey, spreading his hands over her. " All good angels and saints bless you, and hold you in their keeping. Mark my words — a great destiny awaits you. But in all changes, rest assured you will find a friend in Cardinal Wolsey." " Your grace overwhelms me with kindness," cried Mabel • " nor can 1 conceive how I have found an interest in youi eyes — unless sister Anastasia, or father An selm, of Chertsey Abbey, may have mentioned me to you." " You have found a more potent advocate with me than either sister Anastasia or father Anselm," replied Wolsey ; " and now, farewell." And turning the head of his mule, he rode slowly away. On the same day, there was a grand banquet in the castle, and, as usua^, Wolsey took his station on the right of the sove- reign, while the papal legate occupied a place on the left. Watching a favourable opportunity, Wolsey observed to Henry, that he had been riding that morning in the forest, and had seen the loveliest damsel that eyes ever fell upon. " Ah ! by our Lady ! and who may she be ?" asked the king, curiously. " She can boast little in regard to birth, being grandchild to an old forester," replied Wolsey. " But your majesty saw her at the hunting-party the other day." " Ah, now I bethink me of her," said Henry. " A comely damsel, in good sooth." " I know not where her match is to be found," cried the car- dinal. '* Would your majesty had seen her skim over the lake in a fairy boat managed by herself, as I beheld her this morning. You would have taken her for a water-sprite, except that no water-sprite was half so beautiful." " You speak in raptures, cardinal," cried Henry. *' I must see this damsel again. Where does she dwell ? I have heard, — but it has slipped my memory." *' In a hut near the great lake," replied Wolsey. " There is some mystery attached to her birth, which I have not yet fathomed." '* Leave rae to unriddle it." replied the king, laughingly. TRISTRAM CAUTIONS HIS GRAND-DAUGHTER. 97 And he turned to talk on other subjects to Campeggio, but Wolsey felt satisfied that the device was successful. Nor was he mistaken. As Henry retired from the banquet, he motioned the Duke of Suffolk towards him, and said, in an under-tone — " I shall go forth at dusk to-morrow even, in disguise, and shall require your attendance." " On a love affair?" asked the duke, in the same tone. " Perchance," replied Henry ; " but I will explain myself more fully anon." This muttered colloquy was overheard by Patch, and faith- fully reported by him to the cardinal. m. OF THE VISIT OF THE TWO GUILDFORD MERCHANTS TO THE FORESTER'S HUT. Tristram Lyndwood did not return home till late in the evening; and when informed of the cardinal's visit, he shook his head gravely. " I am sor^ we went to the hunting-party," he observed. " Valentine Hagthome said mischief would come of it, and I wish I had attended to his advice." " I see no mischief in the matter, grandsire," cried Mabel. " On the contrary, I think I have met with excellent fortune. The good cardinal promises me a high destiny, and says the king himself noticed me." " Would his regards had fallen anywhere else than on you, child," rejoined Tristram. " But I warrant me, you told the cardinal your history — all you know of it, at least." " I did so," she repUed — " nor did I know I was doing any harm." " Answer no such inquiries in future," said Tristram, angrily. " But, grandfather, I could not refuse to answer the cardinal," she replied, in a deprecating voice. '' No more excuses, but attend to my injunctions," said Tristram. " Have you seen Morgan Fenwolf to-day ?" " No ; and I care not if I never see him again," she replied, pettishly. " You dislike him strangely, Mab," rejoined her grandfather , — " he is the best keeper in the forest, and makes no secret of his love for you." " The very reason why I dislike him," she returned. " By the same rule, if what the cardinal stated be true, — though, trust me, he was but jesting, — you ought to dislike the king. But get me my supper. I have need of it, for I have fasted long." Mabel hastened to obey, and set a mess of hot pottage and other viands before him. Little more conversation passed between them, for the old man was weary, and sought his couch early. That night, Mabel did nothing but dream of the king — of 98 WINDSOR CASTLE. Stately chambers, rich apparel, and countless attendants. She awoke, and finding herself in a lowly cottage, and without a single attendant, was, like other dreamers of imaginary splen- dour, greatly discontented. The next morning, her grandsire went again to Bray Wood, and she was left to muse upon the event of the previous day. While busied about some trifling occupations, the door sud- denly opened, and Morgan Fen wolf entered the cottage. He was followed by a tall man, with a countenance of extreme paleness, but a noble and commanding figure. There was something so striking in the appearance of the latter person, that it riveted the attention of Mabel. But no corresponding effect was pro- duced on the stranger, for he scarcely bestowed a look upon her. Morgan Fenwoli hastily asked whether her grandsire was at home, or near at hand, and being answered in the negative, ap- peared much disappointed. He then said that he must borrow the skiffs for a short while, as he wished to visit some nets on the lake. Mabel readily assented, and the stranger quitted the house, while Fenwolf lingered to offer some attention to Mabel, which was so ill received that he was fain to hurry forth to the boat-house, where he embarked with his companion. As soon as the plash of oars announced their departure, Mabel went forth to watch them. The stranger, who was seated in the stern of the boat, for the first time, fixed his large melancholy eyes full upon her, and did not withdraw his gaze till an angle of the lake hid him from view. Marvelling who he could be, and reproaching herself for not questioning Fenwolf on the subject, Mabel resolved to repair the error when the skiff" was brought back. But the opportunity did not speedily occur. Hours flew by ; the shades of evening drew on ; but neither Fenwolf nor the stranger returned. Soon after dusk, her grandfather came home. He did not ex press the least astonishment at Fenwolf 's prolonged absence, but said he was sure to be back in the course of the evening, and the skiff" was not wanted. " He will bring us a fine jack, or a carp for dmner to- morrow, I'll warrant me," he said. " If he had returned in time, we might have had fish for supper. No matter. I must make shift with the mutton pie and a rasher of bacon. Morgan did not mention the name of his companion, you say ?" " He did not," replied Mabel ; " but I hope he will bring him with him. He is the goodliest gentleman I ever beheld." " What ! a goodlier gentleman than the king ?" cried Tristram. " Nay, they should not be compared," replied Mabel : " the one is stout and burly; the other, slight, long-visaged, and pale, but handsome withal, — very handsome." " Well, I dare say I shall see him anon," said Tristi'ara ; '' and now for supper, for I am as sharp-set as a wolf; — and so is old Hubert," he added, glancing affectionately at the hound b / which he was attended. THE BELATED TRAVELLERS. 99 Mabel placed the better part of a huge pie before him, which ) the old forester attacked with great zeal. He then fell to work upon some slices of bacon toasted over the embers, by his grand- daughter, and having washed them down with a jug of mead, declared he had supped famously. While taking care of him- self, he did not forget his hound. From time to time, he threw him morsels of the pie, and when he had done, he gave him a large platter-full of bones. " Old Hubert has served me faithfully nigh twenty years," he said, patting the hound's shaggy neck, "and must not be neglected." Throwing a log of wood on the fire, he drew his chair into the ingle nook, and disposed himself to slumber. Meanwhile, Mabel busied herself about her household concerns, and was singing a lulling melody to her grandfather, in a voice of exquisite sweet- ness, 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 Mor- gan Fenwolf," he added. " He would never knock thus. Come in, friend, whoever thou art." At this invitation, two persons darkened the doorway. Tlie foremost was a man of bulky frame, and burly demeanour. He was attired in a buff jerkin, over which he wore a loose brown surcoat ; had a flat velvet cap on his head ; and carried a stout staff in his hand. His face was broad and handsome, though his features could scarcely be discerned in the doubtful light to which they were submitted. A reddish-coloured beard clothed his chin. His companion, who appeared a trifle the taller of the two, and equally robust, was wrapped in a cloak of dark green camlet. " Give you good e'en, friend," said the foremost stranger to the forester. " We are belated travellers, on our way from Guildford to Windsor, and, seeing your cottage, have called to obtain some refreshment before w^e cross the great park. We do not ask you to bestow a meal upon us, but will gladly pay for the best your larder affords." " You shall have it, and welcome, my masters," replied Tris- tram ; " but I am afraid my humble fare will scarcely suit you." " Fear nothing," replied the other; " we have good appetites, and are not over dainty. Beshrew me, friend," he added, re- garding Mabel, " you have a comely daughter." " She is my grand-daughter, sir," replied Tristram. *' Well, your grand-daughter, then," said the other ; " by the mass, a lovely wench. W^e have none such in Guildford, and I doubt if the king hath such in Windsor Castle. What say you, Charles Brandon?" " It were treason to agree with you, Harry Le Roy," replied Brandon, laughing ; " for they say the king visits with the hal- ter all those who disparage the charms of the lady Anne Boleyn, But r iparisons apart, this damsel is very fair." H 2 100 WINDSOR CASTLE. " You will discompose her, my masters, if you praise her thus to her face," said Tristram, somewhat testily. " Here, ^lab, Diing forth all my scanty larder affords, and put some rashers oip oacon on the fire." " Cold meat and bread will suffice for us," said Harry ; " we will not trouble the damsel to play the cook." With this, Mabel, who appeared a good deal embarrassed by the presence of the strangers, spread a cloth of snow-white linen on the little table, and placed the remains of the pie and a large oven cake before them. The new comers sate down, and ate heartily of the humble viands, — he who had answered to the name of Harry frequently stopping, in the course of his repast, to compliment his fair attendant. " By our Lady, I have never been so waited on before," he added, rising, and removing his stool towards the fire, while his companion took up a position, with his back against the wall, near the fire-place. " And now, my pretty Mabel, have you never a cup of ale to wash down the pie ?" *^ I can offer you a draught of right good mead, master," said Tristram ; " and that is the only liquor my cottage can furnish." " Nothing can be better," replied Harry. " The mead, by all means." While Mabel went to draw the liquor, Tristram fixed his eyes on Harry, whose features were now fully revealed by the light of the fire. " Why do you look at me so hard, friend ?" demanded Harry blu%. " I have seen some one very like you, master," replied Tris- tram ; " and one whom it is no light honour to resemble." *' You mean the king," returned Harry, laughing. " You are not the first person who has thought me like him." " Youarevainof the likeness, I see, master," replied Tristram, joining in the laugh. " How say you, Mab?" he added to his grand- daughter, who at that moment returned with a jug and a couple of drinking-horns. " Whom does this gentleman resemble ?" " No one," returned Mabel, without raising her eyes. " No one !" echoed Harry, chucking her under the chin. *' Look me full in the face, and you will find out your mistake. Marry, if I were the royal Henry, instead of what I am, a plain Guildford merchant, I should prefer you to Anne Boleyn." " Is that said in good sooth, sir ?" asked Mabel, slightly raising her eyes, and instantly dropping them before the ardent gaze of the self-styled merchant. '' In good sooth and sober truth," replied Harry, rounding hm arm, and placing his hand on his lusty thigh, in true royal fashion. " Were you the royal Henry, I should not care for your pre- ference," said Mabel, more confidently. " My grandsire says the king changes his love as often as the moon changes — nay, oftener.* " God*s death ! — your grandsire is a false knave to say so ! cried Harry. (Ul)r -015U tn ciTL^tnuii I'liiuMiimriYiT aiUa^e MORGi^N FENWOLF ENTERS THE HUT 101 •* Heaven help us ! you swear the king's oaths," said Mabel. " And wherefore not, sweetheart ?" said Harry, checking him- «elf. " It is enough to make one swear, and in royal fashion, toe, to hear one's liege lord unjustly accused. I have ever heard the king styled a mirror of constancy. How say you, Charles Brandon? — can you not give him a good character?" " Oh ! an excellent character," said Brandon. " He is con- stancy itself — while the fit lasts," he added, aside. " You hear what my friend says, sweetheart," observed Harry , *' and I assure you he has the best opportunities of judging. But I'll be sworn you did not believe your grandsire when he thus maligned the king." " She contradicted me flatly," said Tristram ; " but pour out the mead, girl. Our guests are waiting for it." While Mabel, in compliance with her grandsire's directions, filled the horn, the door of the cottage was noiselessly opened by Morgan Fenwolf, who stepped in, followed by Bawsey. He stared inquisitively at the strangers, but both were so ^-jch oc- cupied by the damsel that he remained unnoticed. A sign from the old forester told him he had better retire. Jealous curiosity, however, detained him ; and he tarried till Harry aac received the cup from Mabel, and drained it to her health. He then drew back, closed the door softly, and joined a dark and mys- terious figure, with hideous lineaments and an antlered helm upon its brows, lurking outside the cottage. Meanwhile, a cup of mead having been offered to Brandon, he observed to his companion, " We must now be setting forth on our journey. Night is advancing, and we have five long miles to traverse across the Great Park." " I would stay where I am," rejoined Harry, " and make a bench near the fire serve me in lieu of a couch, but that business requires our presence at the castle to-night There is payment for our meal, friend," he added, giving a mark to Tristram, " and as we shall probably return to-morrow night, we will call and have another supper with you. Provide us a capon, and some fish from the lake." " You pay as you swear, good sir, royally," replied Tristram. " You shall have a better supper to-morrow night." " You have a dangerous journey before you, sir," said MabeL ** They say there are plunderers and evil spirits in the Great ** I have no fear of any such, sweetheart," replied Harry ; " I have a strong arm to defend myself, and so has my friend Charles Brandon. And as to evil spirits, a kiss from you will shield me fi-om all ill." And as he spoke, he drew her towards him, and, clasping her in his arms, imprinted a score of rapid kisses on her lips. " Hold ! hold, master !" cried Tristram, rising angrily ; ** this may not be. 'Tis an arrant abuse of hospitality.'* " Nay, be not offended, good friend," repliecl Harry, laughma:. 102 WINDSOR CASTLE. ••I am on the look-out for a wife, and I know not but I may take your grand-daughter with me to Guildford." " She is not to be so lightly won," cried Tristram, " for though I am but a poor forester, I rate her as highly as the haughtiest noble can rate his child." " And with reason," said Harry. " Good night, sweetheart !" •' By my crown ! Suffolk," he exclaimed to his companion, as he quitted the cottage, " she is an angel, and shall be mine." " Not if my arm serves me truly," muttered Fenwolf, who, with his mysterious companion, had stationed himself at the window of the hut. " Do him no injury," returned the other ; " he is only to be made captive — mark that. And now to apprise Sir Thomas Wyat. We must intercept them before they reach their horses." THB NORMAN TOWKR, FKOM THK MiDULE WARD IV. HOW HERNE THE HUNTER SHEWED THE EARL OF SURREY THE FAIR GERALDINE IN A VISION. On the third day after Surrey's imprisonment in the keep, he was removed to the Norman Tower. The chamber allotted him was square, tolerably lofty, and had two narrow pointed win- .^lERNE THE HUNTER APPEARS TO SURREY. 103 dows, on either side, looking on the one hand into the upper quadrangle, and on the other into the middle ward. At the same time, permission was accorded him to take exercise on the battlements of the Round Tower, or within the dry and grassy moat at its foot. PART OF TH» BOUND TOW»R FROM THK MOAT. The fair Geraldine, he was informed, had been sent to the royal palace at Greenwich ; but her absence occasioned him little dis- quietude, because he knew, if she had remained at Windsor, he would not have been allowed to see her. On the same day that Surrey was removed to the Norman Tower, the Duke of Richmond quitted the castle without as- signing any motive for his departure, or even taking leave of his friend. At first, some jealous mistrust that he might be gone to renew his suit to the fair Geraldine troubled the earl; but he strongly combated the feeling, as calculated, if indulged, to de- stroy his tranquillity, and by fixing his thoughts sedulously on other subjects, he speedily succeeded in overcoming it. On that night, while occupied in a translation of the ^neid, which he had commenced, he remained at his task to a late hour. The midnight bell had tolled, when, looking up, he was starded 104 WINDSOR CASTLE. by perceiving a tall dark figure standing silent and motionless beside him. Independently of the difficulty of accounting for its pre- sence the appearance of the figure was, in itself, sufficiently appalling. It was above the ordinary stature, and was enveloped in a long black cloak, while a tall, conical black cap, which added to its height, and increased the hideousness of its features, covered its head. For a few minutes, Surrey remained gazing at the figure in mute astonishment, during which it maintained the same mo- tionless posture. At length, he was able to murmur forth the interrogation — " Who art thou ?" " A friend," replied the figure, in a sepulchral tone. " Are you man or spirit ?" demanded Surrey. '' It matters not, — I am a friend," rejoined the figure. '^ On what errand come you here *?" asked Surrey. " To serve you," replied the figure ; — " to liberate you. You shall go hence with me if you choose." " On what condition ?" rejoined Surrey. '* We will speak of that when we are out of the castle, and m the green sod of the forest," returned the figure. " You tempt in vain," cried Surrey. " I will not go with you. I recognise in you the demon hunter Heme." The figure laughed hollowly — so hollowly, that Surrey's flesh crept upon his bones. " You are right, lord of Surrey," he said ; " I am Heme the hunter. You must join me. Sir Thomas Wyat is already one of my band." " You lie, false fiend I" rejoined Surrey. " Sir Thomas Wyat is in France." " It is you who lie, lord of Surrey," replied Heme ; " Sir Thomas Wyat is now in the Great Park. You shall see him in a few minutes, if you will come with me." " I disbelieve you, tempter !" cried Surrey, indignantly. *' Wyat is too good a Christian, and too worthy a knight to league with a demon." Again Heme laughed bitterly. " Sir Thomas Wyat told you he would seek me out," said the demon. " He did so, and gave himself to me for Anne Boleyn." " But you have no power over her, demon ?'' cried Surrey, shuddering. ** You will learn whether I have or not, in due time," replied Heme. " Do you refuse to go with me ?" " I refuse to deliver myself to perdition," rejoined the earl. " An idle fear," rejoined Heme. " I care not for your soul — you will destroy it without my aid. I have need of you. You shall be back again in this chamber before the officer visits it in the morning, and no one shall be aware of your absence. Come, or I will bear you hence." ^bi" Htslan iif .tl)A' 3liatr (Bn'ai&xne THE VISION OF THE FAIR GERALDINE. 105 " You dare not touch me," replied Surrey, placing his hand upon his breast ; " I am armed with a holy relic." " I know it," said Heme ; " and I feel its power, or I would not have trifled with you thus long. But it cannot shield you from a rival. You believe the fair Geraldine constant — ha ?" " I know her to be so," said Surrey. A derisive laugh broke from Heme. " Peace, mocking fiend I" cried Surrey, furiously. " I laugh to think how you are deceived," said Heme. ** Would you behold your mistress now ? — would you see how she conducts herself during your absence ?" " If you choose to try me, I will not oppose the attempt ;" replied Surrey, " but it will be futile." " Remove the relic from your person," rejoined Heme. "Place it upon the table, within your grasp, and you shall see her." Surrey hesitated ; but he was not proof against the low mock- ing laugh of the demon. " No harm can result from it," he cried, at length, detaching the relic from his neck, and laying it on the table. " Extinguish the light !" cried Heme, in a commanding voice. Surrey instantly sprang to his feet, and dashed the lamp off the table. " Behold !" cried the demon. And instantly a vision, representing the form and lineaments of the fair Geraldine to the life, shone forth against the opposite wall of the chamber. At the feet of the visionary damsel kneit a shape resembling the Duke of Richmond. He was pressing the hand extended to him by the fair Geraldine to his lips, and a smile of triumph irradiated his features. " Such is man's friendship — such woman's constancy I" cried Heme. ** Are you now satisfied?' " I am, that you have deceived me, false spirit T cried the earl. *' I would not believe the fair Geraldine inconstant, though all hell told me so." A terrible laugh broke from the demon, and the vision faded away. All became perfect darkness, and for a few moments, the earl remained silent He then called to the demon, but receiving no answer, put forth his hand towards the spot where he had stood. He was gone. Confounded, Surrey returned to the table, and searched for the relic, but, with a feeling of indescribable anguish and self- reproach, found that it had likewise disappeared. 106 WINDSOR CASTLE. WHAT BEFEL SIR THOMAS WYAT IN THE SAND -STONE CAVE.— AND HOW HB DRANK A MADDENING POTION. The cave in which Sir Thomas Wyat found himself^ on the re- moval of the bandage from his eyes, was apparently — for it was only lighted by a single torch, — of considerable width and ex- tent, and hewn out of a bed of soft sand-stone. The roof, which might be about ten feet high, was supported by the trunks of three large trees, rudely fashioned into pillars. There were several narrow lateral passages within it, apparently com- municating with other caverns ; and at the further end, which was almost buried in obscurity, there was a gleam seemingly occasioned by the reflection of the torchlight upon water. On the right hand, stood a pile of huge stones, disposed somewhat in the form of a Druidical altar, on the top of which, as on a throne, sat the demon hunter, surrounded by his satellites — one of whom, horned and bearded like a satyr, had clambered the roughened sides of the central pillar, and held a torch over the captive's head. Half-stifled by the noxious vapour he had inhaled, and blinaea by the tightness of the bandage, it was some time before Wyat fully recovered his powers of sight and utterance. " Why am I brought hither, false fiend ?" he demanded, at length. " To join my band," replied the demon, harshly and imperi- ously. " Never!" rejoined Wyat. "I will have nought to do witJi you except as regards our compact." " What I require from you is part of our compact," rejoined the demon. " He who has once closed hands with Heme the hunter cannot retreat. But I mean you fairly, and will not delude you with false expectations. What you seek cannot be accomplished on the instant. Ere three days, Anne Boleyn shall be yours." " Give me some proof that you are not deceiving me, spirit," said Wyat. " Come, then !" replied Heme. So saying, he sprang from the stone, and, taking Wyat's hand, led him towards the lowe. end of the cave, which gradually declined till it reached the edge of a small, but apparently deep pool of water, the level of which rose above the rock that formed its boundary. " Remove the torch !" thundered the demon to those behind. " Now summon your false love. Sir Thomas Wyat," he added, as his orders were obeyed, and the lia;ht was taken into one of the side passages, so that its gleam no longer fell upon the water. " Appear, Anne Boleyn !" cried Wyat. Upon this, a shadowy resemblance of her he had invoked THE MOUNTING OF THE DEMON TROOP. 107 flitted over the surface of the water, with hands outstretched towards him. So moved was Wyat by the vision, that he would have flung himself into the pool to grasp it, if he had not been forcibly detained by the demon. During the struggle, the figure vanished, and all was buried in darkness. " I have said she shall be yours," cried Heme ; *' but time is requirea for the accomplishment of my purpose. I have only power over her when evil is predominant in her heart. But such moments are not unfrequent," he added, with a bitter laugh. " And now to the chase. 1 promise you it will be a wilder and more exciting ride than you ever enjoyed in the king's company. To the chase ! — to the chase, I say !" Sounding a call upon his horn, the light instantly re-ap- peared. All was stir and confusion amid the impish troop — and presently afterwards, a number of coal-black horses, and hounds of the same hue, leashed in couples, were brought out of one of the side passages. Among the latter were two large sable hounds of Saint Hubert's breed, whom Heme summoned to his side by the names of Saturn and Dragon. A slight noise, as of a blow dealt against a tree, was now heard overhead, and Heme, imposing silence on the group by a hasty gesture, assumed an attitude of fixed attention. The stroke was repeated a second time. " It is our brother, Morgan Fenwolf," cried the demon. 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. Heme re-appeared at the upper end of the rave. He was accompanied by Fenwolf, between whom and Wyat a slight glance of recognition passed. The order being given by the demon to mount, Wyat, after an instant's hesitation, seized the flowing mane of the horse nearest him — for it was furnished neither with saddle nor bridle — and vaulted upon its back. At the same moment. Heme uttered a wild cry, and plunging into the pool, sunk within it Wyat's steed followed, and swam swiftly forward beneath the water. When Wyat rose to the surface, he found himself in the open lake, which was gleaming in the moonlight. Before him he beheld Heme clambering the bank, accompanied by his two favourite hounds, while a large white owl wheeled round his head, hooting loudly. Behind came the grisly cavalcade, with their hounds, swimming from beneath a bank covered by thick, overhanging trees, which completely screened the secret entrance to the cave. Having no control over his steed, Wyat was obliged to surrender himself to its guidance, and was soon placed by the side of the demon hunter. " Pledge me. Sir Thomas Wyat," said Heme, unsUnging 108 WINDSOR CASTLE. a gourd-shaped flask from his girdle, and offering it to him, " 'Tis a rare wine, and will prevent you from suffering from your bath, as well as give you spirits for the chase." Chilled to the bone by the immersion he had undergone, Wyat did not refuse the oner, but placing the flask to his lips, took a deep draught from it. The demon uttered a low, bitter laugh, as he received back the flask, and he slung it to his girdle without tasting it. The effect of the potion upon Wyat was extraordinary. The whole scene seemed to dance around him ; — the impish figures in the lake, or upon its bank, assumed forms yet more fantastic ; the horses looked like monsters of the deep ; the hounds like wolves and ferocious beasts ; the branches of the trees writhed and shot forward like hissing serpents ; — and though this effect speedily passed off, it left behind it a wild and maddening feeling of excitement. " A noble hart is lying in yon glen,'* said Morgan Fenwolf, advancing towards his leader ; " I tracked his slot thither this evening." " Haste, and unharbour him," replied Heme, " and as soon as you rouse him, give the halloa." Fenwolf obeyed ; and, shortly afterwards, a cry was heard from the glen. " List halloa I list halloa !" cried Heme, " that's he I that's he ! hyke, Satuml hyke. Dragon! — Away I — away, my merry men 110 WINDSOR CASTLE. the troop descried the hart, flying swiftly along a sweeping glade, at some two hundred yards distance. The glade was passed — a woody knoll skirted — a valley traversed — and the hart plunged into a thick grove clothing the side of Hawk's Hill. But it offered him no secure retreat. Dragon and Saturn were close upon him, and behind them came Heme, crashing through the branches of the trees, and heedless of all impedi- ments, By-and-bye, the thicket became more open, and they entered Cranbourne Chase. But the hart soon quitted it to return to the Great Park, and darted down a declivity skirted by a line of noble oaks. Here he was so hotly pressed by his fierce oppo- nents, whose fangs he could almost feel within his haunches, that he suddenly stopped, and stood at bay, receiving the foremost of his assailants, Saturn, on the points of his horns. But his de fence, though gallant, was unavailing. In another instant. Heme came up, and dismounting, called off^ Dragon, who w^as about to take the place of his wounded companion. Drawing a knife from his girdle, the hunter threw himself on the ground, and advancing on all fours, towards the hart, could scarcely be distinguished himself from some denizen of the forest. As he approached, the hart snorted and bellowed fiercely, and dashed its horns against him ; but the blow was received by the hunter upon his own antlered helm, and at the same moment, his knife was thrust to the hilt into the stag's throat, and it fell to the ground. Springing to his feet. Heme w^hooped joyfully, placed his bugle to his lips, and blew the dead mot. He then shouted to Fen wolf to call away and couple the hounds, and striking ofi^ the deer's right fore foot with his knife, presented it to Wyat. Seve- ral large leafy branches being gathered and laid upon the ground, the hart was placed upon them, and Heme commenced breaking him up, as the process of dismembering the deer is termed in the language of woodcraft. His first step was to cut off the animal's head, which he performed by a single blow with his heavy trenchant knife. " Give the hounds the flesh," he said, delivering the trophy to Fenwolf ; " but keep the antlers, for it is a great deer of head." Placing the head on a hunting-pole, Fenwolf withdrew to an open space among the trees, and halloing to the others, they immediately cast off the hounds, who rushed towards him, leap- ing and baying at the stag's head, which he alternately raised and lowered, until they were sufficiently excited, when he threw it on the ground before them. While this was going forward, the rest of the band were occu- pied in various ways, — some striking a light with flint and steel — some gathering together sticks and dried leaves to form a fire — others producing various strange-shaped cooking utensils — while others were assisting their leader in his butcherly task, which he executed with infinite skill and expedition. THE CHASE OF THE SECOND HART. I 1 1 As soon as the fire was kindled, Heme distributed certain por- tions of the venison among his followers, which were instantly thrown upon the embers to broil; while a few choice n/orsels were stewed in a pan with wine, and subsequently ofifered to the leader and Wyat. This hasty repast concluded, the demon ordered the fire to be extinguished, and the quarters of the deer to be carried to the cave. He then mounted his steed, and attended by Wyat and the rest of his troop, except those engaged in executing his orders, galloped towards Snow Hill, where he speedily succeeded in unharbouring another noble hart. Away then went the whole party — stag, hounds, huntsmen, sweeping, like a dark cloud, down the hill, and crossing the wide moonlit glade, studded with noble trees, on the west of the great avenue. For awhile, the hart held a course parallel with the avenue ; he then dashed across it, threaded the intricate woods on the opposite side, tracked a long glen, and leaping the pales, entered the Home Park. It almost seemed as if hn designed to seek shelter within the castle, for he made straight towards it, and was only diverted by Heme himself, who, shooting past him with incredible swiftness, turned him towards the lower part of the park. Here the chase continued with unabated ardour, until, reaching the banks of the Thames, the hart plunged into it, and suffered himself to be carried noiselessly down the current. But Heme followed him along the banks, and when sufficiently near, dashed into the stream, and drove him again ashore. Once more they flew across the Home Park — once more they leaped its pales — once more they entered the Great Park — ^but this time, the stag took the direction of Englefield Green. He was not, however, allowed to break forth into the open country ; but driven again into the thick woods, he held on with wondrous speed, till the lake appeared in view. In another instant, he was swimming across it. Before the eddies occasioned by the affrighted animal's plunge had described a wide ring. Heme had quitted his steed, and was cleaving with rapid strokes, the waters of the lake. Finding escape impossible, the hart turned to meet him, and sought to strike him with his horns — but as in the case of his ill-fated brother of the wood, the blow was warded by the antlered helm of the swimmer. The next moment, the clear water was dyed with blood, and Heme, catching the gasping animal by the head, guided his body to shore. Again the process of breaking up the stag was gone through ; and when Heme 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. 112 WINDSOR CASTLE. VIL lli»W WYAT BEHELD MABEL LYNDWOOD ; — AND HOW HE WAS ROWED BY MORGAN FENWOLF UPON THE LAKE. When perfect consciousness returned to him, Wyat found him- self lying upon a pallet in what he at 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, how- ever, 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. " oo 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 ; — Heme will be as good as his word," said Fen- wolf; " 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, Fenw^olf 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 de- tected. 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 ; THE ROW UPON THE LAKE. 113 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 renwolf. " She is called Mabel Lyndwood, and is an old forester's grand-daughter," repUed the other, somewhat gruffly. " And do you seek her love ?" asked Wyat. " Ay, and wherefore not?" asked Fenwolf, with a look of dis- pleasure. " Nay, I know not, friend," rejoined Wyat. " She is a comely damsel." " What ! — comelier than the Lady Anne ?" demanded Fen- wolf, spitefully. " I said not so," replied Wyat 5 " 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 love- liness. 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 emotions become, that he pressed his hands upon his eyes to shut out the lovely prospect. When he looked up 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 rest of the lake was fair and smiling. It was closed in by a high overhanging bank, crested by two tall trees, whose tangled roots protruded through it, like monstrous reptiles, while their branches cast a heavy shade over the deep, sluggish water. " Why have you come here ?" demanded Wyat, looking uneasily round the forbidding spot. " You will discover anon," rephed Fenwolf, moodily. " Go back into the sunshine, and take me to some pleasant bank, — I will not land here," said Wyat, sternly. " Needs must when — I need not remind you of the pro verb," rejoined Fenwolf, with a sneer. " Give me the oars, thou malapert knave !" cried Wyat, fiercely; " and I will put myself ashore." " Keep quiet," said Fenwolf; "you must, perforce, abide our master's coming." Wyat gazed at the keeper for a moment, as if with the inten- tion of throwing him overboard; but abandoning the idea, he rose up in the boat, and caught at what he took to be a root of the tree above. To his surprise and alarm, it closed upon him with an iron grasp, and he felt himself dragged upwards, while the skiff, impelled by a sudden stroke from Morgan Fenwolf, shot from beneath him. All Wyat's efforts to disengage himsei* 114 WIJiDSOR CASTLE. were vain, and a wild, demoniacal laugh, echoed by a chorus of voices, proclaimed him in the power of Heme the hunter. The next moment, he was set on the top of the bank, while the demon greeted him with a mocking laugh. " So, you thought to escape me. Sir Thomas Wyat !" he cried in a taunting tone — " but any such attempt will prove fruitless. The murderer may repent the blow when dealt ; the thief may desire to restore the gold he has purloined ; the barterer of his soul may rue his bargain; — but they are Satan's, neverthe- less. 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 Heme, scornfully. " Your wish will be speedily accomplished. This very night your kingly rival shall be placed in your hands." " Ha !" exclaimed Wyat, the flame of jealousy again rising within his breast. " You can make your own terms with him for the Lady Anne," pursued Heme. " His life will be at your disposal." " Do you promise this ?" cried Wyat. " Ay," replied Heme. " Put yourself under the conduct of Fenwolf, and all shall happen as you desire. We shall meet again at night. I have other business on hand now. Meschines," he added, to one of his attendants, " go with Sir Thomas to the skiff." The personage who received the command, and who was wildly and fantastically habited, beckoned Wyat to follow him, and, after many twistings and turnings, brought them to the edge of the lake, where the skiff was lying, with Fenwolf re- clining at full length upon its benches. He arose, however, quickly, on the appearance of Meschines, and asked him for some provisions, which the latter promised to bring ; and while Wyat got into the skiff, he disappeared, but returned, a few minutes afterwards, with a basket, which he gave to the keeper. Crossing the lake, Fenwolf then shaped his course towards a verdant bank, enamelled with wild flowers, where he landed. The basket being opened was found to contain a flask of wine and the better part of a venison pasty, of which Wyat, whose appetite was keen enough after his long fasting, ate heartily. He then stretched himself on the velvet sod and dropped into a tranquil slumber, which lasted to a late hour in the evening. He was roused from it by a hand laid on his shoulder, while a deep voice thundered in his ear — " Up, up. Sir Thomas, and follow me, and I will place the king in your hands !" VIBW OF TSB CA8TLB FROM THK ' AX>KIi&IDK PEEP' VIII. HOW THE KING AND THE DUKE OF SUFFOLK WERE ASSAILED BY HEIINE S BAND ; AND WHAT FOLLOWED THE ATTACK. Henry and Suffolk, on leaving the forester s hut, took their way for a short space along the side of the lake, and then turned into a path, leading through the trees up the eminence on the left. The king was in a joyous mood, and made no attempt to conceal ^c passion with which the fair damsel had inspired him. " I'faith !" he cried, " the cardinal has a quick eye for a pretty wench. I have heard that he loves one in secret ; and I am therefore the more beholden to him for discovering Mabel to me." " You forget, my liege, that it is his object to withdraw youi regards from the Lady Anne Boleyn," remarked Suffolk. " I care not what his motive may be, as long as the result is so satisfactory," returned Henry. " Confess now, Suffolk, you never beheld a figure so perfect — a complexion so blooming — or eyes so bright. As to her lips, by my soul I never tasted such !" " And your majesty is not inexperienced in such matters," laughed Suffolk. " For my own part, I was as much struck bv her grace as by her beauty, and can scarcely persuade myself she can be nothing more than a mere forester's grand-daughter." " Wolsey told me there was a mystery about her birth," rejoined Henry ; " but, pest on it ! her beauty drove all recollection of the matter out of my head. I will go back, and question her now " I S 116 WINDSOR CASTLE. " Your majesty forgets that your absence from the castle will occasion surprise, if not alarm," said Suffolk. " The mystery will keep till to-morrow." " Tut, tut — ^I will return," said the king, perversely. And Suffolk, knowing his wilfulness, and that all remonstrance would prove fruitless, retraced his steps with him. They had not proceeded far, when they perceived a female figure at the bottom of the ascent, just where the path turned off on the margin of the lake. " As I live, there she is !" exclaimed the king, joyfully. " She has divined my wishes, and is come herself to tell me her history." And he sprang forward, while Mabel advanced rapidly towards him. They met half way, and Henry would have caught her m his arms, but she avoided him, exclaiming, in a tone of confusion and alarm — " Thank Heaven ! I have found you, sire I" " Thank Heaven too, sweetheart !" rejoined Henry ; " I would not hide when you are the seeker. So you know me, — ha ?" " I knew you at first," replied Mabel, confusedly. " I saw you at the great hunting party ; and, once beheld, your majesty is not easily forgotten." " Ha ! by Saint George ! you turn a compliment as soothly as the most practised dame at court,'* cried Henry, catching her hand. " Beseech your majesty, release me !" returned Mabel, strug- gling to get free. " I did not follow you on the light errand yoi» suppose, but to warn you of danger. Before you quitted nij grandsire's cottage, I told you this part of the forest was haunted by plunderers and evil beings, and apprehensive lest some mis- ohance might befal you, I opened the window softly to look after you " " And you overheard me tell the Duke oi' Suffolk how much smitten I was with your beauty, ha?" interrupted the King, squeezing her hand — " and how resolved I was to make you mine, — ha! sweetheart?" " The words I heard were of very different import, my liege," rejoined Mabel. '" You were menaced by miscreants who pur- posed to waylay you before you could reach your steed." " Let them come, " replied Henry, carelessly, " they shall pay for their villany. How many were there ?" "" Two, sire," answered Mabel ; " but one of them was Heme,, the weird hunter of the forest. He said he would summon his band to make you captive. What can your strong arm, even aided by that of the Duke of Suffolk, avail against numbers ?" " Captive ! ha !" exclaimed the king. " Said the knave so ?" " He did, sire," replied Mabel ; " and I knew it was Heme by his antlered helm." " There is reason in what the damsel says, my liege," inter- HENRY ACTS UPON MABEL's CAUTION. 117 poued Suffolk. " If possible, you had better avoid an encounter with the villains." " My hands itch to give them a lesson," rejoined Henry ; " but I will be ruled by you. God's death ! 1 will return to-morrow and hunt them down like so many wolves." " Where are your horses, sire ?" asked Mabel. " Tied to a tree at the foot of the hill," repHed Henry. " But I have attendants midway between this spot and Snow Hill." " This way, then !" said Mabel, breaking from him, and darting into a narrow path among the trees. Henry ran after her, but was not agile enough to overtake her. At length, she stopped. " If your majesty will pursue this path," she cried, " you will come to an open space amid the trees, when, if you will direct your course towards a large beech-tree on the opposite side, you will find another narrow path, which will take you where you desire to go." " But I cannot go alone," cried Henry. Mabel, however, slipped past him, and was out of sight in an instant. Henry looked as if he meant to follow her, but Suffolk ven- tured to arrest him. " Do not tarry here, longer, my gracious liege," said the Duke. *' Danger is to be apprehended, and the sooner you rejoin your attendants the better. Return with them, if you please, but do not expose yourself further now." Henry yielded, though reluctantly, and they walked on in silence. Ere long, they arrived at the open space described by Mabel, and immediately perceived the large beech-tree, behind which they found the path. By this time, the moon had arisen, and as they emerged upon the marsh, they easily discovered a track, though not broader than a sheep-walk, leading along its edge. As they hurried across it, Suffolk occasionally cast a furtive glance over his shoul- der, but he saw nothing to alarm him. The whole tract of marshy land on the left was hidden from view by a silvery- mist. In a few minutes, the king and his companion gained firmer ground, and ascending the gentle elevation on the other side ol the marsh, made their way to a little knoll crowned by a huge oak, which commanded a-fine view of the lake, winding through the valley beyond. Henry, who was a few yards in advance of his companion, paused at a short distance from the tree, and being somewhat overheated, took off his cap to wipe his brow, laughingly observing, — "In good truth, Suffolk, we must hence- forth be rated as miserable faineants, to be scared from our path by a silly wench's tale of deer-stealers and wild huntsmen. I am sorry I yielded to her entreaties. If Heme be still extant, he must be more than a centurv and a half old, for unless the 118 WINDSOR CASTLE. legend is false, he flourished in the time of my predecessor, Richard the Second. I would I could see him !" " Behold him, then !" cried a harsh voice from behind. Turning at the sound, Henry perceived a tall, dark figure, of hideous physiognomy and strange attire, helmed with a huge pair of antlers, standing between him and the oak tree. So sudden was the appearance of the figure, that, in spite of himself, the king slightly started. " What art thou ? — ha ! " he demanded. " What I have said," replied the demon. " I am Heme the hunter. Welcome to my domain, Harry of England. You are lord of the castle, but I am lord of the forest. Ha ! ha 1" " I am lord both of the forest and the castle — yea, of all this broad land, false fiend !" cried the king, " and none shall dispute it with me. In the name of the most holy faith of which I am the defender, I command thee to avoid my path ! Get thee backwards, Satan !" The demon laughed derisively. " Harry of England, advance towards me, and you advance upon your peril," he rejoined. " Avaunt, I say I" cried the king. " In the name of the blessed Trinity, and of all holy angels and saints, I strike !" And he whirled the staff round his head. But ere the weapon could descend, a flash of dazzling fire encircled the demon, amidst which he vanished. " Heaven protect us !" exclaimed Henry, appalled. At this juncture, the sound of a horn was heard, and a num- ber of wild figures in fantastic garbs, — some mounted on swarthy steeds, and accompanied by hounds, — others on foot, issued from the adjoining covert, and hurried towards the spot occupied by the king. " Aha !" exclaimed Henry — " more of the same sort. Hell, it would seem, has let loose her hosts ; but I have no fear of them. Stand by me, Suffolk." " To the death, sire," replied the duke, drawing his sword. By this time, one of the foremost of the impish crew had reached the king, and con^manded him to yield himself pri- soner. " Dost know whom thou askest to yield, dog ?" cried lienry, furiously. " Yea," replied the other, " thou art the king !" " Then down on thy knees, traitor !" roared Henry ; " down all of ye, and sue for mercy." "For mercy — ha! ha!" rejoined the other; " it is thy turn to sue for mercy, tyrant ! We acknowledge no other ruler than Heme the hunter." " Then seek him in hell !" cried Henry, dealing the speaker a tremendous blow on the head with his staff, which brought him senseless to the ground. WYAT SAVES THE KINGS LIFE. 119 The Others immediately closed round him, and endeavoured to seize the king. " Ha ! dogs ! — ha I traitors !" vociferated Henry, plying his staff with great activity, and bringing down an assailant at each stroke ; " do you dare to lay hands upon our sacred person ? Back! backl" The determined resistance offered by the king, supported as he was by Suffolk, paralysed his assailants, who seemed more bent upon securing his person than on doing him injury. But Suf folk's attention was presently diverted by the attack of a fierce black hound, set upon him by a stout fellow in a bearded mask. Afler a hard struggle, and not before he had been severely bitten in the arm, the duke contrived to despatch his assailant. " This to avenge poor Bawsey !" cried the man who had set on the hound, stabbing at Suffolk with his knife. But the duke parried the blow, and, disarming his antagonist, forced him to the ground, and tearing off his mask, disclosed the features of Morgan Fenwolf. Meanwhile, Henry had been placed in considerable jeopardy. Like Suffolk, he had slaughtered a hound, and, in aiming a blow at the villain who set it on, his foot slipped, and he lay at his mercy. The wretch raised his knife, and was in the act of striking, when a sword was passed through his body. The blow was decisive ; the king instantly arose, and the rest of his assailants — horse as well as foot — disheartened by what had occurred, beat a hasty retreat. Harry turned to look for his deliverer, and uttered an exclamation of astonishment and anger. " Ah ! God's death I" he cried, " can I believe my eyes ? Is it you, Sir Thomas Wyat ?" " Ay," replied the other. " What do you here ? ha I" demanded the king. " You should be in Paris." " I have tarried for revenge," replied Wyat. " Revenge ! — ha !" cried Henry. " On whom ?" " On you," replied Wyat. " What !" vociferated Henry, foaming with rage — " Is it you, traitor, who have devised this damnable plot ? — is it you who would make your king a captive ? — ^you who slay him ? Have you leagued yourself with fiends ?" But Wyat made no answer ; and though he lowered the point of his sword, he regarded the king sternly. A female figure now rushed forward, and bending before the king, cried, in an imploring voice, — " Spare him, sire — spare him ! He is no party to the attack. I was near him in yon wood, and he stirred not forth till he saw your life in danger. He then delivered you from the as- sassin." " I did so, because I reserved him for my own hand," said Wvat, 120 WINDSOR CASTLE. " You hear him confess his treason," cried Henry ; " down on your knees, villain, or I will strike you to my feet. "He has just saved your life, my liege," cried the supplicant *'0h, spare him I" ** What makes you here, Mabel ?" cried Henry, angrily. ** I followed your majesty unseen," she replied, in some confu- sion, " and reached yon wood just as the attack commenced. I did not dare to advance further." " You should have gone home — gone home," rejoined the king. " Wyat," he continued, in a tone of stern reproach, "you were once a loyal subject. What means this change ?" " It means that you have robbed me of a mistress," replied Wyat ; " and for this cause I have damned myself." " Pardon him ! — oh, pardon him, sire !" cried Mabel. " I cannot understand you, Wyat," said Henry, after a pause ; " but 1 have myself suffered from the pangs of jealousy. You have saved my life, and I will spare yours." " Sire I" cried Wyat. '* Suffolk !" exclaimed Henry, looking towards the duke, who was holding Fenwolf by the throat, " shall I be justified in letting him go free ?" " Strike ! — strike !" cried a deep voice in Wyat's ear ; " your rival is now in your power." " Far be it from me to thwart your majesty's generous im- pulses," rejoined Suffolk. " It is true that Wyat has saved your life ; and if he had been disposed to take it, you have this mo- ment exposed yourself to him." " Sir Thomas Wyat," said the king, turning to him, " you have my full and free pardon. Quit this forest instantly, and make your way to Paris. If you are found within it to-morrow, you will be lodged in the Tower." Wyat knelt down, and would have pressed Henry's hand to his lips ; but the latter pushed him aside. " No — ^no ! Not now — on your return." Thus rebuffed, Wyat strode away, and as he passed the tree, he heard a voice exclaim — " You have escaped him, but think not to escape me /" " And now, sweetheart," said Henry, turning to Mabel, " since you are so far on the way, you shall go with me to the castle." " On no account, my liege," she returned ; " my grandsire will wonder what has become of me. He must already be in great alarm." " But I will send an attendant to quiet his fears," urged Henry. " That would only serve to increase them," she rejoined. " Nay, I must go." And breaking from him, she darted swiftly down the hill, and glanced across the marsh like a moonbeam. " Plague on it !" cried Henry — " I have again forgotten to question her about her birth." HERNE DERIDES HENRY. 121 " Shall I despatch this knave, my liege ?" cried Suffolk, pointing with his sword to Fen wolf. " By no means," said the king ; " something may be learnt from him. Hark thee, thou felon hound, — if thou indeed servest the fiend, thou seest he deserts thee, as he does all who put faith in him." " I see it," replied Fenwolf, who, finding resistance vain, ha«.l folded his hands doggedly upon his breast ** Then confess thy evil practices," said the king. ** Give me my life, and I will," replied Fenwolf. And as he uttered the words, he caught sight of the dark figure of Heme, sta- tioned at the side of the oak, with its right arm raised menacingly " What seest thou ?" cried Henry, remarking his fixed gaze towards the tree, and glancing in that direction. Fenvrolf made no reply. Henry went up to the tree, and walked round it, but he could see nothing. " I will scour the forest to-morrow," he muttered, " and hang every knave I find within it who cannot give a good account of himself" " Ho ! ho ! ho !" laughed a voice, which seemed to proceed from the branches of the tree. Henry looked up, but no one was visible. " God's death .'—derided !" he roared. " Man or devil, thou shalt feel my wrath." *' Ho ! ho ! ho !" again laughed the voice. Stamping with rage, Henry swore a great oath, and smote the trunk of the tree with his sword. ** Your majesty will search in vain," said Suffolk ; " it is clearly the fiend with whom you have to deal, and the aid of holy priests must be obtained to drive him from the forest" " Ho ! ho ! ho !" again laughed the voice. A party of horsemen now appeared in view. They proved to be the royal attendants, who had ridden forward in search of the king, and were instantly hailed by Henry and Suffolk. They were headed by Captain Bouchier, who at a sign from the king instantly dismounted. " Give me your horse, Bouchier," said Henry, " and dj you and half a dozen of your men remain on guard at this tree till I send a troop of arquebusiers to relieve you. When they arrive, station them near it, and let them remain here till I return in the morning. If any one appears, make him a prisoner." " Your majesty's orders shall be faithfully obeyed," replied Bouchier. Bound hand and foot, Fenwolf was thrown upon the back of a horse, and guarded by two halberdiers, who were prepared to strike him dead on the slightest movement. In this way, he was conveyed to the castle, and placed in the guard-chamber of the lower ii^ate, till further orders should be issued respecting him. 122 WINDSOR CASTLE. 50ARD-OHAMBKR iN HENRY THE ElSHTHi IX. SHEWING How MORGAN FENWOLF ESCAPED FROM THE GARTER TOWER. Half-an-hour afterwards. Fen wolf was visited by the Duke of Suffolk and a canon of the college; and the guard-chamber being cleared, the duke enjoined hira to make clear his bosom by confession. " I hold it my duty to tell you, prisoner," said Suffolk, " that there is no hope of your life. The king's highness is de- termined to make a fearful example of you and all your coiii- j:)anions in crime ; but he does not seek to destroy your soul, and has therefore sent this holy man to you, with the desire that you may open your heart to him, and by confession and repentance save yourself from eternal perdition." " Confession will profit me nothing," said Fenwolf, moodily " I cannot pray if I would." " You cannot be so utterly lost, my son," rejoined the canork •*Hell may have woven her dark chains round you, but n(,'i so nrmly but that the hand of Heaven can burst them." THE TALL FRANCISCAN FRIAll. 123 " You waste time in seeking to persuade me,' returned Fen- wolf. " You are not ignorant of the punishment inflicted upon those condemned for sorcery, my son?" demanded the canon. " It is the stake, is it not?" replied Fenwolf. " Ay," replied the canon ; '* but even that fiery trial wi., fail to purge out your offences without penitence. My lord ot Suffolk, this wretched man's condition demands special attention. It will profit the church much to win his soul from the fiend. Let him, I pray you, be removed to the dungeon beneath the Garter Tower, where a priest shall visit him, and pray by his side till daybreak." " 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 pri- soner ; and after some further conference with the canon, returned to the royal apartments. i^^^^^^^^^^j^^^^^^ Meanwhile, the canon shaped his course towards the Horse-shoe clois- ters, — a range of buildings so de- signated from their form, and situated at the west-end of St. George's chapel, and he had scarcely entered them, when he heard footsteps behind him, and turning at the sound, beheld a Franciscan friar, for so his habit of the coarsest grey cloth, tied with a cord round the waist, proclaimed him. The friar was very tall and gaunt, and his cowl was drawn over his face so as to conceal his fea- tures. BOKBB-BHOB OLOISTKBS 124 WINDSOR CASTLE. " What would you, brother ?" inquired the canon, h£,l<-»ng. " I have a request to make of you, reverend sir," replied thb friar, with a lowly inclination of the head. "I have just arrived from Chertsey Abbey, whither I have been tarrying for the last three days, and while conversing with the guard at the gate, I saw a prisoner brought into the castle, charged with heinous offences, and amongst others, with dealings with the fiend." " You have been rightly informed, brother," rejoined the canon. " And have I, also, been rightly informed that you desire a priest to pass the night with him, reverend sir?" returned the friar. " If so, I would crave permission to undertake the office. Two souls, as deeply laden as that of this poor wretch, have been snatched from the jaws of Satan by my efforts, and I do not despair of success now." " Since you are so confident, brother," said the canon, " I commit him readily to your hands. I was about to seek other aid, but your offer comes opportunely. With Heaven's help, I doubt not you will achieve a victory over the evil one." As the latter words were uttered, a sudden pain seemed to seize the friar. Staggering slightly, he caught at the railing of the cloisters for support, but he instantly recovered himself. " It is nothing, reverend sir," he said, seeing that the good canon regarded him anxiously. " Long vigils and fasting have made me liable to frequent attacks of giddiness, but they pass as quickly as they come. Will it please you to go with me, and direct the guard to admit me to the prisoner ?" The canon assented; and crossing the quadrangle, they re- turned to the gateway. Meanwhile, the prisoner had been removed to the lower chamber of the Garter Tower. This fortification, one of the oldest in the Castle, being coeval with the Curfew Tower, is now in a state of grievous neglect and ruin. Unroofed, unfloored, filled with rubbish, masked by the yard walls of the adjoining habitations, with one side entirely pulled down, and a great breach in front, it is solely owing to the solid and rock-like con- struction of its masonry, that it is indebted for partial preser- vation. Still, notwithstanding its dilapidated condition, and that it is the mere shell of its former self, its appearance is highly picturesque. The walls are of prodigious thickness, and the deep embrasures within them are almost perfect ; while a secret stair- case may still be tracked partly round the building. Amid the rubbish choking up its lower chamber, grows a young tree, green and flourishing — a type, it is to be hoped, of the restora- tion of the structure ! i'HE DUNGEON IN THE GARTER Tf»WER. 125 niTBRlOR OF THB OART»R TOW»R, Conducted to a ^ow vaulted chamber in this tower, the pri« soner was cast upon its floor — for he was still bound hand and foot — and left alone and in darkness. But he was not destined to continue in this state long. The door of the dungeon opened, and the guard ushered in the tall Franciscan friar. " What ho ! dog of a prisoner," he cried, " here is a holy man come to pass the night with you in prayer." " He may take his Ave Maries and Paternosters elsewhere — I want them not," replied Fenwolf, moodily. " You would prefer my bringing Heme the hunter, no doubt," rejoined the guard, laughing at his own jest ; " but this is a physician for your soul. The saints help you in your good work, father. You will have no easy task." " Set down the light, my son," cried the friar, harshly, " and leave us. My task will be easily accomplished." Placing the lamp on the stone floor of the dungeon, the guard withdrew, and locked the door after him. " Do you repent, my son ?" de^i-anded the fiiar, as soon as thp* were alone. 126 WINDSOR CASTLE. " Certes, I repent having put faith in a treacherous fieno who has deserted me, — but that is all," replied Fenwolf, with his face turned to the ground. "Will you put faith in me if I promise you Jt-liverance ?" demanded the friar. " You promise more than you can perform, as most of your brethren do," rejoined the other. " You will not say so if you look up," said the friar. Fenwolf started at the words, which were pronounced in a different voice from that previously adopted by the speaker, and raised himself as far as his bonds would permit him. The friar had thrown back his cowl, and disclosed features of appal- ling hideousness, lighted up by a diabolical grin. " You here !" cried Fenwolf " You doubted me," rejoined Heme ; " but I never desert a follower. Besides, I wish to shew the royal Harry that my power is equal to his own." " But how are we to get out of this dungeon ?" asked Fenwolf, gazing round apprehensively. " My way out will be easy enough," replied Heme ; " 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." Heme instantly drew forth a hunting-knife, and cutting Fenwolfs bonds asunder, the latter started to his feet. " If that bull-headed butcher would have joined me I would have liberated him, as I am about to liberate you," pursued Heme. "But to return to the matter in hand. You recollect the secret passage we then tracked? There is such another staircase in this tower." And, stepping to the further side of the chamber, iio touched a small knob in the wall, and a stone flew back, disclosing an aperture just large enough to allow a man to pass through it. " There is your road to freedom," he said, pointing to the hole ; " creep along that narrow passage, and it will bring you to a small loophole in the wall, not many feet from the ground. The loophole is guarded by a bar of iron, but it is moved by a spring in the upper part of the stone in which it appears to be morticed. This impediment removed, you will easily force youi w^ay through the loophole. Drop cautiously, for fear of the sen- tinels on the walls ; then make your v/ay to the forest, and if you 'scape the arquebusiers who are scouring it, conceal yourself in the sand-stone cave below the beech-tree." " And what of you?" asked Fenwolf "I have more to do here," replied Heme, in:patientlv — " away !" Thus dismissed, Fenwolf entered the aperture, which was instantly closed after him by Heme. Carefully following the HERNE TERRIFIES THE GUARD. -I rn OARTKB TOWXB, TBOU THAIIBI STRKBT instructions of his leader, the keeper passed through the loop-hole, let himself drop softly down, and keeping close to the walls of the tower till he heard the sentinels move off, darted swiftly across the street and made good his escape. Meanwhile, Heme drew the cowl over his head, and stepping to the door, knocked loudly against it. "What would you, father ?" cried the guard, from without. " Enter, my son, and you shall know," replied Heme. The next moment,the door was unlocked, and the guard advanced into the dungeon. " Ha !" he exclaimed, snatching up the lamp and looking round — " where is the prisoner?" " Gone," replied Heme. " What ! has the fiend flown away with him ?" cried the man, m mixed astonishment and alarm. " He has been set free by Heme the hunter !" cried the demon. " Tell all who ques- tion thee so, and relate what thou now seest." At the words, a bright l)lue flame illumined the chamber, in the midst of which was seen the tall dark figure of Heme. His Franciscan's gown had dropped to his feet, and he appeared habited in his wild deer-skin garb. With a loud cry, the guard fell senseless on the ground. A few minutes after this, as was subsequently ascer- tained, a tall Franciscan friar threaded the cloisters behind Saint George's Chapel, and giving the word to the senti- nels, passed through the outer door communicating with the steep descent lead- inii; to the town. OOXBR DOOR LE^DtMO TO THB HOMDRBr 8TEP8 128 WINDSOR CASTLE. OI,D OAKS ON THE RCAD FROM LACHESTER tODOB TO HAJIDIMAN 8 OATB. X. HOW HERNE THE HUNTER WAS HIMSELF HUNTED. On the guard's recovery, information of what had occurred was immediately conveyed to the king, who had not yet retired to rest, but was sitting in his private chamber with the Dukes of Suffolk and Norfolk. The intelligence threw him into a great fury ; he buffeted the guard, and ordered him to be locked up in the dungeon whence the prisoner had escaped ; reprimanded the canon ; directed the Duke of Suffolk, with a patrol, to make search in the neighbourhood of the castle for the fugitive and the friar ; and bade the Duke of Norfolk get together a band of arquebusiers ; and as soon as the latter were assembled, he put himself at their head, and again rode into the forest. The cavalcade had proceeded about a mile along the great avenue, when one of the arquebusiers rode up and said that he heard some distant sounds on the right. Commanding a halt, Henry listened for a moment, and, satisfied that the man was right, quitted the course he was pursuing, and dashed across the broad glade now traversed by the avenue called Queen AnnV. Ride. As he advanced, the rapid trampling of horses was heard, accompanied by shouts, and presently afterwards, a troop of wilr* • looking horsemen in fantastic garbs was seen galloping dov^^n the hill, pursued by Bouchier and his followers. The king im- mediately shaped his course so as to intercept the flying party, and being in some measure screened by the trees, he burst uncx- ^ctedly upon them at a turn of the road. UERNES BAXD UA^•GED. . 129 Henry called to the fugitives to surrender, but they lefused, and brandishing their long knives and spears, made a desperate resistance. But they were speedily surrounded and overpowered. Bouchier inquired from the king what should be done with the prisonprs. " Hang them all upon yon trees !" cried Henry, pointing to two sister oaks which stood near the scene of strife. The terrible sentence was immediately carried into execution. Cords were produced, and in less than half an hour twenty breathless bodies were swinging from the branches of the two trees indicated by the king. *' This will serve to deter others from like offences," observed Henr}^, who had watched the whole proceedings with savage satisfaction. *'And now, Bouchier, how came you to let the leader of these villains escape ?' " I did not know he had escaped, my liege," replied Bouchier, in astonishment. "Yea, marry, but he has escaped," rejoined Henry; "and he has had the audacity to shew himself in the castle wuthin this hour, and the cunning, moreover, to set the prisoner free.** And he proceeded to relate what had occurred. " This is strange, indeed, my liege," replied Bouchier, at the close of the king's recital ; " and to my thinking is proof con- vincing that wc have to do with a supernatural being." " Supernatural '. — pshaw — banish the idle notion," rejoined Henry, sternly. " We are all the dupes of some jugglery. The caitiff will doubtless return to the forest. Continue your search, therefore, for him throughout the night. If you catch him, I promise you a royal reward." So saying, he rode back to the castle, somewhat appeased by the wholesale vengeance he had taken upon the offenders. In obedience to the orders he had received, Bouchier with his followers continued riding about the forest during the whole night, but without finding anything to reward his search, until about dawn it occurred to him to return to the trees on which the bodies were suspended. As he approached them, he fancied he beheld a horse standing beneath the nearest tree, and imme- diately ordered his followers to proceed as noiselessly as possible, and to keep under the cover of the wood. A nearer advance convinced him that his eyes had not deceived him. It was a swart, w^ild-looking horse that he beheld, with eyes that flamed like carbuncles, while a couple of bodies, evidently snatched from the branches, were laid across its back. A glance at the trees, too, shewed Bouchier that they had been considerably lightened of their hideous spoil. Seeing this, Bouchier dashed forward. Alarmed by the noise, the wild horse neighed loudly, and a dark figure instantly dropped from the tree upon its back, and proceeded to disencum- ber it of its load. But before this could be accomplished, a bolt 130 ' WINDSOR CASTLE. from a cross-bow, shot by one of Bouchier's followers, pierced the animal's brain. Rearing aloft, it fell backwards, in such manner as would have crushed an ordinary rider, but Heme slipped off uninjured, and with incredible swiftness darted among the trees. The others started in pursuit, and a chase commenced, in which the demon huntsman had to sustain the part of the deer — nor could any deer have afforded better sport. Away Hew the pursued and pursuers over broad glade and through tangled glen — the woods resounding with their cries. Bouchier did not lose sight of the fugitive for a moment, and urged his men to push on ; but despite his alternate proffers and menaces, they gained but little on Heme, who, speeding towards the Home Park, cleared its high palings with a single bound. Over went Bouchier and his followers, and they then descried him making his way to a large oak, standing almost alone in the centre of a wide glade. An instant afterwards, he reached the tree, shook his arm menacingly at his pursuers, and vanished. The next moment, Bouchier came up ; flung himself from his panting steed, arid, with his drawn sword in hand, forced him- self through a rift in its side, into the tree. There was a hollow within it large enough to allow a man to stand upright, and two funnel-like holes ran upwards into the branches. Finding nothing, Bouchier called for a hunting spear, and thrust it as far as he could into the holes above. The point encountered no obstruc- tion except such as was offered by the wood itself. He stamped upon the ground — and sounded it on all sides with the spear, but with no better success. Issuing forth, he next directed his attention to the upper part of the tree, which, while he was occupied inside, had been care- fully watched by his followers ; and not content with viewing it from below, he clambered into the branches. But they had nothing to shew, except their own leafy covering. The careful examination of the ground about the tree at length led to the discovery of a small hole among its roots, about half a dozen yards from the trunk, and though this hole seemed scarcely large enough to serve for an entrance to the burrow of a fox, Bouchier deemed it expedient to keep a careful watch over it. His investigation completed, he despatched a sergeant of the guard to the castle, to acquaint the king with what had oc- curred. Disturbed by the events of the night, Henry obtained little sleep, and at an early hour, summoned an attendant, and de- manded whether there were any tidings from the forest. The attendant replied that a sergeant of the guard was without, sent by Captain Bouchier, with a message for his majesty. The sergeant was immediately admitted to the royal presence, and on the close of his marvellous story, the king, who had worked himself into a tremendous fury during its relation, roared out — " What ! foiled again — ha 1 But he shall not escape, if I have to l^- 5 y THE OREAT OAK FELLED. 131 root up half the trees in the forest. Bouchier and his fellows must be bewitched. Harkye, knaves, get together a dozen of the best woodmen and yeomen in the castle — instantly, as you value your lives — bid them bring axe and saw, pick and spade. D'ye mark me — ha ! Stay, I have not done. I must have fagots and straw, for I will burn this tree to the ground, — burn it to a char. Summon the Dukes of Suffolk and Norfolk — the rascal archer I dubbed the Duke of Shoreditch, and his mates — the keepers of the forest and their hounds — summon them quickly, and bid a band of the yeomen of the guard get ready." And he sprang from his couch. The king's commands were executed with such alacrity, that by the time he was fully attired, the whole of the persons ho had ordered to be summoned were assembled. Putting himself at their head, he rode forth to the Home Park, and found Bouchier and his followers grouped around the tree. " We are still at fault, my liege," said Bouchier. " So I see, sir," replied the king, angrily. " Hew down the tree instantly, knaves," he added to the woodmen. " Fall to, —fall to." Ropes were then fastened to the head of the tree, and the wel- kin resounded with the rapid strokes of the katchets. It was a task of some difficulty, but such zeal and energy were displayed by the woodmen, that, ere long, the giant trunk lay prostrate on the ground. Its hollows were now fully exposed to view, but they were empty. " Set fire to the accursed piece of timber !" roared the king — " burn it to dust, and scatter it to the wind." At these orders, two yeomen of the guard advanced, and, throwing down a heap of fagots, straw, and other combustibles, on the roots of the tree, soon kindled a fierce fire. Meanwhile, a couple of woodmen, stripped of their jerkins, and with their brawny arms bared to the shoulder, mounted on thEA.8T, WITH OOVZRED WAT FBOM SAINT OEORSJC ■ OATlt Henry the Fifth occasionally kept his court at Windsor, and 1416 entertained with great magnificence the Emperor Sigismund, who brought with him an invaluable relic — the heart of Saint George, which he bestowed upon the chapter. The emperor was at the same time invested wim the order. In 1421, the unfortunate Henry the Sixth was bom within the castle ; and in 1484, he was interred within it 150 WINDSOR CASTLB. COMPRISING THE FOURTH EPOCH IN THE HISTORY OF THE CASTLE ; AND SHEWING HOW SAINT GEORGE's CHAPEL WAS REBUILT BY KING EDWARD THE FOURTH. Finding the foundation and walls of Saint George's Chapel much dilapidated and decayed, Edward the Fourth resolved to pull down the pile, and build a larger and statelier structure in its place. With this view, he constituted Richard Beauchamp, Bishop of Salisbury, surveyor of the works, from whose designs arose the present beautiful edifice. To enable the Bishop to accomplish the work, power was given him to remove all obstructions, and to enlarge the space by the demolition of the three buildings then commonly called Clure's Tower, Berner's Tower, and the Almoner's Tower. The zeal and assiduity with which Beauchamp prosecuted his task is adverted to in the patent of his appointment to the office of Chancellor of the Garter, the preamble whereof recites- " that out of mere love towards the order, he had given himself the leisure daily to attend the advancement and progress of this goodly fabric." The chapel, hovv^ven was ^^^ completed in one reign, or INTERIOR OF SAINT GEORGE'S CHAPEL. 151 by one architect. Sir Reginald Bray, prime-minister of Henry the Seventh, succeeded Bishop Beauchamp as surveyor of the works, and it was by him that the matchless roof of the choir and other parts of the fabric were built. Indeed, the frequent appearance of Bray's arms, sometimes single, sometimes impaling his alliances, in many parts of the ceiling and windows, has led to the supposition that he himself contributed largely to the expense of the work. The groined ceiling of the chapel was not commenced till the twenty-seventh year of the reign of Henry the Seventh, when the pinnacles of the roof were decorated with vanes, supported by gilt figures of lions, antelopes, greyhounds, and dragoiis, — the want of which is still a detriment to the external beauty of the structure. " The main vaulting of Saint George's Chapel," says Mr. Poynter, " is perhaps, without exception, the most beautiful spe- cimen of the Gothic stone roof in existence ; but it has been very improperly classed with those of the same architectural period in the chapels of King's College, Cambridge, and Henry the Seventh, at Westminster. The roofing of the aisle and the centre com- partment of the body of the building, are indeed in that style, but the vault of the nave and choir differ essentially from fan vaulting, both in drawing and construction. It is, in fact, a t rag on-headed vault, broken by Welsh groins — that is to say, groins which cut into the main arch below the apex. It is not singular in the principle of its design, but it is unique in its pro- portions, in which the exact mean seems to be attained between the poverty and monotony of a wagon-headed ceiling, and the ungraceful effect of a mere groined roof with a depressed roof oi large span. To which may be added, that with a richness of effect scarcely if at all inferior to fan tracer}^, it is free from those abrupt junctions of the lines and other defects of drawing inevit- able when the leng|;h and breadth of the compartments of fan vaulting differ very much, of which King's College Chapel ex- hibits some notable instances." Supported by these exquisite ribs and groins, the ceiling is decorated with heraldic insignia, displaying the arms of Ed- ward the Confessor, Edward the Third, Edward the Black Prince, Henry the Sixth, Edward the Fourth, Henry the Seventh, and Henry the Eighth ; with the arms of England and France quartered, the holy cross, the shield or cross of Saint George, the rose, portcullis, lion rampant, unicorn, fleur-de-lis, dragon, and prince's feathers, together with the arms of a multi- tude of noble families. In the nave are emblazoned the arms of Henry the Eighth, and of several knights-companions, among which are those of Charles the Fiflh, Francis the First, and Ferdinand, Infant of Spain. The extreme lightness wd graceful proportions of the pillars lining the aisles contribute greatly to the effect of this part of the structure. .52 WINDSOR CASTLE. LOOJillJa TOWAHUS THE CHOIR Beautiful, however, as is the body of the chapel, it is not com- parable to the choir. Here, and on either side, are ranged the stalls of the knights, formerly twenty-six in number, but now increased to thirty-two, elaborately carved in black oak, and covered by canopies of the richest tabernacle-work, supported by slender pillars. Gix ^K, pedestals is represented the history of the Saviour, and on the front of the stalls, at the west end of the choir, is carved the legend of Saint George ; while on the outside of the upper seat is cut, in old Saxon characters, the twentieth psalm, in Latin. On the canopies of the stalls are placed the mantle, helmet, coat, and sword of the knights-companions ; and above them are hung their emblazoned banners. On the back of each stall are fixed small enamelled plates, graven with the •M DISFIGURING WINDOW OVER THE ALTAR. 153 titles of the knights who have occupied it. The ancient stall ot' the sovereign was removed in 1788, and a new seat erected. The altar was formerly adorned with costly hangings of crimson velvet and gold, but these, together with the consecrated vessels, of great value, were seized by order of parliament in 1642, amid the general plunder of the foundation. The service of the altar was replaced by Charles the Second. The sovereign's stall is immediately on the right on the entrance to the choir, and the prince's on the left. The queen's closet is on the north side, above the altar. Beneath it is the beautiful and elaborately-wrought framework of iron, represent- ing a pair of gates between two Gothic towers, designed as a screen to the tomb of Edward the Fourth, and which, though popularly attributed to Quintin Matsys, has with more justice been assigned to Master John Tressilian. One great blemish to the chapel exists in the window over the altar, the mullions and tracery of which have been removed to make way for dull, colourless copies in painted glass of West's designs. Instead of " blushing with the blood of kings. And twilight saints, and dim emblazonings — Steeping the altar in rich suffusion, chequering the wails and pavement with variegated hues, and filling the whole sacred spot with a warm and congenial glow — these panes produce a cold, cheerless, and most disagreeable effect. The removal of this objectionable feature, and the restoration of frame-work and compartments in the style of the original, and enriched with ancient mellow-toned and many-hued glass in keeping with the place, are absolutely indispensable to the com- pleteness and unity of character of tlie chapel. Two clerestory windows at the east end of the choir, adjoining the larger win- dow, have been recently filled with stained glass in much better taste. The objections above made may be urged with equal force against the east and west windows of the south aisle of the body of the fane, and the west window of the north aisle. The glorious west window, composed of eighty compartments, em- bellished with figures of kings, patriarchs, and bishops, together with the insignia of the Garter and the arms of prelates, — the wreck gathered from all the other windows, — and streaming with the radiance of the setting sun upon the broad nave and graceful pillars of the aisles, — this superb window — an admirable spe- cimen of the architecture of the age in which it was designed — had well nigh shared the fate of the others, and v/as on'.;- preserved from desecration by the circumstance of the death cf the glass-painter. The mullions of this window being found much decayed, were carefully and consistently restored, during the last year, hy Mr. Blore* and the rn^!?2nt stained vlass replaced. 154 WINDSOR CASTLE, WEST END OF SAINT aSOROK 8 CHAPKL Not only does Saint George's Chapel form a house of prayer and a temple of chivalry, but it is also the burial-place of kings. At the east end of the north aisle of the choir is a plain flag, bearing the words : — Uinq (IB^toavtr iiii. aixb t)ts Oucen TEU\ah(tf) 5l2BitibiHc. The coat of mail, and surcoat. decorated with rubies and precious stones, together with other rich trophies once ornamenting this tomb, were carried off by the parliamentary plimderers. Edward's queen, Elizabeth Woodville, it was thought slept beside him ; but when the royal tomb was opened in 1789, and the two coffins within it examined, the smaller one was found empty. The queen's body was subsequently discovered in a stone coffin by the workmen employed in excavating the vault for George the Third. Edward's coffin was seven feet long, and contained a perfect skeleton. On the opposite aisle, near the choir door, as already mentioned, rests the ill-fated Henry the Sixth, beneath an arch sumptuously embellished by Henry the Eighth, on the keystone of which may still be seen his arms, sup- [)orted by two antelopes connected by a golden chain. Henry's body was removed from Chertsey, where it was first interred, and reburied in 1484, with much solemnity, in this spot. Such was the opinion entertained of his sanctity that miracles were supposed to be wrought upon his tomb, and Henry the Seventh applied to have him canonized, Imt the demands of the pope were too exorbitant. The proximity of Henry and Edward in death suo^sestod the followinjn lines to Pope : — WOLSEY'S TOMB-HOUSE. 155 " Here, o'er the martyr-king the marble weeps, And fast beside him, once fear'd Edward sleeps ; The grave unites, where e'en the grave finds rest, And mingled lie the oppressor and the opprest." In the royal vault in the choir repose Henry the Eighth and his third queen, Jane Seymour, together with the martyred Charles the First. Space only permits the hasty enumeration of the different beautiful chapels and chantries adorning this splendid fane. These are, Lincoiti Chapel, near which Richard Beauchamp, Bishop of Salisbury, is buried ; Oxenbridge Chapel ; Aldworth Chapel ; Bray Chapel, where rests the body of Sir Reginald de Bray, the architect of the pile; Beaufort Chapel, containing sumptuous monuments of the noble family of that name ; Rutland Chapel; Hastings Chapel; and Urswick Chapel, in which is now placed the cenotaph of the Princess Charlotte, sculptured by Matthew Wyatt. In a vault near the sovereign's stall lie the remains of the Duke of Gloucester, who died in 1805, and of his duchess, who died two years after him. And near the entrance of the south door is a slab of grey marble, beneath which lies one who in his day filled the highest offices of the realm, and was the brother of a king and the husband of a queen. It is inscribed with the great name of Charles Brandon. At the east end of the north aisle is the chapter-house, in which is a portrait and the sword of state of Edward the Third. Adjoining the chapel, on the east, stands the royal tomb- Uouse. Commenced by Henry the Seventh as a mausoleum, but abandoned for the chapel in Westminster Abbey, this struc- ture was granted by Henry the Eighth to Wolsey, who intending it as a place of burial for himself, erected within it a sumptuous monument of black and white marble, with eight large brazen columns placed around it, and four others in the form of candle* sticks. At the time of the cardinal's disgrace, when the building reverted to the crown, the monument was far advanced towards completion — the vast sum of 4280 ducats having been paid to Benedetto, a Florentine sculptor, for work, and nearly four hundred pounds for gilding part of it. This tomb was stripped of its ornaments, and destroyed by the parliamentary rebels in 1646; but the black marble sarcophagus forming part of it, and intended as a receptacle for Wolsey's own remains, escaped ilestru«7tion, and now covers the grave of Nelson in a crypt of -Saint Paul's cathedral. Henry the Eighth was not interred in this mausoleum, but ni Saint George's Chapel, as has just been mentioned, and as he himself directed, "mid-way between the state and the high altar." Full instructions were left by him for the erection of a monument, which, if it had been completed, would have been tri*^'^ magnificent. The jaavemont was to be of oriental 156 WINDSOR CASTLE. Stones, witn two great steps upon it of the same material. Tlie two pillars of the church between which the tomb was to be set were to be covered with bas-reliefs, representing the chief events of the Old Testament, angels with gilt garlands, fourteen images of the prophets, the apostles, the evangelists, and the four doctors of the church, and at the foot of every image a little child with a oasket full of red and w^hite roses enamelled and gilt. Between these pillars, on a basement of white marble, the epitaphs of the king and queen were to be written in letters of gold. On the same basement were to be two tombs of black touchstone sup- porting the images of the king and queen, not as dead, but sleeping, " to shew," so runs the order, " that famous princes leaving behind them great fame do never die." On the right hand at either corner of the tomb was to be an angel holding the king's arms, with a great candlestick, and at the opposite corners, two other angels bearing the queen's arms and candlesticks. Between the two black tombs was to rise a high basement like a sepulchre, surmounted by a statue of the king on horseback, in armour — both figures to be " of the whole stature of a goodly man and a large horse." Over this statue was to be a canopy, like a triumphal arch, of white marble, garnished with oriental stones of divers colours, with the story of Saint John the Baptist wrought in gilt brass upon it, with a crowning group of the Father holding the soul of the king in his right hand and the soul of the queen in his left, and blessing them. The height of the monument was to be twenty-eight feet. The number of statues was to be one hundred and thirty-four, with forty- four bas-reliefs. It w-ould be matter of infinite regret that this great design was never executed, if its destruction by the parliamentary plunderers would not in that case have been, also, matter of cer- tainty. Charles the First mtended to fit up this structure as a royal Tiausoleum, but was diverted from the plan by the outbreak of the civil war. It was afterwards used as a chapel by James the Second, and mass was publicly performed in it. The ceiling was painted by Verrio, and the walls highly ornamented ; but the decorations were greatly injured by the fury of an anti- catholic mob, who assailed the building, and destroyed its win- dows, on the occasion of a banquet given to the pope's nuncio by the king. In this state it continued till the commencement of the present century, when the exterior was repaired by George the Third, and a vault, seventy feet in length, twenty-eight in width, and fourteen in depth, constructed within it, for the recep- tion of the royal family. Catacombs formed of massive octangular pillars, and supporting ranges of shelves, line the walls on either side. At the eastern extremity, there are five niches, ami in tte middle twelve low tombs. A subterranean passage loads from the vault beneath the choir of Saint George's altar to the -s-pqdPP^P^i HORSE-SHOE CLOISTERS ERECTED. 157 sepulchre. Within it are deposited the bodies of George the Third and Queen Charlotte, the Princesses Amelia and Char- lotte, the Dukes of Kent and of York, and the two last sovereigns, George the Fourth and William the Fourth. But to return to the reign of Edward the Fourth, from which the desire to bring down the history of Saint George's Chapel to the present time has led to the foregoing digression. About the same time that the chapel was built, habitations for the dean and canons were erected on the north-east of the fane, while another range of dwellings for the minor canons was built at its west end, disposed in the form of a fetter-lock, one of the badges of Edward the Fourth, and since called the Horse-shoe Cloisters. The ambulatory of these cloisters once displayed a fine specimen of the timber architecture of Henry the Seventh's time, when they were repaired, but little of their original character can now be discerned. In 1482, Edward, desirous of advancing his popularity with the citizens of London, invited the lord mayor and aldermen to Windsor, where he feasted them royally, and treated them to the pleasures of the chase, sending them back to their spouses, loaded with game. In 1484, Richard the Third kept the feast of Saint George at Windsor, and the building of the chapel was continued during his reign. The picturesque portion of the castle on the north side of the upper ward, near the Norman gateway, and which is one of the noblest Gothic features of the proud pile, was built by Henry the Seventh, whose name it still bears. The side of this building looking towards the terrace was originally decorated with two rich windows, but one of them has disappeared, and the other has suffered much damage. In 1500, the deanery was rebuilt by Dean Urswick. At the lower «nd of the court, adjoining the canons' houses behind the Horse-shoe Cloisters, stands the Collegiate Library, the date of which is uncertain, though it may perhaps be referred to this period. The establishment was enriched in later times by a valuable library, bequeathed to it by the Earl of Ranelagh. In 1506, Windsor was the scene of great festivity, in conse- quence of the unexpected arrival of Philip, king of Castile, and his queen, who had been driven by stress of weather into Wey- mouth. The royal visitors remained for several weeks at the Castle, during which it continued a scene of revelr}^, intermixed with the sports of the chase. At the same time, Philip was in- vested with the order of the Garter, and installed in the chapel of Saint George. The great gateway to the lower ward was built in the com- mencement of the reign of Henry the Eighth. It is decorated with his arms and devices — the rose, portcullis, and fleur-de-lis. 158 WINDSOR CASTLE. and with the bearinn:s of Catherine of Arragon. In 1522, Charlea the Fifth visited Windsor, and was installed Knight of the Garter. Dra-ing a period of dissension in the council, Edward the Sixth was removed for safety to Windsor, by the lord protector, Somerset ; and here, at a later period, the youthful monarch received a letter from the council urging the dismissal of Somer- set, with which, by the advice of the Archbishop of Canterbury, he complied. In this reign, an undertaking to convey water to the castle from Blackmore Park, near Wingfield, a distance of five miles, was commenced, though it v/as not till 1555, in the time of Mary, that the plan w^as accomplished, when a pipe was brought into the upper ward, " and there the water plenteousiy did rise thirteen feet high." In the middle of the court was erected a magnificent fountain, consisting of a canopy raised upon columns, gorgeously decorated with heraldic ornaments, and surmounted by a great vane, with the arms of Philip and Mary impaled upon it, and supported by a lion and an eagle, gilt and painted. The water was discharged by a great dragon, one of the supporters of the Tudor arms, into the cistern beneath, whence it was conveyed by pipes to every part of the castle. Mary held her court at Windsor soon after her union with Philip of Spain. About this period, the old habitations of the alms-knights on the south side of the lower quadrangle were taken down, and others erected in their stead. Fewer additions were made to Windsor Castle by Elizabeth than might have been expected from her predilection for it as a place of residence. She extended and widened the north ter- race, where, when lodging within the castle, she daily took ex- ercise, whatever might be the weather. The terrace at this time, as it is described by Paul Hentzner, and as it appears in Nor- den's view, was a sort of balcony projecting beyond the scarp of the hill, and supported by great cantilevers of wood. In 1576, the gallery still bearing her name, and lying between Henry the Seventh's buildings and the Norman Tower, was erected by Elizabeth. This portion of the castle had the good fortune to escape the alterations and modifications made in al- most every other part of the upper ward after the restoration of Charles the Second. It now forms the library. A large garden was laid out by the same queen, and a small gateway on Castle-hill, built by her — which afterwards became one of the greatest obstructions to the approach, and it was taken down by George the Fourth. Elizabeth often hunted in the parks, and exhibited her skill in archery, which w^as by no means inconsiderable, at the butts. Her fondness for dramatic performances likewise induced her to erect a stage within the castle, on which plays and interludes rLUNDER BY THE PARLIAMENTARY REBELS. 159 were performed. And to her admiration of the character of Fal- staff, and her love of the locality, the world is indebted for the " Merry Wives of Windsor." James the First favoured Windsor as much as his prede- cessors ; caroused within its halls, and chased the deer in its parks. Christian the Fourth of Denmark was sumptuously entertained by him at Windsor. In this reign a curious dispute occurred between the king and the dean and chapter respecting the repair of a breach in the wall, which was not brought to issue for three years, when, after much argument, it was decided in favour of the clergy. Little was done at Windsor by Charles the First until the tenth year of his reign, v/hen a banqueting-house erected by Elizabeth was taken down, and the magnificent fountain con- structed by Queen Mary demolished. Two years afterwards, a pyramid or lantern," with a clock, bell, and dial, was ordered to be set up in the front of the castle, and a balcony was erected before the room where Henry the Sixth was born. In the early part of the year 1642, Charles retired to Windsor, to shield himself from the insults of the populace, and was followed by a committee of the House of Commons, who prevailed upon him to desist from the prosecution of the impeached members. On the 23rd of October, in the same year. Captain Fogg, at the head of a parliamentarian force, demanded the keys of the college- treasury, and not being able to obtain them, forced open the doors, and carried oif the whole of the plate. The plunder of the college was completed by Vane, the par- liamentary governor of the castle, who seized upon the whole of the furniture and decorations of the choir ; rifled the tomb of Edward the Fourth ; stripped off all the costly ornaments from Wolsey's tomb ; defaced the emblazonings over Henry the Sixth's grave ; broke the rich painted glass of the windows, and wantonly destroyed the exquisite woodwork of the choir. Towards the close of the year 1648, the ill-fated Charles was brought a prisoner to Windsor, where he remained while pre- parations were made for the execrable tragedy soon afterwards enacted. After the slaughter of the martyr-monarch, the castle became the prison of the Earl of Norwich, Lord Capel, and the Duke of Hamilton, and other royalists and cavaliers. Cromwell frequently resided within the castle, and often took a moody and distrustful walk upon the terrace. It was during the Protectorate, in 1677, that the ugly buildings, appropriated to the naval knights, standing between the Garter Tower and Chancellor's Tower, were erected by Sir Francis Crane. THE CASTLE IN CHARLES THE SECOND'S TLME. 161 Seventeen state apartments were erected by Sir Christopher Wren, under the direction of Sir John Denham ; the ceiHngs were painted by Verrio ; and the walls decorated with exquisite carvings by Grinling Gibbons. A grand staircase was added at the same time. Most of the chambers were hung with tapestry, and all adorned with pictures and costly furniture. The addition made to the castle by Charles was the part of the north front, then called the " Star Building," from the star of the order of the Garter worked in colours in the front of it, but now denominated the " Stuart Building," extending eastward along the terrace from Henry the Seventh's building, one hundred and seventy feet. In 1676, the ditch was filled up, and the ter- race carried along the south and east fronts of the castle. Meanwhile, the original character of the castle was com- pletely destroyed and Italianized. The beautiful and picturesque irregularities of the walls were removed ; the towers shaved off; the windows transformed into common-place circular-headed apertures. And so the castle remained for more than a century. Edward the Third's Tower, indifferently called the Earl Mar- shal's Tower and the Devil Tower, and used as a place of confinement for state prisoners, was now allotted to the maids of honour. It was intended by Charles to erect a monument in nonour of his martyred father on the site of the Tomb-house, which he proposed to remove, and 70,000/. were voted by parlia- ment for this purpose. The design, however, waj; abandoned under the plea that the body could not be found, though it was perfectly well known where it lay. The real motive pro- bably w^as that Charles had already spent the money. In 1680, an equestrian statue of Charles the Second, executed by Strada, at the expense of Tobias Rustat, formerly housekeeper at Hampton Court, was placed in the centre of the upper ward. It now stands at the lower end of the same court. The sculptures on the pedestal were designed by Grinling Gibbons; and Horace Walpole pleasantly declared that the statue had no other merit than to attract attention to them. In old times, a road, forming a narrow irregular avenue, ran through the woods from the foot of the castle to Snow Hfll. But this road having been neglected, during a long series of years, the branches of the trees and underwood had so much encroached upon it as to render it wholly impassable. A grand avenue, 240 feet wide was planned by Charles in its place ; and the magni- ficent approach called the Long Walk laid out and planted. The only material incident connected with the castle during the reign of James the Second has been already related. Windsor was not so much favoured as Hampton Court by William the Third, though he contemplated alterations within it during the latter part of his life, which it may be matter ol rejoicing were never accomplished. Queen Anne's operations were chiefly directed towards the parks, in improving which nearly 40,000/. were expended. If 162 /VINDSOR CASTLE. 1707, the extensive avenue running almost parallel with the Long Walk, and called the "Queen's Walk," was planted by her; anc three years afterwards, a carriage road was formed through the Lon Walk. A garden was also planned on the north side of the castle In this reign. Sir James Thornhill commenced painting Charlco the Second's staircase with designs from Ovid's Metamorphoses, but did not complete his task till after the accession of George the First. This staircase was removed in 1800, to make way for the present Gothic entrance erected by the elder Wyatt. The first two monarchs of the house of Hanover rarely used Windsor as a residence, preferring Hampton Court and Ken- sington ; and even George the Third did not actually live in the Castle, but in the Queen's Lodge — a large detached building, with no pretension to architectural beauty, which he himself erected opposite the south terrace, at a cost of nearly 44,0007. With most praiseworthy zeal, and almost entirely at his own expense, this monarch undertook the restoration of Saint George's Chapel. The work was commenced in 1787, occupied three years, and was executed by Mr. Emlyn, a local architect. The whole building was re-paved, a new altar-screen and organ added, and the carving restored. In 1796, Mr. James Wyatt was appointed surveyor-general ot the royal buildings, and effected many internal arrangements. Externally, he restored Wren's round-headed windows to their original form, and at the same time gothicised a large portion of the north and south sides of the upper ward. Before proceeding further, a word must be said about the parks. The Home Park, which lies on the east and north sides of the castle, is about four miles in circum ference, and was enlarged and in- closed with a brick wall by William the Third. On the east, and nearly on the site of the present sunk garden, a bowl- ing-green, was laid out by Charles the Second. Below, on the north, were Queen Anne's gar- dens, since whose time the declivity of the hill has been planted with forest trees. At the east angle of the north THE GREAT PARK. 163 terrace are the beautifQl slopes, with a path skirting the ncxih side of the Home Park, and leading through charming plantations in the direction of the royal farm and dairy, the ranger's lodge, and the kennel for the queen's harriers. This park contains many noble trees ; and the grove of elms in the south-east, near the spot where the scathed oak assigned to Heme stands, is traditionally asserted to have been a favourite walk of Queen Elizabeth. It still retains her name. The Great Park is approached by the magnificent avcime, called the Long Walk, laid out, as has been stated, by Charles the Second, and extending to the foot of Snow Hill, the sum- mit of which is crowned by the colossal equestrian statue of George the Third, by Westmacott. Not far from this point stands Cumberland Lodge, which derives its name from William, Duke of Cumberland, to whom it was granted in 1744. Ac- cording to Norden's survey, in 1607, this park contained 3050 acres ; but when surveyed by George the Third, it was found to consist of 3800 acres, of which 200 were covered with water. At that time, the park was overgrown with fern and rushes, and abounded in bogs and swamps, which in many places were dan- gerous and almost impassable. It contained about three thou- sand head of deer in bad condition. The park has since been thoroughly drained, smoothed, and new planted in parts ; and two farms have been introduced upon it, under the direction of Mr. Kent, at which the Flemish and Norfolk modes of hus bandry have been successfully practised. Boasting every variety of forest scenery, and commanding from its knolls and acclivities magnificent views of the castle, the Great Park is traversed in all directions, by green drives thread- ing its long vistas, or crossing its open glades, laid out by George the Fourth. Amid the groves at the back of Spring Hill, in a charmingly-sequestered situation, stands a small private chapel. FRlVhTB f.HAJ'EL, IN THK QREAT F&RK m2 164 WINDSOR CASTLE. built in the Gothic style, and which was used as a place of devotion by George the Fourth during the progress of the improvements at the castle, and is sometimes attended by the present queen. Not the least of the attractions of the park is Virginia Water, with its bright and beautiful expanse, its cincture of green banks, soft and smooth as velvet, its screen of noble woods, its Chinese fishing-temple, its frigates, its ruins, its cascade, cave, and Druidical temple, its obelisk and bridges, with numberless beau- ties besides which it would be superfluous to describe here. This artificial mere covers pretty nearly the same surface of ground as that occupied by the great lake of olden times. Windsor Forest once comprehended a circumference of a hun- dred and twenty miles, and comprised part of Buckinghamshire, a considerable portion of Surrey, and the whole south-east side of Berkshire, as far as Hungerford. On the Surrey side, it in- cluded Cobham and Chertsey, and extended along the side of the Wey, which marked its limits as far as Guildford, In the reign of James the First, when it was surveyed by Norden, its circuit was estimated at seventy-seven miles and a half, ex- clusive of the liberties extending into Buckinghamshire. There were fifteen walks within it, each under the charge of a head keeper, and the whole contained upwards of three thousand head of deer. It is now almost wholly enclosed. aSOBOB TH» JOOBTH'a OATHWAY, AJID YOBK AND LAiJOAaTfiB Towaaa, with viotoria towbb oh thb bight THK LAST GREAT EPOCH IN THE HISTORY OF THE CASTLE, A PRINCE of consummate taste and fine conceptions, Geor;^© the Foiurth meditated, and what is better, accomplished, ihe THE CASTLE OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 165 restoration of the castle to more than its original grandeur. He was singularly fortunate in his architect. Sir Jeffry Wyatville was to him what William of Wykeham had been to Edward the Third. All the incongruities of successive reigns were removed; all, or nearly all, the injuries inflicted by time repaired ; and when the work so well commenced was finished, the structure took its place as the noblest and most majestic palatial residence in existence. To enter into a full detail of Wyatville*s achievements is beyond the scope of the present work ; but a brief survey may be taken of them. Never was lofty design more fully realized. EAST AVIll NORTH FAOAIIBS OF THK OABTtJt View the castle on the north, with its grand terrace of nearly a thousand feet in length, and high embattled walls ; its superb fa9ade, comprehending the stately Brunswick Tower ; the Corn- wall Tower, with its gorgeous window ; George the Fourth's Tower, including the great oriel window of the state drawing room ; the restored Stuart buildings, and those of Henry the Seventh and of Elizabeth; the renovated Norman Tower; the Powder Tower, with the line of walls as far as the Winches- ter Tower ; — view this, and then turn to the east, and behold another front of marvellous beauty extending more than four hundred feet from north to south, and displaying the Prince of Wales's Tower, the Chester, Clarence, and Victoria Towers — all of which have been raised above their former level, and en- riched by great projecting windows ; — behold also the beautiful sunken garden, with its fountain and orangery, its flights of steps, and charming pentagonal terrace ; — ^proceed to the south front, of which the Victoria Tower, with its machicolated battle- ments and oriel window, forms so superb a feature at the eastern comer, the magnificent gateway receiving its name from George 16« WINDSOR CASTLE. the T'ourth, flanked by the York and Lancaster Towers, and openino; in a continued line from the Long Walk ; — look at Saint George's gate, Edward the Third's renovated tower, and the octagon tower beyond it ; — look at all these, and if they fail to excite a due appreciation of the genius that conceived them, gaze at the triumph of the whole, and which lords over all the rest, — the Round Tower, — gaze at it, and not here alone, but from the heights of the Great Park, from the vistas of the Home Park, from the bowers of Eton, the meads of Clewer THB OASTLE, FROM ETON PLAT-FIBUJB and Datchet, from the Brocas, the gardens of the naval knights — from a hundred points; — view it at sunrise when the royal standard is hoisted, or at sunset when it is lowered, near or at a distance, and it will be admitted to be the work of a pro- digious architect ! But Wyatville's alterations have not yet been fully considered. Pass through Saint George's gateway, and enter the grand quad- rangle to which it leads. Let your eye wander round it, beginning with the inner sides of Edward the Third's Tower and George the Fourth's gateway, and proceeding to the beautiful private entrance to the sovereign's apartments, the grand range of win- dows of the eastern corridor, the proud towers of the gate way to the household, the tall pointed windows of Saint George's Hall, the state entrance tower, with its noble windows, until it finally rests upon the Stuart buildings and King John's Tower at the angle of the pile. INTERNAL ARRANGEMENTS EFFECTED BY WYATVILLE. 167 THE UPPKR QUJiSRAMaiJI Internally, the alterations made by the architect have been of corresponding splendour and importance. Around the south and east sides of the court at which you are gazing, a spacious corridor has been constructed, five hundred and fifty feet in length, and connected with the different suites of apartments on these sides of the quadrangle; extensive alterations have been made in the domestic offices ; the state apartments have been repaired and re-arranged ; Saint George's hall has been enlarged by the addition of the private chapel, (the only questionable change,) and restored to the Gothic style; and the Waterloo chamber built to contain George the Fourth's munificent gift to the nation of the splendid collection of portraits now occupy- ing it. " The first and most remarkable characteristic of the operations of Sir Jeffry Wyatville on the exterior," observes Mr. Poynter, "is the judgment with which he has preserved the castle of Edward the Third. Some additions have been made to it, and with striking effect — as the Brunswick Tower, and the western tower of George the Fourth's gateway, which so nobly terminates the approach from the Great Park. The more modern buildings on the north side have also been assimilated to the rest ; but the architect has vielded to no temptation to substitute his own de» sign for that of William of Wykeham, and no small difficultieti 168 WINDSOR CASTLE. have been combated and overcome for the sake of preserving the outHne of the edifice, and maintaining the towers in their original position." The Winchester Tower, originally inhabited by William of Wykeham, was bestowed upon Sir Jeffry Wyatville as a residence by George the Fourth; and on the resignation of the distinguished architect, was continued to him for life by the present queen. The works within the castle were continued during the reign of William the Fourth, and at its close the actual cost of the buildings had reached the sum of 771,000/., and it has been asserted that the general expenditure up to the present time has exceeded a million and a half of money. The view from the summit of the Round Tower is beyond description magnificent, and commands twelve counties — namely, Middlesex, Essex, Hertford, Berks, Bucks, Oxford, Wilts, Hants, Surrey, Sussex, Kent, and Bedford ; while, on a clear day, the dome of Saint Paul's may be distinguished fi-om it. This tower was raised thirty-three feet by Sir Jeffry Wyatville, crowned with a machicolated battlement, and surmounted with a flag-tower. The circumference of the castle is 4180 feet; the length from east to west, 1480 feet; and the area, exclusive of the terraces, about twelve acres. For the present the works are suspended. But it is to be hoped that the design of Sir Jeffry Wyatville will be fully carried out in the lower ward, by the removal of such houses on the north as would lay Saint George's chapel open to view from this side ; by the demolition of the old incongruous buildings lying westward of the bastion near the hundred steps ; by the opening out of the pointed roof of the library ; the repair and reconstruction in their original style of the Curfew, the Garter, and the Salisbury Towers : PROPOSED ALTERATIONS IN THE LOWER WARD. 169 Ai.'l the erection of a lower terrace extending outside the castle, fruin the bastion above mentioned to the point of termination of the improvements, and accessible from the town ; the construction of which terrace would necessitate the removal of the disfiguring and encroaching houses on the east side of Thames Street. This accomplished. Crane's ugly buildings removed, and the three western towers laid open to the court, the Horse-shoe Cloisters consistently repaired, Windsor Castle would indeed be complete. And fervently do we hope that this desirable event may be identified with the reign of Victoria ! ^ns entis t\)t Wbixti 3i3oofe of t^e 6D|)ronicU et "Ir-^rVlP^ 3$oofe tl)c d?ourtft* CARDINAL WOLSEY 174 WINDSOR CASTLE Stately gardens and broad terraces, its matchless parks, its silver belting river, and its circumference of proud and regal towers ? Nowhere in the world. At all seasons, Windsor is magnificent ; whether, in winter, she looks upon her garniture of woods stripped of their foliage — her river covered with ice — or the wide expanse of country around her, sheeted with snow — or, in autumn, gazes on the same scene — a world of golden-tinted leaves, brown meadows, or glowing corn-fields. But summer is her season of beauty — June is the month when her woods are fullest and greenest ; when her groves are shadiest ; her avenues most deli- cious ; when her river sparkles like a diamond zone ; when town and village, mansion and cot, church and tower, hill and vale, the distant capital itself — all within view — are seen to the highest advantage. At such a season, it is impossible to behold fi:om afar the heights of Windsor, crowned, like the Phrygian goddess, by a castled diadem, and backed by lordly woods, and with- hold a burst of enthusiasm and delight. And it is equally impossible, at such a season, to stand on the grand northern terrace and gaze first at the proud pile enshrining the sovereign mistress of the land, and then gaze on the unequalled prospect spread out before it, embracing in its wide range every kind of beauty that the country can boast, and not be struck with the thought that the perfect and majestic castle — In state as wholesome as in state His fit, Worthy the owner, and the owner it, — together with the wide, and smiling, and populous district around it, form an apt representation of the British sovereign and her dominions. There stands the castle, dating back as far as the Conquest, and boasting since its foundation a succession of royal inmates, while at its foot lies a region of unequalled fertility and beauty — full of happy homes and loving, loyal hearts — a miniature of the whole country and its inhabitants. What though the smiling landscape may be darkened by a passing cloud ! — ^what though a momentary gloom may gather round the august brow of the proud pile ! — the cloud will speedily vanish — the gloom disperse — and the bright and sunny scene look yet brighter and sunnier from the contrast. It was the chance of the writer of these lines upon one oc- casion to behold his sovereign under circumstances which he esteems singularly fortunate. She was taking rapid exercise with the prince upon the south side of the garden-terrace. All at once, the royal pair paused at the summit of the ascent lead- ing from George the Fourth's gateway. The prince disap- peared along the eastern terrace, leaving the queen alone. And there she stood, her slight, faultless figure sharply defined against the clear sky. Nothing was wanting to complete the picture ; the great bay windows of the Victoria Tower, on the one hand— the balustrade of the terrace, on the other — the Home Park HENRYS RETURV TO THE CASTLE. 175 beyond. It was thrilling to feel that that small, solitary figare •omprehended all the might and majesty of England — and a .housand kindling aspirations were awakened by the thought. But it was, as has been said, the merry month of June, and Windsor Castle looked down in all its magnificence upon the 3omp of woods, and upon the twelve fair and smiling counties ying within its ken. A joyous stir was within its courts — the ^leam of arms and the fluttering of banners was seen upon its oattlements and towers, and the ringing of bells, the beating of drums, and the fanfares of trumpets, mingled with the sliouting of crowds and the discharge of ordnance. Amidst this tumult, a grave procession issued from the deanery, and took its way across the lower quadrangle, which was thronged with officers and men-at-arms, in the direction of the lower gate. Just as it arrived there, a distant gun was heard, and an answer- ing peal was instantly fired from the culverins of the Curfew Tower, while a broad standard, emblazoned with the arms of France and England within the garter, and having for sup- porters the English lion, crowned, and the red dragon, sinister, was reared upon the keep. All these preparations betokened the approach of the king, who was returning to the castle, after six weeks* absence. Though information of the king's visit to the castle had only preceded him by a few hours, everything was ready for his reception — and the greatest exertions were used to give splen- dour to it. In spite of his stubborn and tyrannical nature, Henry was a popular monarch, and never shewed himself before his subjects but he gained their applauses ; his love of pomp, his handsome person, and manly deportment, always winning him homage from the multitude. But at no period was he in a more critical position than the present. The meditated divorce from Catherine of Arragon was a step which found no sympathy from the better portion of his subjects, while the ill-assorted union of Anne Boleyn, an avowed Lutheran, which it was known would follow it, was equally objectionable. The seeds of discontent had been widely sown in the capital ; and tumults had occurred which though promptly checked, had nevertheless alarmed the king, coupled as they were with the disapprobation of his ministers, the sneering remonstrances of France, the menaces of the Papal see, and the open hostilities of Spain. But the characteristic obstinacy of his nature kept him firm to his point, and he re- solved to carry it, be the consequences what they might. All his efforts to win over Campeggio proved fruitless. The legate was deaf to his menaces or promises, well knowing that to aid Anne Boleyn would be to seriously affect the interests of the church of Rome. The affair, however, so long and so artfully delayed, was now drawing to a close. A court was appointed by the legates to be '.7D WINDSOR CASTLE. holden on the 18th of June, at Blackfriars, to try the question. Gardiner had been recalled from Rome to act as counsel for Henry ; and the monarch, determining to appear by proxy at the trial, left his palace of Bridewell the day before it was to come on, and set out with Anne Boleyn and his chief attendants for Windsor Castle. Whatever secret feelings might be entertained against him> Henry was received by the inhabitants of Windsor with every demonstration of loyalty and aifection. Deafening shouts rent the air as he approached ; blessings and good wishes were showered upon him; and hundreds of caps were flung into the air. But noticing that Anne Boleyn was received with evil looks and in stern silence, and construing this into an affront to himself, Henry not only made slight and haughty acknowledgment of the welcome given him, but looked out for some pretext to manifest his displeasure. Luckily none was afforded him, and he entered the castle in a sullen mood. The day was spent in gentle exercise within the Home Park and on the terrace, and the king affected the utmost gaiety and indifference ; but those acquainted with him could readily perceive he was ill at ease. In the evening, he remained for some time alone in his closet penning dispatches, and then summoning an attendant, ordered him to bring Captain Bouchier into his presence. " Well, Bouchier," he said, as the officer made his appearance, " have you obeyed my instructions in regard to Mabel Lyndwood?" " I have, my liege," replied Bouchier. " In obedience to your majesty's commands, immediately after your arrival at the castle, I rode to the forester's hut, and ascertained that the damsel was still there." " And looking as beautiful as ever, I'll be sworn !" said the king. . " It was the first time I had seen her, my liege," replied Bouchier ; " but I do not think she could have ever looked more beautiful." " I am well assured of it," replied Henry. " The pressure of affairs during my absence from the castle had banished her image from ray mind ; but now it returns as forcibly as before. And you have so arranged it that she will be brought hither to- morrow night ?" Bouchier replied in the affirmative. " It is well," pursued Henry ; " but what more ? — for you look as if you had something further to declare." " Your majesty will not have forgotten how you exterminated the band of Heme the hunter ?" said Bouchier. " Mother of Heaven, no !" cried the king, starting up — "I have not forgotten it. What of them ? — ha ! have they come to life ao;ain ? — do they scour the parks once more ? — That were indeed a marvel !" Tristram's arrest ordered. 177 " What 1 have to relate is almost as great a marvel," returned BoQchier. " I have not heard of the resurrection of the band, though for aught I know it may have occurred. But Heme has been seen again in the forest. Several of the keepers have been scared by him — travellers have been affrighted and plun- dered — and no one will now cross the Great Park after nightfall." "Amazement!" cried Henry, again seating himself; "once let the divorce be settled, and I will effectually check the career of this lawless and mysterious being." " Pray Heaven your majesty may be able to do so !" replied Bouchier. "But I have always been of opinion that the only way to get rid of the demon would be by the aid of the church. He is unassailable by mortal weapons." " It would almost seem so," said the king. " And yet I do not like to yield to the notion." " I shrewdly suspect that old Tristram Lyndwood, the grand- sire of the damsel upon whom your majesty has deigned to cast your regards, is in some way or other leagued with Heme," said Bouchier. " At all events, I saw him with a tall, hideous- looking personage, whose name I understood to be Valentine Hagthorne, and who, I feel persuaded, must be one of the remnants of the demon-hunter's band." " Why did you not arrest him ?" inquired Henry. " I did not like to do so without your majesty's authority,'* replied Bouchier. " Besides, I could scarcely arrest Hag- thorne without at the same time securing the old forester, which might have alarmed the damseL But I am ready to execute your injunctions now." " Let a party of men go in search of Hagthorne to-night," re- plied Henry ; " and while Mabel is brought to the castle to- morrow, do you arrest old Tristram, and keep him in custody till I have leisure to examine him." " It shall be done as you desire, my liege," replied Bouchier, bowing and departing. Shortly after this, Henry, accompanied by Anne Boleyn, pro ceeded with his attendants to Saint George's Chapel, and heard vespers performed. Just as he was about to return, an usher advanced towards him, and making a profound reverence, said that a masked dame, whose habiliments proclaimed her of the highest rank, craved a moment's audience of him. " Where is she?" demanded Henry. " In the north aisle, an' please your majesty," replied the usher, " near the Urswick chapel. I told her that this was not the place for an audience of your majesty, nor the time -Dut she would not be said nay, and therefore, at the risk of mcurring your sovereign displeasure, I have ventured to proffer her request." The usher omitted to state that his chief inducement to incur the risk was a valuable ring given him by the lady. 178 WINDSOR CASTLE. " Well, I will go to her," said the king. " I pray you, excuse me for a short space, fair mistress," he added, to Anne Boleyn. And quitting the choir, he entered the northern aisle, and casting his eyes down the Une of noble columns by which it is flanked, and seeing no one, he concluded that the lady must have retired into the Urswick chapel. And so it proved ; for on reaching this exquisite little shrine, he perceived a tall, masked dame within it, clad in robes of the richest black velvet. As he entered the chapel, the lady advanced towards him, and throwing herself on her knees, removed her mask — disclosing features stamped with sorrow and suffering, but still retaining an expression of the greatest dignity. They were those of Catherine of Arragon. Uttering an angry exclamation, Henry turned on his heel, and would have left her, but she clung to the skirts of his robe. " Hear me a moment, Henry — my king — my husband — one single moment — ^hear me !" cried Catherine, in tones of such pas- sionate anguish, that he could not resist the appeal. " Be brief, then, Kate," he rejoined, takmg her hand to raise her. " Blessings on you for the word !" cried the queen, covering his hand with kisses. " I am indeed your own true Kate — your faithful, loving, lawful wife !" " Rise, madam !" cried Henry, coldly — " this posture be- seems not Catherine of Arragon." " I obey you now as I have ever done," she replied, rising ; " though if I followed the prompting of my heart, I should not quit my knees till I had gained my suit." "You have done wrong in coming here, Catherine, at thif juncture," said Henry, " and may compel me to some harsh measure which I would willingly have avoided." " No one knows I am here," replied the queen, " except two faithful attendants, who are vowed to secrecy ; and I shall depart as I came." " I am glad you have taken these precautions," replied Henry. " Now speak freely, but again I must bid you, be brief." " I will be as brief as I can," replied the queen ; " but I pray you bear with me, Henry, if I unhappily weary you. I am full of misery and affliction, and never was daughter and wife of king wretched as I am. Pity me, Henry — pity me ! But that T restrain myself, I should pour forth my soul in tears before you. Oh, Henry, after twenty years' duty and love, to be brought to this unspeakable shame — to be cast from you with dishonour — to be supplanted by another — it is terrible !" " If you have only come here to utter reproaches, madam, \ must put an end to the interview,*'' said Henry, frowning. " I do not reproach you, Henry," replied Catherine, meekly — I only wish to shew you the depth and extent of my affection. only implore yon to do me right and .juscice — not to bring HENRY S PROMISE TO CATHERINE. 17 J shame upon me to cover your own wrongful action. Have compassion upon the princess, our daughter — spare her, if you will not spare me !" " You sue in vain, Catherine," replied Henry. " I lament your condition, but my eyes are fully opened to the sinful state in which I have so long lived, and I am resolved to abandon it. ' " An unworthy prevarication," replied Catherine, " by which you seek to work my ruin, and accomplish your union with Anne Boleyn. And you will no doubt succeed ; for what can I, a feeble woman, and a stranger in your country, do to prevent it. You will succeed, I say — ^you will divorce me, and place her upon the throne. But mark my words, Henry, she will not long remain there." The king smiled bitterly. "She will bring dishonour upon you," pursued Catherine. " The woman who has no regard for ties so sacred as those which bind us, will not respect other obligations." " No more of this !" cried Henry. " You suffer your resent- ment to carry you too far." " Too far !" exclaimed Catherine. " Too far ! — Is to warn you that you are about to take a wanton to your bed — and that you will bitterly repent your folly, when too late, going too far? It is my duty, Henry, no less than my desire, thus to warn you ere the irrevocable step be taken." "Have you said all you wish to say, madam?" demanded the king. " No, my dear liege, not a hundredth part of what my heart prompts me to utter," replied Catherine. " I conjure you, by my strong and tried affection — by the tenderness that has for years subsisted between us— by your hopes of temporal pros- perity and spiritual welfare — by all you hold dear and sacred — to pause while there is yet time. Let the legates meet to- morrow — let them pronounce sentence against me — and as surely as those fatal words are uttered, my heart will break." " Tut, tut !" — exclaimed Henry, impatiently — " you will live many years in happy retirement." " I will die as I have lived — a queen," replied Catherine ; " but my life will not be long. Now answer me truly — if Anne Boleyn plays you false " " She never will play me false I" interrupted Henry. " I say, zfshe does," pursued Catherine, " and you are satisfied of her guilt, will you be content with divorcing her as you di- vorce me ?" " No, by my father's head !" cried Henry, fiercely. " If such a thing were to happen, which I hold impossible, she should expiate her offence on the scaffold." " Give me your hand on that," said Catherine. " I give you my hand upon it," he replied. "Enough," said the queen — "if I cannot have right and x2 180 *VlNDSOR CASTLE. justice, I shall at least have vengeance, though it will come when I am in my tomb. But it will come, and that is sufficient." " This is the frenzy of jealousy, Catherine," said Henry. "No, Henry; it is not jealousy," replied the queen, with dignity. " The daughter of Ferdinand of Spain and Isabella of Castile, with the best blood of Europe in her veins, would despise herself if she could entertain so paltry a feeling towards one bom so much beneath her as Anne Boleyn." " As you will, madam," rejoined Henry. '• It is time our in- terview terminated." " Not yet, Henry — for the love of Heaven, not yet !" implored Catherine. " Oh, bethink you by whom we were joined together ! — by your father, Henry the Seventh — one of the wisest princes that ever sat upon a throne ; and by the sanction of my own father, Ferdinand the Fifth, one of the justest. Would they have sanctioned the match if it had been unlawful? Were they desti- tute of good counsellors ? Were they indifferent to the future ?" '^You had better reserve these arguments for the legates' ears to-morrow, madam," said Henry, sternly. " I shall urge them there with all the force I can," replied Catherine, ''for I will leave nought untried to hinder an event so fraught with misery. But I feel the struggle will be hopeless." " Then why make it ?" rejoined Henry. " Because it is due to you — to myself — to the princess our daughter — to our illustrious progenitors — and to our people, to make it," replied Catherine. " I should be unworthy to be your consort if I acted otherwise — and I will never, in thought, word, or deed, do aught derogatory to that title. You may divorce me, but I will never assent to it ; you may wed Anne Boleyn, but she will never be your lawful spouse ; and you may cast me from your palace, but I will never go willingly." " I know you to be contumacious, madam," replied Henry. " And now, I pray you, resume your mask, and withdraw. What I have said will convince you that your stay is useless." " I perceive it," replied Catherine. " Farewell, Henry — fare- well, loved husband of my heart — ^farewell, for ever !" " Your mask — your mask, madam !" cried Henry, impatiently. " God's death ! footsteps are approaching. Let no one enter here !" he cried, aloud. " I will come in," said Anne Boleyn, stepping into the chapel, just as Catherine had replaced her mask. " Ah ! your majesty looks confused. I fear I have interrupted some amorous con^ ference." " Come with me, Anne," said Henry, taking her arm, and trying to draw her away — " come with me." " Not till I learn who your lady-love is," replied Anne, pettishly. " You affect to be jealous of me, my liege, but I have much more reason to be jealous of you. When you were last at Windsor, I heard you paid a secret visit to a fair maiden CATHERINE INVOKES VENGEANCE UPON ANNE. 181 near the lake in the park, and now you are holding an inter- view with a masked dame here. Nay, I care not for your ges- tures of silence. I will speak." " You are distraught, sweetheart," cried the king. " Come away." " No," replied Anne. " Let this dame be dismissed." " I shall not go at your bidding, minion !" cried Catherine, fiercely. " Ah !" cried Anne, starting ; " whom have we here ?" " One you had better have avoided," whispered Henry. ** The queen !" exclaimed Anne, with a look of dismay. " Ay, the queen I" echoed Catherine, unmasking. " Henryj if you have any respect left for me, I pray you, order thic woman from my presence. Let me depart in peace." " Lady Anne, I pray you retire," said Henry. But Anne stood her ground resolutely. " Nay, let her stay, then," said the queen ; " and I promise you she shall repent her rashness. And do you stay too, Henry, and regard well her whom you are about to make your spouse. Question your sister Mary, somewhile* consort to Louis the Twelfth and now Duchess of Suffolk, — question her as to the character and conduct of Anne Boleyn when she was her attendant at the court of France — ask whether she had never to reprove her for levity — question the Lord Percy as to her love for him — question Sir Thomas Wyat, and a host of others." " All these charges are false and calumnious," cried Anne Boleyn. " Let the king inquire and judge for himself," rejoined Ca- therine, " and if he weds you, let him look well to you, or you will make him a scoff to all honourable men. And now, as you have come between him and me — as you have divided husband and mfe — for the intent, whether successful or not, I denounce you before Heaven, and invoke its wrath upon your head. Night and day, I will pray that you may be brought to shame; and when I shall be called hence, as I may be soon, I will appear before the throne of the Most High, and summon you to judgment." " Take me from her, Henry," cried Anne, faintly ; " her violence affrights me." " No, you shall stay," said Catherine, grasping her arm, and detaining her, '* you shall hear your doom. You imagine your career will be a brilliant one, and that you will be able to wield the sceptre you wrongfully wrest from me, but it will moulder into dust in your hand — the crown unjustly placed upon your brow will fall to the ground, and it will bring the head with it." " Take me away, Henry, I implore you !" cried Anne. " You sfiall hear me out," pursued Catherine, exerting all her strength, and maintaining her grasp — " or I will follow you down yon aisles, and pour forth my malediction against you in the 182 WINDSOR CASTI.E. hearing of all 3'our attendants. You have braved me, and shall feel my power. Look at her, Henry — see how she shrinks before the gaze of an injured woman. Look me in the face, minion — you cannot ! — ^you dare not !" " Oh, Henry !" sobbed Anne. '' You have brought it upon yourself," said the king. " She has," replied Catherine ; " and unless she pauses and repents, she will bring yet more upon her head. Yon Fuffer now, minion, but how will you feel when, in your turn, you jtre despised, neglected, and supplanted by a rival — when the filse glitter of your charms having passed away, Henry will see only your faults — and will open his eyes to all I now tell him ?" A sob was all the answer Anne could return. " You will feel as I feel towards you," pursued the queen — " hatred towards her ; but you will not have the consolations I enjoy. You will have merited your fate; and you will then think upon me and my woes, and will bitterly, but unavailingly, repent your conduct. And now, Henry," she exclaimed, turning solemnly to him,, "you have pledged your royal word to me, and given me your hand upon it, that if you find this woman false to you, she shall expiate her offence on the block. I call upon you to ratify the pledge in her presence." " I do so, Catherine," replied the king. " The mere suspicion of her guilt shall be enough." " Henry !" exclaimed Anne. " I have said it," replied the king. " Tremble, then, Anne Boleyn !" cried Catherine, " tremble I and when you are adjudged to die the death of an adulteress, bethink you of the prediction of the queen you have injured. I may not live to witness your fate, but we shall meet before the throne of an eternal judge." " Oh, Henry, this is too much !" gasped Anne. And she sank fainting into his arms. " Begone !" cried the king, furiously. " You have killed her!" " It were well for us both if I had done so," replied Catherine. " But she will recover to work my misery and her own. To vour hands I commit her punishment. May God bless you, Henry !" With this she replaced her mask, and quitted thd chapel. Henry, meanwhile, anxious to avoid the comments of his attendants, exerted himself to restore Anne Boleyn to sensibi- lity, and his efforts were speedily successful. " Is it, then, reality ?" gasped Anne, as she gazed around. " I hoped it was a hideous dream. Oh, Henry, this has ucfn frightful ! But you will not kill me, as she predicted ? Swear to me you will not !" " Why should you be alarmed?" rejoined the king. " If you are faithful, you have nothing to fear " ANNE BOLEYNS FEARS. Ib3 " But you said suspicion, Henry — ^you said suspicion !" cried Anne. " You must put the greater gu^rd upon your conduct," re- joined the king, moodily. " I begin to think there is some truth in Catherine's insinuations." " Oh ! no ; I swear to you there is not," said Anne — " I have trifled with the gallants of Francis's court,, and have listened, per- haps too complacently, to the love-vows of Percy and Wyat, but when your majesty deigned to cast eyes upon me, all others vanished as the stars of night before the rising of the god of day. Henry, I love you deeply, devotedly — but Catherine's terrible imprecations make me feel more keenly than I have ever done before the extent of the wrong I am about to inflict upon her — and I fear that retributive punishment will follow it." " You will do her no wrong," replied Henry. " I am satisfied of the justice of the divorce, and of its necessity; and if my purposed union with you were out of the question, I should demand it. Be the fault on my head." " Your words restore me, in some measure, my liege," said Anne. " I love you too well not to risk body and soul for you I am yours for ever — ha !" she exclaimed, with a fearful look. " What ails you, sweetheart ?" exclaimed the king. " I thought I saw a face at that window," she replied — " a black and hideous face like that of a fiend." ^* It was mere fancy," replied the king. " Your mind is dis- turbed by what has occurred. You had better join your atten- dants, and retire to your own apartments." " Oh, Henry !" cried Anne — "do not judge me unheard — do not believe what any false tongue may utter against me. I love only you — and can love only you. I would not wrong you, even in thought, for worlds." " I believe you, sweetheart," replied the king, tenderly. So saying, he led her down the aisle to her attendants. They then proceeded together to the royal lodgings, where Anne re- tired to her own apartments, and Henry withdrew to his private chamber. n. HOW HERNE THE HUNTER APPEARED TO HENRY ON THE TERRACE. Henry again sat down to his dispatches, and employed him- self upon them to a late hour. At length, feeling heated and oppressed, he arose, and opened a window. As he did soj he was almost blinded by a vivid flash of forked lightning. Ever ready to court danger, and convinced, from the intense gloom without, that a fearful storm was coming on, Henry re- solved to go forth to witness it. With this view, he quitted the -''>set, and passed through a small door opening upon the 184 WINDSOR CASTLE. northern terrace. The castle clock tolled the hour of midnight, as he issued forth, and the darkness was so profound that he could scarcely see a foot before him. But he went on. " Who goes there ?" cried a voice, as he advanced, and a partisan was placed at his breast. ** The king !" replied Henry, in tones that would have left no doubt of the truth of th^ assertion, even if a gleam of lightning had not at the moment revealed his figure and countenance to the sentinel. " I did not look for your majesty at such a time," replied the man, lowering his pike. " Has your majesty no apprehension of the storm ? I have watched it gathering in the valley, and it will be a dreadful one. If I might make bold to counsel you, I would advise you to seek instant shelter in the castle." " I have no fear, good fellow," laughed the king. " Get thee into yon porch, and leave the terrace to me. I will warn thee when I leave it." As he spoke, a tremendous peal of thunder broke overhead, and seemed to shake the strong pile to its foundations. Again the lightning rent the black canopy of heaven in various places, and shot down in forked flashes of the most dazzling brightness. A rack of clouds, heavily charged with electric fluid, hung right over the castle, and poured down all their fires upon it. Henry paced slowly to and fro, utterly indiffierent to the peril he ran — now watching the lightning as it shivered some oak in the Home Park — or lighted up the wide expanse of country around him — now listening to the roar of heaven's artillery, and he had just quitted the western extremity of the terrace, when the most terrific crash he had yet heard burst over him. The next instant, a dozen forked flashes shot from the sky, while fiery coruscations blazed athwart it ; and at the same moment, a bolt struck the Wykeham Tower, beside which he had been recently standing. Startled by the appalling sound, he turned and beheld upon the battlemented parapet on his left, a tall ghostl}'^ figure, whose antlered helm told him it was Heme the hunter. Dilated against the flaming sky, the proportions of the demon seemed gigantic. His right hand was stretched forth towards the king, and in his left he held a rusty chain. Henry grasped the handle of his sword, and partly drew it, keeping his gaze fixed upon the figure. " You thought you had got rid of me, Harry of England," cried Heme — " but were you to lay the weight of this vast fabric upon me, I would break from under it — ho ! ho !" " What wouldst thou, infernal spirit ?" cried Henry. " I am come to keep company with you, Harry," replied the demon ; " this is a night when only you and I should be abroad. We know how to enjoy it. We like the music of the loud thun- der, and the dance of the blithe lightning." " Avaunt, fiend !" cried Henry, " I will hold no converse with -hee. Back to thv native hell !" €)n\u tbr ijunm- appcaniunn i^jmi) mthc'Qlarncc uerne's awful bodings to henry. 185 " You have no power over me, Harry," rejoined the demon, tiis words mingling with the rolling of the thunder, " for your thoughts are evil, and you are about to do an accursed deed. You cannot dismiss me. Before the commission of every great crime — and many great crimes you will commit — I will always appear to you. And my last appearance shall be three days before your end — ha! ha!" " Darest thou say this to me ?" cried Henry, furiously. " I laugh at thy menaces," rejoined Heme, amid another peal of thunder — " but I have not yet done. Harry of England, your career shall be stained in blood. Your wrath shall de- scend upon the heads of those who love you, and your love shall be fatal. Better Anne Boleyn fled this castle, and sought shelter in the lowliest hovel in the land, than become your spouse. For you will slay her — and not her alone. Another shall fall by your hand ; and so, if you had your own will, would all !" " What meanest thou by all ?" demanded the king. " You will learn in due season," laughed the fiend. " But now mark me, Harry of England, thou fierce and bloody king ! — thou shalt be drunken with the blood of thy wives ; and thy end shall be a fearful one. Thou shalt linger out a living death — a mass of breathing corruption shalt thou become— and when dead, the very hounds with which thou huntedst me shall lick thy blood !" These awful words, involving a fearful prophecy, which was afterwards, as will be shewn, strangely fulfilled, were so mixed up with the rolling of the thunder, that Henry could scarcely distinguish one sound from the other. At the close of the latter speech, a flash of lightning of such dazzling brilliancy shot down past him, that he remained for some moments almost blinded ; and when he recovered his powers of vision, the demon had vanished. in. HOW MABEL LYNDWOOD WAS TAKEN TO THE CASTLE BV NICHOLAS CLAMP; AND HOW THEY ENCOUNTERED MORGAN FENWOLF BY THE WAY. The storm which had fallen so heavily on the castle had likewise visited the lake, and alarmed the inmates of the little dwelling on its banks. Both the forester and his grand-daughter were roused from their beds, and they sat together in the chief apartment of the cottage, listening to the awful rolling of the thunder, and watching the blue flashing of the lightning. The storm was of unusually long duration, and continued for more than an hour with unintermitted violence. It then paused; the thunder rolled off, and the flashes of lightning grew fainter and less frequent. During the storm, Mabel continued on her knees, addressing the most earnest prayers to the Virgin for her preservation and that of her grandfather; but the old forester, lliough evidently much alarmed, uttered not a single suppli- 186 WINDSOR CASTLE. cation, but remained sitting in his chair with a sullen, scarce look. As the thunder died away, he recovered his compo- sure, and addressed himself to soothe the fears of his grand- daughter. In this he had partially succeeded, and was urging her again to seek her couch, when the storm recommenced with fresh fury. Mabel once more fell on her knees, and the old man resumed his sullen posture. Another dreadful half-hour,, marked by a succession of terrible peals and vivid flashes, suc- ceeded, when, amidst an awful pause, Mabel ventured to address her old relative. " Why do you not pray, grandfather?" she said, regarding him uneasily. " Sister Anastasia and good Father Anselm always taught me to utter an Ave and cross myself during a thunder-storm. Why do you not pray, grandfather ?" " Do not trouble me," replied Tristram. " I have no fear." " But your cheeks and lips are blanched," rejoined Mabel ,. " and I observed you shudder during that last awful crash. Pray, grandfather, pray !" " Peace, wench, and mind your own business !" returned the old man, angrily. " The storm will soon be over — it cannot last long in this way." " The saints preserve us !" cried Mabel, as a tremendous concussion was heard overhead, followed by a strong sulphur- ous smell. " The cottage is struck !" '• It is — it is !" cried Tristram, springing to his feet, and rush- ing forth. For a few minutes, Mabel continued in a state of stupe- faction. She then staggered to the door, and beheld her grand- father occupied, with two dark figures, whom she recognised as Valentine Hagthorne and Morgan Fenwolf, in extinguishing the flames, which were bursting from the thatched roof of the hut. Surprise and terror held her silent; and the others were so busily engaged, that they did not notice her. At last, by their united efforts, the fire was got under without material damage to the little building, and Mabel retired, expecting her grandsire to return ; but as he did not do so, and as almost instantly after- wards the plash of oars was heard on the lake, she flew to the window, and beheld him, by the gleam of the lightning, seated in the skiff' with Morgan Fenwolf, while Valentine Haw- thorne had mounted a black horse, and was galloping swiftly away. Mabel saw no more. Overcome by fright, she sank on the ground insensible. When she recovered, the storm had entirely ceased. A heavy shower had fallen, but the sky was now perfectly clear, and day had begun to dawn. Mabel went to the door of the hut, and looked forth for her grandfather, but he was nowhere to be seen. She remained gazing at the now peaceful lake till the sun had fairly risen, when feeling more composed, she retired to rest, and sleep, which had been ba- nished from them during the greater part of the '""ght, now fell upon her lovely eyelids. NiCUOLAS CLAMP. 187 When she awoke, the day was far advanced, but still old Tiis- tram had not returned ; and with a heavy heart she set about her household concerns. The thought, however, of her antici- pated visit to the castle speedily dispelled her anxiety, and she began to make preparations for setting out, attiring herself with unusual care. Bouchier had not experienced much difficulty in persuading her to obey the king's behest, and by his artful representations, he had likewise induced her grandfather to give his consent to the visit, — the old forester only stipulating that she should be escorted there and back by a falconer, named Nicholas Clamp, in whom he could put trust ; to which proposition Bouchier readily assented. At length, five o'clock, the appointed hour, arrived, and with it came Nicholas Clamp. He was a tall, middle-aged man, with yellow hair, clipped closely over his brows, and a beard and moustaches to match. His attire resembled that of a keeper of the forest, and consisted of a doublet and hose of green cloth ; but he did not carry a bugle or hunting-knife. His sole weapon was a stout quarter-staff. After some little hesitation, Mabel consented to accompany the falconer, and they set forth to- gether. The evening was delightful, and their way through the woods was marked by numberless points of beauty. Mabel said little, for her thoughts were running upon her grandfather, and upon his prolonged and mysterious absence ; but the falconer talked of the damage done by the thunder-storm, which he declared was the most awful he had ever witnessed ; and he pointed out to her several trees struck by the lightning. Proceeding in this way they gained a road leading from Blacknest, when, OJJi C^K VS.A.R RI&CEMI! 188 WINDSOR CASTLE. from behind a large oak, the trunk of which had concealed him from view, Morgan Fenwolf started forth, and planted himself in their path. The gear of the proscribed keeper was wild and ragged, his locks matted and disordered, his demeanour savage, and his whole appearance forbidding and alarming. " I have been waiting for you for some time, Mabel Lynd- wood," he said. " You must go with me to your grand- father." " My grandfather would never send you for me," replied Mabel ; " but if he did, I will not trust myself with you." " The saints preserve us !" cried Nicholas Clamp. ^^ Can I believe my eyes ! — Do I behold Morgan Fenwolf!" " Come with me, Mabel," cried Fenwolf, disregarding him. But she returned a peremptory refusal. " She shall not stir an inch !" cried the falconer. " It is thou, Morgan Fenwolf, who must go with me. Thou art a proscribed felon, and thy life is forfeit to the king. Yield thee, dog, as my prisoner !" " Thy prisoner !" echoed Fenwolf, scornfully. " It would take three such as thou art to make me captive ! Mabel Lyndwood, in your grandfather's name, I command you to come with me, and let Nick Clamp look to himself if he dares to hinder you." . . , " Nick will do something more than hinder her," rejoined the falconer, brandishing his staff, and rushing upon the other. *' I'^lon hound ! I command thee to yield I" Before the falconer could reach him, Morgan Fenwolf plucked a long hunting-knife from his girdle, and made a despe- rate stab at his assailant. But Clamp avoided the blow, and striking Fenwolf on the shins, immediately afterwards closed with him. The result was still doubtful, when the struggle was suddenly interrupted by the trampling of horse approaching from the side of Windsor; and at the sound, Morgan Fenwolf disengaged himself from his antagonist, and plunged into the adjoining wood. The next moment, Captain Bouchier rode up, followed by a small band of halberdiers, and receiving information from the falconer of what had occurred, darted with his men into the wood in search of the fugitive. Nicholas Clamp and his companion did not await the issue of the search, but proceeded on their way. As they walked at a brisk pace, they reached the long aveime in about half an hour, and took their way down it. When within a mile of the castle, they were overtaken by Bouchier and his followers, and the falconer was much disappointed to learn that they had failed in tracking Morgan Fenwolf to his THE MEETING WITH THE ARCHERS. 189 lair. After addressing a few complimentary words to the maiden, Bouchier rode on. Soon after this, the pair quitted the Great Park, and passing through a row of straggling houses, divided by gardens and closes, which skirted the foot of Castle Hill, presently reached the lower gate. They were admitted without difficulty ; but just as they entered the lower ward, the falconer was hailed by Shoreditch and Paddington, who, at the moment, issued from the doorway of the guard-room. HSHBT TBI ■ISBTH'B OATS WROli TXS C«JMraB WASD Clamp obeyed the call, and went towards them ; and it was evident, from the gestures of the archers, that they were making inquiries about Mabel, whose appearance seemed to interest them greatly. After a brief conversation with the falconer, they approached her, and respectfully addressing her, begged leave to attend her to the royal lodgings, whither they understood she was going. No objection being made to the proposal by Mabel, the party directed their course towards the middle ward. Passing tnrough the gateway of the Norman Tower, thev 190 WtNDSOR CASTLE. Stopped before a low portal in a picturesque Gothic wing of the castle, with projecting walls and bay windows, which had been erected in the preceding reign of Henry the Seventh, and was, consequently, still in all its freshness and beauty. CaWBT TBS aKVKHTH'a BUtliDIMaa THE GREAT KITCHEN. 191 now MABEL WAS RECEIVED BY THE PARTV IN TUE KITCHEN ; — AND OF THE QUARREL BETWEEN THE TWO JESTERS. Addressing himself to a stout-built yeo- '-- man of the guard, who was standing within T^ the doorway, Nicholas Clamp demanded admittance to the kitchen, and the man having detained them for a few moments, during which ho regarded Mabel with a very offensive stare, ushered them into a small hall, and from thence into a narrow passage connected with it Lighted by narrow loopholes, pierced through the walls, which were of immense thickness, this passage described the outer side of the whole upper quadrangle, and communicated with many other lateral passages and winding stairs leading to the chambers allotted to the household, or to the state apart ments. Tracking it for some time, Nicholas Clamp, at lengthy turned off on the right, and crossing a sort of ante-room, lei the way into a lar^je chamber with stone walls and a coved and 192 WINDSOR CASTLE. groined roof, lighted by a great window at the lower end. Thi» was the royal kitchen, and in it yawned no fewer than seven huge arched fire-places, in which fires were burning, and before which various goodly joints were being roasted, while a number of cooks and scullions were congregated round them. At a large table, in the centre of the kitchen, were seated some half- dozen yeomen of the guard, together with the clerk of the kitchen, the chief bargeman, and the royal cutler, or blade-smith, as he was termed. These worthies were doing ample justice to a chine of beef, a wild boar pie, a couple of fat capons, a peacock pasty, a mess of pickled lobsters, and other excellent and inviting dishes with which the board was loaded. Neither did they neglect to wash down the viands with copious draughts of ale and mead, from great pots and flagons placed beside them. Behind this party stood Giovanni Joungevello, an Italian min- strel, much in favour with Anne Boleyn, and Domingo Lamel- lino, or Lamely n— as he was familiarly termed, — a Lombard, who pretended to some knowledge of chirurgery, astrology, and alchemy, and who was a constant attendant on Henry. At the head of the bench, on the right of the table, sat Will Sommers. The jester was not partaking of the repast, but was chatting with Simon Quanden, the chief cook, a good-humoured per- jsonage, round-bellied as a tun, and blessed with a spouse, yclept Deborah, as fond of good cheer, as fat, and as good- humoured as himself. Behind the cook stood the cellarman, known by the appellation of Jack of the Bottles, and at his feet were two playful little turnspits, with long backs, and short fore- legs, as crooked almost as sickles. On seeing Mabel, Will Sommers immediately arose, and ad- vancing towards her with a mincing step, bowed with an air of nock ceremony, and said in an affected tone, — " Welcome, fair mistress, to the king's kitchen. We are all right glad to see you ; are we not, mates?" " Ay, that we are !" replied a chorus of voices. " By my troth, the wench is wondrously beautiful!" said Kit Coo, one of the yeomen of the guard. " No wonder the king is smitten with her !" said Launcelot Rutter, the blade-smith ; " her eyes shine like a dagger's point." ''And she carries herself like a wafter on the river," said the bargeman. " Her complexion is as good as if I had given her some of my sovereign balsam of beauty," said Domingo Lamelyn. " Much better," observed Joungevello, the minstrel ; " I shall write a canzonet in her praise, and sing it before the king." " And get flouted for thy pains by the Lady Anne," said Kit Coo. " The damsel is not so comely as I expected to find her, observed Amice Lovekyn, one of the serving women, O Hect Cutbeard, the clerk of the kitche*?- HOB AND NOB. 193 ** Why, if you come to that, she is not to be compared to you, pretty Amice !" said Cutbeard, who was a red-nosed, red-faced fellow, with a twinkling merry eye. " Nay, I meant not that," replied Amice, retreating. " Excuse my getting up to receive you, fair mistress," cried Simon Quanden, who seemed fixed to his chair ; " I have been bustling about all day, and am sore fatigued — sore fatigued. But will you not take something ? A sugared cate, and a glass of hypocras jelly — or a slice of capon. Go to the damsel, dame, and prevail on her to eat." " That will I," replied Deborah. " What shall it be, sweet- heart ? We have a well-stored larder here. You have only to ask and have." " I thank you, but I am in want of nothing," replied Mabel. " Nay, that is against all rule, sweetheart," said Deborah ; " no one enters the king's kitchen without tasting his royal cheer." "I am sorry I must prove an exception, then," returned Mabel, smiling; "for I have no appetite." " Well, well, 1 will not force you to eat against your will," re- plied the good dame. " But a cup of wine will do you good after your walk." " I will wait upon her," said the Duke of Shoreditch, who vied with Paddington and Nick Clamp in attention to the damsel. " Let me pray you to cast your eyes upon these two dogs, fair Mabel," said Will Sommers, pointing to the two turnspits; " they are special favourites of the king's highness. They are much attached to the cook, their master ; but their chief love is towards each other, and nothing can keep them apart." " Will Sommers speaks the truth," rejoined Simon Quanden. " Hob and Nob, for so they are named, are fast friends. When Hob gets into the box to turn the spit. Nob will watch beside it till his brother is tired, and then he will take his place. They always eat out of the same platter, and drink out of the same cup. I once separated them for a few hours to see what would happen, but they howled so piteously, that I was forced to bring them together again. It would have done your heart good to witness their meeting, and to see how they leaped and rolled with delight ! Here, Hob," he added, taking a cake from his apron pocket, *' divide this with thy brother." Placing his paws on his master's knees, the nearest turnspit took the cake in his mouth, and proceeding towards Nob, broke it into two pieces, and pushed the larger portion towards him. While Mabel was admiring this display of sagacity and affec- tion, a bustling step was heard behind her, and turning, she beheld a strange figure, in a particoloured gown and hose, with a fool's cap and bells on his head, whom she immediately recognised as the cardinal's jester. Patch. The new comer recognised her too ; stared in astonishment ; and gave a leering look at Will Sommers. o 194 WINDSOR CASTLE. " What brings you here, gossip Patch ?" cried Will Sommers. — " I thought you were in attendance upon your master, at the court at Blackfriars." " So I have been," replied Patch — " and I am only just ar- rived with his grace." '' What ! is the decision pronounced ?" cried Will Sommers, eagerly. '* Is the queen divorced ? Is the king single again ? Let us hear the sentence." " Ay, the sentence ! — the sentence !" resounded on all hands. Stimulated by curiosity, the whole of the party rose from the table ; Simon Quanden got out of his chair ; the other cooks left their joints to scorch at the fire ; the scullions suspended their work ; and Hob and Nob fixed their large inquiring black eyes upon the jester. " I never talk thirsting," said Patch, marching to the table, and filling himself a flagon of mead. " Here's to you, fair maiden," he added, kissing the cup to Mabel, and swallowing its contents at a draught. " And now be seated, my masters, and you shall hear all I have to relate, and it will be told in a few words. The court is adjourned for three days, — Queen Catherine having de- manded that time to prepare her allegations, and the delay has been granted her." " Pest on it ! — the delay is some trick of your crafty and double-dealing master," cried Will Sommers. "Were I the king, I know how I would deal with him." " What wouldst thou do, thou scurril knave?" cried Patch, angrily. " I would strip him of his ill-gotten wealth, and leave him only thee — a fitting attendant — of all his thousand servitors," replied Will. "This shall to his grace's ears," screamed Patch, amid the laughter of the company, — " and see whether your back does not smart for it." " I fear him not," replied Will Sommers. " I have not yet told the king my master of the rare wine we found in his cellar." " What wine was that, Will ?" cried Jack of the Bottles. " You shall hear," replied Will Sommers, enjoying the dis- concerted look of the other jester. " I was at the palace at Hampton, when this scant-witted knave invited me to taste some of his master's wine, and accordingly to the cellar we went. * This wine will surprise you,' quoth he, as we broached the first hogshead. And truly it did surprise me, for no wine followed the gimlet. So we went on to another, and another, and another, till we had tried half a score of them, and all with the same result. Upon this, I seized a hammer which was lying by, and sounded the casks, but none of them seeming empty, I at last broke the lid of one — and what do you tmnk it con- teined!?" A variety of responses were returned by the lam?hing assem- w THE QUARREL BETWEEN THE JESTERS. 195 blage, during which Patch sought to impose silence upon his opponent. But Will Sommers was not to be checked. " It contained neither vinegar, nor oil, nor lead," he said, "but gold. Ay, solid bars of gold — ingots. Every hogshead was worth ten thousand pounds, and more." " Credit him not, my masters," cried Patch, amid the roars of the company ; " the whole is a mere fable — an invention. His grace has no such treasure. The truth is. Will Sommers got drunk upon some choice Malmsey, and then dreamed he had been broaching casks of gold." " It is no fable, as you and your master will find, when the king comes to sift the matter," replied Will. " This will be a richer result to him than was ever produced by your alchemical experiments, good Signor Domingo Lamelyn." " It is false ! I say, false !" screamed Patch. " Let the cellars be searched, and I will stake my head nothing is found." " Stake thy cap, and there may be some meaning in it," said Will, plucking Patch's cap from his head, and elevating it on his truncheon — " here is an emblem of the Cardinal of York,'* he cried, pointing to it. A roar of laughter from the company followed this sally, and Hob and Nob looked up in placid wonderment. " I shall die with laughing," cried Siqjpn Quanden, holding his fat sides, and addressing his spouse, who was leaning upon his shoulder. In the meantime. Patch sprang to his feet, and gesticulating with rage and fury, cried, " Thou hast done well to steal my cap and bells, for they belong of right to thee. Add my folly to thy own, and thou wilt be a fitting servant to thy master ; or e'en give him the cap, and then there will be a pair of ye." " Who is the fool now, I should like to know ?" rejoined Will Sommers, gravely. '=^ I call you all to witness that he has spoken treason." While this was passing, Shoreditch had advanced with a flagon of Malmsey to Mabel, but she was so interested in the quarrel between the two jesters, that she heeded him not ; neither did she attend to Nicholas Clamp, who was trying to explain to her what was going forward. But just as Patch's indiscreet speech was uttered, an usher entered the kitchen, and announced the approach of the king. 196 WINDSOR CAaTLE. V. OF THE COMBAT BETWEEN WILL SOMMERS AND PATCH TERMINATED. AND HOW IT Mabel's heart fluttered violently at the usher's announcement, and for a moment the colour deserted her cheek, while the next instant she was covered with blushes. As to poor Patch, feeling that his indiscretion might place him in great jeopardy, and seriously affect his master, to whom he was de- votedly attached, he cast a piteous and imploring look at his antagonist, but was answered only by a derisive laugh, coupled with an expressive gesture to intimate that a halter would be his fate. Fearful that mischief might ensue, the good-natured Simon Quanden got out of his chair, and earnestly besought Will not to carry matters too far ; but the jester remained implac- able. It was not unusual with Henry to visit the different offices of the castle, and converse freely and familiarly with the members of his household ; but it was by no means safe to trust to the continuance of his good humour, or in the slightest degree to HENRY llELAXES HIS DIGNITY. 197 presume upon it It is well known that his taste for variety of character often led him, like the renowned Caliph Haroun Al Reschid, to mix with the lower classes of his subjects in dis- guise ; at which times, many extraordinary adventures are said to have befallen him. His present visit to the kitchen, there- fore, would have occasioned no surprise to its occupants, if it had not occurred so soon after the cardinal's arrival. But it was this circumstance, in fact, that sent him thither. The intelli- gence bn^ught by Wolsey of the adjournment of the court for three days, under the plea of giving the queen time for her allegations, was so unlooked for by Henry, that he quitted the cardinal in high displeasure, and was about to repair to Anne Boleyn, when he encountered Bouchier, who told him that Mabel Lyndwood had been brought to the castle, and her grandsire arrested. The information changed Henry's intentions at once, and he proceeded with Bouchier and some other attendants to the kitchen, where he was given to understand he should find the damsel. Many a furtive glance was thrown at the king, for no one dared openly to regard him, as he approached the forester's fair grand-daughter. But he tarried only a moment beside her, chucked her under the chin, and whispering a word or two in her ear that heightened her blushes, passed on to the spot where the two jesters were standing. " What dost thou here, knave ?" he said to Will Sommers. " I might rather ask that question of your majesty," replied Will ; " and I would do so, but that I require not to be told." " I have come to see what passeth in my household," replied the king, throwing himself into the chair lately occupied by the chief cook. " Ah ! Hob and Nob, my merry rascals," he cried, patting the turnspits who ran towards him, and thrust their noses against his hand, " ye are as gamesome and loving as ever, I sec. Give me a manchet for them, master cook, and let not the proceedings in the kitchen be stayed for my presence. I would not have my supper delayed, or the roasts spoiled, for any false ceremony. And now. Will, what hast thou to say that thou lookest so hard at me ?" " I have a heavy charge to bring against this knave, an' please your majesty," replied Will Sommers, pointing to Patch. " What! hath he retorted upon thee too sharply?' replied the king, laughing. " If so, challenge him to the combat, and settle the grievance with thy lathen dagger. But refer not the matter to me. I am no judge in fools' quarrels." *' Your own excepted," muttered Will. " This is not a quarrel that can be so adjusted," he added aloud. " I charge this rascal Patch with speaking disrespectfully of your highness in the hearing of the whole kitchen. And 1 also charge his 198 WINDSOR CASTLE. master, the cardinal, with having secreted in his cellars at Hampton a vast amount of treasure, obtained by extortion, privy dealings with foreign powers, and other iniquitous prac- tices, and which ought of right to find its way to your royal exchequer." " And which shall find its way thither, if thou dost not avouch a fable," replied the king. " Your majesty shall judge," rejoined Will. And he repeated the story which he had just before related. " Can this be true ?" exclaimed Henry, at its close. " It is false, your highness, every word of it," cried Patch, throwing himself at the king's feet, " except so far as relates to our visit to the cellar, where, I shame to speak it, we drank so much that our senses clean forsook us. As to my indiscreet speech touching your majesty, neither disrespect nor disloyalty were intended by it. I was goaded to the rejoinder by the sharp sting of this hornet." " The matter of the treasure shall be inquired into without delay," said Henry. " As to the quarrel, it shall be thus settled. Get both of you upon that table. A flour bag shall be given to each ; and he who is first knocked off shall be held van- quished." The king's judgment was received with as much applause as dared be exhibited by the hearers ; and in an instant, the board was cleared, and a couple of flour bags, partly filled, delivered to the combatants by Simon Quanden, who bestirred himself with unwonted activity on the occasion. Leaping upon the table, amid the smothered mirth of the as- semblage, the two jesters placed themselves opposite each other, and grinned such comical defiance that the king roared with laughter. After a variety of odd movements and feints on either side. Patch tried to bring down his adversary by a tremendous two-handed blow ; but in dealing it, the weight of the bag dragged him forward, and well nigh pitched him head foremost upon the floor. As it was, he fell on his face upon the table, and in this position received several heavy blows upon the prominent part of his back from Will Sommers. Ere long, however, he managed to regain his legs ; and smarting with pain, attacked his opponent furiously in his turn. For a short space, fortune seemed to favour him. His bag had slightly burst, and the flour showering from it with every blow, well nigh blinded his adversary, whom he drove to the very edge of the table. At this critical juncture. Will inanaged to bring down his bag full upon his opponent's sconce, and the force of the blow bursting it. Patch was covered frcra crown to foot with flour, and blinded in his turn. The appearance of the combatants was now so exquisitely ridiculous, that the king leaned back in his chair to indulge his laughter, and the mirth of the spectators could no longer be kept within RESULT OF THE COMBAT. 199 iecorous limits. The very turnspits barked in laughing con- cert. " Well fought on both sides !" cried Henry ; " it were hard to say which will prove the victor. Now, knaves, to it again — ha ! ha ! — to it again !" Once more the bags were wielded, descended, and the blows rere so well directed on either side, that both combatants fell oackwards. Again the king's laughter rose loud and long. Agakx the merriment of the other beholders was redoubled. Again Hob and Nob barked joyously, and tried to spring on to the table to take part in the conflict. Amid the general glee, the combat- ants rose and renewed the fight, dealing blows thick and fast, — for the bags were now considerably lightened of their contents, — until they were completely hidden from vievv by a cloud of white dust. " We cannot see the fray," remarked Henry; " but we can hear the din of battle. Which will prove the victor, I marvel?" '' I am for Will Sommers," cried Bouchier. " And I for Patch," said Simon Quanden. " Latterly, he hath seemed to me to have the advantage." " It is decided !" cried the king, rising, as one of the combat- ants was knocked off the table, and fell to the floor with a great noise. " Who is it ?" " Patch," replied a faint voice. And through the cloud of dust struggled forth the forlorn figure of the cardinal's jester, while Will Sommers leaped triumphantly to the ground. " Get thee to a wash-tub, knave, and cleanse thyself," said Henry, laughing. " In consideration of the punishment thou hast undergone, I pardon thee thy treasonable speech." So saying, he rose and walked towards Mabel, who had been quite as much alarmed as amused by the scene which had just taken place. " I hope you have been as well cared for, damsel," he said, *' since your arrival at the castle, as you cared for the Duke of Suffolk and myself when we visited your cottage ?" " I have had everything I require, my liege," replied Mabel, timidly. " Dame Quanden will take charge of you till to-morrow," rs- joined the king, " when you will enter upon the service of one of our dames." " Your majesty is very considerate," said Mabel — " but I would rather go back at early dawn to my grandsire." " That is needless," rejoined the king, sternly. " Your grand sire is in the castle." " I am glad to hear it," exclaimed Mabel. And then altering her tone, for she did not like the expression of the king's counte- nance, she added, " I hope he has not incurred your majesty's displeasure" 200 WINDSOR CASTLE. " I trust he will be able to clear himself, Mabel," said Henry ; *^ but he labours under the grave suspicion of leaguing with lawless men." Mabel shuddered ; for the thought of what she had witnessed on the previous night during the storm rushed forcibly to her recollection. The king noticed her uneasiness, and added, in a gentler tone — " If he makes such confession as will bring the others to justice, he has nothing to fear. Dame Quanden, I commit this maiden to your charge. To-morrow, she will take her place as attendant to the Lady Elizabeth Fitzgerald." So saying, he moved off with Bouchier and the rest of his attendants, leaving Mabel to the care of the cook's good-humoured spouse, who seeing her eyes filled with tears, strove to cheer her, and led her towards a small side table, where she pressed wine and cates upon her. " Be of good cheer, sweetheart," she said, in a soothing tone, " no harm will befal your grandfather. You are much too high in favour with the king for that." " I liked the king much better as 1 saw him at our cottage, good dame," replied Mabel, smiling through her tears — *' in the guise of a Guildford merchant. He seemed scarcely to notice me just now." " That was because so many eyes were upon you, sweetheart," replied Deborah ; " but sooth to say, I should be better pleased if he did not notice you at all." Mabel blushed, and hung her head. " I am glad you are to be an attendant on the Lady Elizabeth Fitzgerald," pursued Deborah, " for she is the fairest young lady at court, and as good and gentle as she is fair, and I am sure you will find her a kind mistress. I will tell you something about her. She is beloved by the king's son, the Duke of Rich- mond, but she requites not his passion, for her heart is fixed on the youthful Earl of Surrey. Alack a day ! the noble rivals quarrelled, and crossed swords about her; but as luck would have it, they were separated before any mischief was done. The king was very wroth with Lord Surrey, and ordered him to be imprisoned for two months in the Round Tower, in this castle, where he is now, though his term has very nearly ex- pired." " How I pity him, to be thus harshly treated," remarked Mabel, her eyes swimming with tears, " and the Lady Elizaoeth too ! I shall delight to serve her." " I am told the Earl passes the whole of his time in porin^; over books, and writing love verses and sonnets," said Deborah. ** It seems strange that one so young should be a poet; but I suppose he caught the art from his friend Sir Thomas Wyat." " Is he a friend of Sir Thomas Wyat?" asked Mabel, quickly madel's inquiries about wyai. 201 " His close friend," replied Deborah ; " except the Duke of Richmond, now his rival, he had none closer. Have you ever seen Sir Thomas, sweetheart ?" " Yes, for a few moments," replied Mabel, confusedly. *' I heard that he lingered for a short time in the forest be- fore his departure for Paris," said Dame Quanden. " There was a strange rumour that he had joined the band of Heme the Hunter. But that must have been untrue." " Is he returned from France ?" inquired Mabel, without heeding the remark. " I fancy not," replied the good dame. " At all events, he is not come to the castle. Know you not," she added, in a low confidential tone, " that the king is jealous of him ? He was a former suitor to the Lady Anne Boleyn, and desperately in love with her ; and it is supposed that his mission to France was only a pretext to get him out of the way." " I suspected as much," replied Mabel. " Alas ! for Sir Thomas, and alas ! for the Earl of Surrey." " And alas ! for Mabel Lyndwood, if she allows her heart to be fixed upon the king," said Deborah. While this was passing, the business of the kitchen, which had been interrupted by the various incidents above-related, and especially by the conflict between the two jesters, was hurried forward, and for some time all was bustle and confusion. But as soon as the supper was served, and all his duties were ^ully discharged, Simon Quanden, who had been bustling about, sat down in his easy chair, and recruited himself with a toast and a sack-posset Hob and Nob had their supper at the same time, and the party at the table, which had been increased by the two archers and Nicholas Clamp, attacked with renewed vigour a fresh supply of mead and ale, which had been provided for them by Jack of the Bottles. The conversation then turned upon Heme the Hunter, and as all had heard more or less about him, and some had seen him, while few knew the legend connected with him. Hector Cutbeard volunteered to relate it; upon which all the party gathered closer together, and Mabel and Deborah left off talking, and drew near to listen. 80A.THRD OA.KTRES IN THE HOMB PA.RK. VI. €l)z SigcutJ of ^mu t^e punter. " Nearly a century and a half ago," commenced Cutbeard, " about the middle of the reign of Richard the Second, there was among the keepers of the forest a young man named Heme. He was expert beyond his fellows in all matters of woodcraft, and consequently in great favour with the king, who was himsell devoted to the chase. Whenever he stayed at the castle, King Richard, like our own royal Harry, would pass his time in hunting, hawking, or shooting with the long bow ; and on all these occasions the young keeper was his constant attendant. If a hart was to be chased. Heme and his two black hounds of Saint Hubert's breed would hunt him down with marvellous speed ; if a wild boar was to be reared, a badger digged out, a fox unkennelled, a marten bayed, or an otter vented, Heme was TUE LEGEND OF HERNE THE HUNTER. 203 chosen for the task. No one could fly a falcon so well as Heme, — no one could break up a deer so quickly or so skilfully as him. But in proportion as he grew in favour with the king, the young keeper was hated by his comrades, and they concerted together how to ruin him. All their efforts, however, were ineffectual, and rather tended to his advantage than injury. " One day, it chanced that the king hunted in the forest with his favourite, the Earl of Oxford, when a great deer of head was unharboured, and a tremendous chase ensued, the hart leading his pursuers within a few miles of Hungerford, whither the borders of the forest then extended. All the followers of the king, even the Earl of Oxford, had by this time dropped off, and the royal huntsman was only attended by Heme, who kept close behind him. At last, the hart, driven to desperation, stood at bay, and gored the king's horse as he came up in such manner that it reared and threw its rider. Another instant, and the horns of the infuriated animal would have been plunged into the body of the king, if Heme had not flung himself between the prostrate monarch and his assailant, and received the stroke intended for him. Though desperately wounded, the young hunter contrived slightly to raise himself, and plunged his knife into the hart's throat, while the king regained his feet. *' Gazing with the utmost concern at his unfortunate deliverer. King Richard demanded what he could do for him. " ' Nothing, sire — nothing,' replied Heme, with a groan. ' I shall require nothing but a grave from you, for I have received a wound that will speedily bring me to it.' " * Not so, I trust, good fellow,' replied the king, in a tone meant to be encouraging, though his looks shewed that his heart misgave him ; * my best leech shall attend you,' " ' No skill will avail me now,' replied Heme, sadly. * A hurt from hart's horn bringeth to the bier.' " * I hope the proverb will not be justified in thy case,' rejoined the king ; ' and I promise thee, if thou dost recover, thou shaft have the post of head keeper of the forest, with twenty nobles a-year for wages. If, unhappily, thy forebodings are realized, I will give the same sum to be laid out in masses for thy soul.' " ' I humbly thank your highness,' replied the young man, * and I accept the latter offer, seeing it is the only one likely to profit me.' '^ With this, he put his horn to his lips, and winding the dead mot feebly, fell back senseless. Much moved, the king rode off for succour ; and blowing a lusty call on his bugle, was presently joined by the Earl of Oxford and some of his fol- lowers, among whom were the keepers. The latter were secretly rejoiced on hearing what had befallen Heme, but they feigned the greatest affliction, and hastened with the king to the spot. 204 WINDSOR CASTLE. where the body was Jying stretched out beside that of the hart. " ' It is almost a pity his soul cannot pass away thus,' said King Richard, gazing compassionately at him, * for he will only revive to anguish and speedy death.' " ' Your highness is right,' replied the chief keeper, a grim old man, named Osmond Grooke, kneeling beside him, and half-drawing his hunting-knife, ' it were better to put him out of his misery.' " * What ! slay the man who has just saved my own life !' cried the king. ' I will consent to no such infamous deed. I would give a large reward to any one who could cure him.' " As the words were uttered, a tall dark man, in a strange garb, and mounted on a black wild-looking steed, w^hom no one had hitherto observed, sprang to the ground, and advanced to- wards the king. " ' I take your offer, sire,' said this personage, in a harsh vpice. * I will cure him.' " « Who art thou, fellow ?' demanded King Richard, doubt- fully. " ' I am a forester,' replied the tall man, * but I understand somewhat of chirurgery and leechcraft.* *' ' And woodcraft too, I'll be sworn, fellow,' said the king. ' Thou hast, or I am mistaken, made free with some of my venison.' '* * He looks marvellously like Arnold Sheafe, who was out- lawed for deer-stealing,' said Osmond Crooke, regarding him steadfastly. " ' I am no outlaw, neither am I called Arnold Sheafe,* re- plied the other. * My name is Philip Urswick, and I can render a good account of myself when it shall please the king's highness to interrogate me. I dwell on the heath near Bagshot, which you passed to-day in the chase, and where I joined you.' " ' I noted you not,' said Osmond. " ' Nor I — nor I !' cried the other keepers. " * That may be ; but I saw you,' rejoined Urswick, contemp- tuously ; * and I tell you there is not one among you to be compared with the brave hunter who lies there. You have al] pronounced his case hopeless. I repeat I can cure him if the king will make it worth my while.' '' * Make good thy words, fellow,' replied the king ; * and 'thou shalt not only be amply rewarded, but shalt have a free pardon for any offence thou mayst have committed.' " * Enough,' replied Urswick. And taking a large, keen- edged hunting-knife from his girdle, he cut off the head of the hart close to the point where the neck joins the scull, and then laid it open from the extremity of the under-lixi to the nuke. THE LEGEND OF HERNE THE HUNTER. 205 * This must be bound on the head of the wounded man/ he said. " The keepers stared in astonishment. But the king com- manded that the strange order should be obeyed. Upon which, the bleeding scull was fastened upon the head of the keeper, with leathern thongs. *' * I will now answer for his perfect cure in a month's time/ said Urswick to the king ; * but I shall require to watch over bim myself till all danger is at an end. I pray your highness to '.ommand these keepers to transport him to my hut.' " ^ Vou hear what he says, knaves,' cried the king — ' do his bidding, and carefully, or ye shall answer to me with your lives.' " Accordingly, a litter was formed with branches of trees, and on this the body of Heme, with the hart's head still bound to it, was conveyed by the keepers to Urswick's luit, — a small dwell- ing, situated in the wildest part of Bagshot Heath. After placing the body upon a bed of dried fern, the keepers were about to depart, when Osmond Crooke observed to the forester, * I am now certain thou art Arnold Sheafe.' " * It matters not who I am^ since I have the king's pardon,' replied the other, laughing disdainfully. " * Thou hast yet to earn it,' said Osmond. " * Leave that to me,' replied Urswick. * There is more fear that thou wilt lose thy post as chief keeper, which the king has promised to Heme, than that I shall fail.' *^ * Would the deer had killed him outright !' growled Osmond. " And the savage wish was echoed by the other keepers. " * I see you all hate him bitterly,' said Urswick. What will ye give me for revenge ?' " ' We have little to give, save a fat buck on occasions,' re- plied Osmond ; ' and, in all likelihood, thou canst help thyself to venison.' " * Will you swear to grant the first request I may make of you, — provided it shall be in your power?* demanded Urswick. " * Readily,' they replied. " ' Enough,' said Urswick. * 1 must keep faith with the king. Heme will recover, but he will lose all his skill as an archer, — all his craft as a hunter.' " ' If thou canst accomplish this thou art the fiend himself 1' cried Osmond, trembling. " ' Fiend or not,' replied Urswick, with a triumphant laugh, — * ye have made a compact with me, and must fulfil it. Now oegone. I must attend to the wounded man,' " And the keepers, full of secret misgiving, departed. " At the precise time promised. Heme, attended by Urswick, presented himself to the king. He looked thin and pale, but all danger was past. King Richard gave the forester a purse 206 WINDSOR CASTLE. full of nobles, and added a silver bugle to the gift. He then ap- pointed Heme his chief keeper ; hung a chain of gOid round his neck ; and ordered him to be lodged in the castle. " About a week after this, Heme, having entirely regained his strength, accompanied the king on a hunting expedition to the forest, and they had scarcely entered it, when his horse started, and threw him. Up to that moment, such an accident had never happened to him, for he was an excellent horseman ; and he arose greatly discomfited, v/hile the keepers eyed each other askance. Soon after this, a buck was started ; and though Heme was bravely mounted on a black steed bestowed on him on ac- count of its swiftness by the king, he was the last in the chase. " ' Thou art out of practice,' said the king, laughing, as he came up. " ' I know not what ails me,' replied Heme, gloomily. " ' It cannot be thy steed's fault,' said the king ; ' for he is usually as fleet as the wind. But I will give thee an opportunity of gaining credit in another way. Thou seest yon. buck. He cannot be seventy yards off; and I have seen thee hit the mark at twice the distance. Bring him down.' " Heme raised his crossbow, and let fly the bolt ; but it missed its mark, and the buck, startled by the noise, dashed down the brake, wholly uninjured. " King Richard's brow grew dark, and Heme uttered an ex- clamation of rage and despair. " ' Thou shalt have a third, and yet easier trial,' said the king. * Old Osmond Crooke shall lend thee his bow, and thy quarry shall be yon magot-pie.' "As he spoke, the arrow sped. But it quivered in the trunk of the tree, some yards from the bird. The unfortunate shooter looked distracted ; but King Richard made no remark, until, towards the close of the day, he said to him, * Thou must regain thy craft, friend Heme, or I cannot continue thee as my chief keeper.' " The keepers congratulated each other in secret, for they felt that their malice was about to be gratified. " The next day. Heme went forth, as he thought, alone, but he was watched by his enemies. Not a shaft would go true, and he found that he had completely lost his mastery over hound and horse. The day after that, he again rode forth to hunt with the king, and his failures made him the laughing-stock of the party. Richard, at length, dismissed him with these words — * Take repose for a week, and then thou shalt have a further trial. If thou dost not then succeed, I must, perforce, discharge thee from thy post.' " Instead of returning to the castle. Heme rode off wildW into the forest, where he remained till eventide. He then re THE LEGEND OF HERNE THE HUNTER. 207 turned with ghastly looks and a strange appearance, — having the links of a rusty chain which he had plucked from a gibbet nanging from his left arm, and the hart's antlered scull, which he had procured from Urswack, fixed like a helm upon his head. His whole demeanour shewed that he was crazed ; and his con- dition, which might have moved the compassion of his foes, only provoked their laughter. After committing the wildest ex- travagances, he burst from all restraint, and disappeared among the trees of the Home Park. " An hour after this, a pedler, who was crossing the park from Datchet, found him suspended by a rope from a branch of the oak tree which you have all seen, and which bears his name. Despair had driven him to the dreadful deed. Instead of cutting him down, the pedler ran to the castle to relate what he had witnessed ; and the keepers, satisfied that their revenge was now fully accomplished, hastened with him to the tree. But the body was gone ; and all that proclaimed it had been there, was the rope hanging from the branch. Search was everywhere made for the missing body, but without effect. When the matter was related to the king, he was much troubled, and would fain have had masses said for the repose of the soul of the unfortunate keeper, but the priests refused to perform them, alleging that he had committed self-destruction, and was therefore out of the pale of the church. " On that night, a terrible thunderstorm occurred — as terrible, it may be, as that of last night — and during its continuance, the oak on which Heme had hanged himself was blasted by the lightning. " Old Osmond was immediately reinstated in his post of chief keeper ; but he had little time for rejoicing, for he found that the same spell that had bound Heme had fallen upon him. His bolts and arrows went wide of their mark, his hounds lost their scent, and his falcon would not be lured back. Half- frantic, and afraid of exposing himself to the taunts of his com- panions, he feigned illness, and left his comrade, Roger Barfoot, to take his place. But the same ill luck befel Barfoot, and he returned in woful plight, without a single head of game. Four others were equally unfortunate, and it was now clear that the whole party were bewitched. " Luckily, the king had quitted the castle, but they felt certain they should be dismissed on his return, if not more severely punished. At last, after taking counsel together, they resolved to consult Urswick, who they doubted not could remove the spell. Accordingly, they went to Bagshot Heath, and related their story to him. When they had done, he said — ' The curse of Heme's blood is upon you, and can only be removed in one way. As you return to the castle, go to the tree on which he destroyed himself, and you may learn how to act* 1 208 WINDSOR CASTLE. " The keepers would have questioned him further, but ne le fused to answer, and dismissed them. " The shades of evening had fallen as they quitted Baejshor and it was midnight as they entered the Home Park, and pro* ceeded towards the fatal oak. It was pitchy dark ; and thej could only distinguish the tree by its white, scatched trunk. AU at once, a blue flame, like a will-o'-the-wisp, appeared, flittea thrice round the tree, and then remained stationary, its light falling upon a figure in a wild garb, with a rusty chain hanging from its left arm, and an antlered helm upon its head. They knew it to be Heme, and instantly fell down before him, while a burst of terrible laughter sounded in their ears. " Without heeding them further, the spirit darted round the tree, rattling its chain, and uttering appalling imprecations. It then stopped, and turning to the terrified beholders, bade them, in a hollow voice, bring hounds and horses as for the chase on the following nio;ht, and vanished. " Filled with dread, the keepers returned home, and the next da}^ old Osmond again sought the forester, and told him w^hat had occurred. " ' You must obey the spirit's injunctions, or w^orse mischief will befal you,' said Urswick. ' Go to the tree, mounted as for a hunting-party, and take the black steed given to Heme by the king, and the two black hounds with you. You will see what will ensue.' And without another word, he dismissed him. " Osmond told his comrades what the forester had said, and though they were filled with alarm, they resolved upon com- pliance. At midnight, therefore, they rode towards the tree with the black hounds in leash, and leading Heme's favourite horse, saddled and bridled. As they drew near, they again saw the terrible shape stalking round the tree, and heard the fearful imprecations. " His spells ended. Heme called to Osmond to bring him his steed ; and the old man tremblingly obeyed. In an instant, the mysterious being vaulted on its back, and in a voice of resistless authority, cried — ' To the forest I — to the forest!' With this, he dashed forward, and the whole party, hounds and men, hurried after him. " They rode at a furious pace for five or six miles over the Great Park, the keepers wondering where their unearthly leader w^as taking them, and almost fancying they were hurrying to perdition, when they descended a hill side leading to the marsh, and halted before a huge beech tree, where Heme dismounts i and pronounced certain mystic words, accompanying them wirn strange gestures. THE LEGEND OF UERNE THE HUNTER. 209 'Si^^BM^^^m " Presently, he became silent and motionless. A flash of fire then burst from the roots of the tree, and the forester Urswick stood before him. Bat his aspect was more terrible and com- manding than it had seemed heretofore to the keepers. " * Welcome, Heme,' he cried ; ' welcome, lord of the forest And you his comrades, and soon to be his followers, welcome too. The time is come for the fulfilment of your promise to me. I require you to form a band for Heme the Hunter, and to serve him as leader. Swear to obey him, and the spell that hangs over you shall be broken. If not, I leave you to the king*s justice.' 210 WINDSOR CASTLE. " Not daring to refuse compliance, the keepers took the oath proposed, — and a fearful one it was ! As soon as it was uttered, TJrswick vanished, as he came, in a flash of fire. Heme then commanded the others to dismount, and made them pros- trate themselves before him, and pay him homage. This done, he blew a strike on his horn, rode swiftly up the hill side, and a stag being unharboured, the chase commenced. Many a fat buck was hunted and slaughtered that night ; and an hour be- fore daybreak. Heme commanded them to lay the four finest and fattest at the foot of the beech tree, and then dismissed them, bidding them meet him at midnight at the scathed oak in the Home Park. " They came as they were commanded ; but fearful of detec- tion, they adopted strange disguises, not unlike those worn by the caitiffs who were put to death, a few weeks ago, by the king in the Great Park. Night after night, they thus went forth, thinning the herds of deer, and committing other outrages and depredations. Nor were their dark proceedings altogether unno- ticed. Belated travellers crossing the forest beheld them, and related what they had seen ; others watched for them, but they were so effectually disguised that they escaped detection. " At last, however, the king returned to the castle, and accounts of the strange doings in the forest were instantly brought him. Astonished at what he heard, and determined to ascertain the truth of the statement, he ordered the keepers to attend him that night in an expedition to the forest, when he hoped to encounter the demon huntsman and his band. Much alarmed, Osmond Crooke, who acted as spokesman, endeavoured, by representing the risk he would incur, to dissuade the king from the enterprise ; but he would not be deterred, and they now gave themselves up for lost. " As the castle clock tolled forth the hour of midnight, Richard, accompanied by a numerous guard, and attended by the keepers, issued from the gates, and rode towards the scathed oak. As they drew near the tree, the figure of Heme, mounted on his black steed, was discemed beneath it. Deep fear fell upon all the beholders, but chiefly upon the guilty keepers, at the sight. The king, however, pressed forward, and cried, ' Wh}'^ dost thou disturb the quietude of night, accursed spirit?' " ' Because I desire vengeance !' replied Heme, in a hollow voice. * I was brought to my present woful condition by Osmond Crooke and his comrades.' " * But you died by your own hand, — did you not? demanded King Richard. " ' Yea,' replied Heme ; ' but I was driven to the deed by an infernal spell laid upon me by the malice of the wretches I have denounced. Hang them upon this tree, and I will trou))le these woods no longer while thou reignest I' THE LEGEND OF HERNE THE HUNTEB. Sll *' The king looked round at the keepers. They all remained obdurate, except Roger Barfoot, who, falling on his knees, con- fessed his guilt, and accused the others. " * It is enough,' cried the king to Heme ; ' they shall all suffer for their offence.' " Upon this, a flash of fire enveloped the spirit and his horse, and he vanished. " The king kept his word. Osmond and his comrades were all hanged upon the scathed tree, nor was Heme seen again in the forest while Richard sat upon the throne. But he re-ap- peared with a new band at the commencement of the rule of Henry the Fourth, and again hunted the deer at night. His band was destroyed, but he defied all attempts at capture ; and so it has continued to our own time, for not one of the seven monarchs who have held the castle since Richard's day, have been able to drive him from the forest." " Nor will the present monarch be able to drive him thence," said a deep voice. " As long as Windsor Forest endures, Heme the Hunter will haunt it" All turned at the exclamation, and saw that it proceeded from a tall dark man, in an archer's garb, standing behind Simon Quanden's chair. " Thou hast told thy legend fairly enough, good clerk of the kitchen," continued this personage ; " but thou art wrong on many material points." " I have related the story as it was related to me," said Cut- beard, somewhat nettled at the remark; "but perhaps you will set me right where I have erred." " It is true that Heme was a keeper in the reign of Richarc* the Second," replied the tall archer. " It is true also that he was expert in all matters of woodcraft, and that he was in high favour with the king ; but he was bewitched by a lovely damsel, and not by a weird forester. He carried off a nun, and dwelt with her in a cave in the forest, where he assembled his brother keepers, and treated them to the king's venison and the king's wine." " A sacrilegious villain and a reprobate !" exclaimed Launcelot Rutter. " His mistress was fair enough, I will warrant her," said Ki\. Coo. " She was the very image of this damsel," rejoined the tall archer, pointing to Mabel, " and fair enough to work his ruin, for it was through her that the fiend tempted him. The charms that proved his undoing were fatal to her also, for in a fit of jealousy he slew her. The remorse occasioned by this deed made him destroy himself." " Well, your version of the legend may be the correct one, for aught I know, worthy sir," said Cutbeard ; " but 1 sec p2 212 WINDSOR CASTLE. not that it accounts for Heme's antlers so well as mine ; unless indeed he were wedded to the nun, who you say played him false. But how come you to know she resembled Mabel Lynd- wood?" " Ay, I was thinking of that myself," said Simon Quanden. " How do you know that, master ?" " Because I have seen her picture," replied the tall archer. " Painted by Satan's chief limner, I suppose ?" rejoined Cut- beard. " He who painted it had seen her," replied the tall archer, sternly. " But, as I have said, it was the very image of this damsel." And as he uttered the words, he quitted the kitchen. " Who is that archer?" demanded Cutbeard, looking after him. But no one could answer the question, nor could any one tell when he had entered the kitchen. " Strange !" exclaimed Simon Quanden, crossing himself. " Have you ever seen him before, Mabel ?" " I almost think I have," she replied, with a slight shudder. " I half suspect he is Heme himself," whispered Shoreditch to Paddington. " It may be," responded the other ; " his glance made my blood run cold." " You look somew^hat fatigued, sweetheart," said Deborah, observing Mabel's uneasiness. " Come with me, and I will shew you to a chamber." Glad to escape, Mabel followed the good dame out of the kitchen, and they ascended a w^inding staircase, which brought them to a commodious chamber in the upper part of Henry the Seventh's buildings, where Deborah sat down with her young charge, and volunteered a great deal of good advice to her, which the other listened to with becoming attention, and pro- mised to profit by it. VH. OF THE MYSTERIOUS NOISE HEARD IN THE CURFEVT TOWEB, On quitting the kitchen, Henry, having been informed by Bou- chier that Tristram Lyndwood was lodged in the prison-chamber in the lower gateway, proceeded thither to question him. He found the old man seated on a bench, with his hands tied behind him; but though evidently much alarmed at his situation, he could not be brought either by threats or proffers, to make anv confession. A MYSTERIOUS HAMMERING HEARD. 213 Out of patience, at length, the king ordered him to be con- reyed to the dungeon beneath the Curfew Tower, and per- sonally superintended his removal. " I will find a means of shaking his obstinacy," said Henry, as he quitted the vault with Bouchier. " If I cannot move him by other means, I may through his grand-daughter. I will inter- rogate him in her presence to night." " To-night, sire !" exclaimed Bouchier. " Ay, to-night," repeated the king. " I am resolved, even if it should cost the life of this maiden, whose charms have moved me so, to break the infernal machinery woven around me. And now as I think it not unlikely the miscreant Heme ma} attempt the prisoner's deliverance, let the strictest watch be kept over the tower. Station an arquebusier throughout the night at the ioor of . the dungeon, and another at the entrance to the chamber on the ground floor. Your own post must be on the roof of the fortification, that you may watch if any attempt is made to scale it from the town side, or to get in through the loopholes. Keep a sharp look-out, Bouchier, for I shall hold you responsible if any mischance occurs." "I will do my best, my liege," replied Bourhier ; " and were it with a mortal foe I had to contend, I should have no fear. But what vigilance can avail against a fiend ?" " You have heard my injunctions, and will attend to them," rejoined the king, harshly. ** I shall return anon to the exa- mination." So saying, he departed. Brave as a lion on ordinary occasions, Bouchier entered upon his present duty with reluctance and misgiving ; and he found the arquebusiers, by whom he was attended, albeit stout soldiers, equally uneasy. Heme had now become an object of general dread throughout the castle ; and the possibility of an encounter with him was enough to daunt the boldest breast. Disguising his alarm, Bouchier issued his directions in an authoritative tone, and then mounted with three arquebusiers to the summit of the tower. It was now dark, but the moon soon arose, and her beams rendered every object as distinguishable as daylight would have done, so that watch was easily kept. But nothing occurred to occasion alarm, until all at once^ a noise, like that of a hammer stricken against a board, was heard in the chamber below. Drawing his sword, Bouchier hurried down the steps leading into this chamber, which was buried in darkness, and advanced so precipitately and incautiously in the gloom, that he struck his head against a cross beam. The violence of the blow stunned him for a moment, but as soon as he recovered, he called to the guard in the lower chamber to bring up a torch. The order was promptly obeyed *. but. meanwhile, the sound had ceased. 214 WINDSOR CASTLE. and, though they searched about, they could not discover the occasion of it. This, however, was not so wonderful, for the singular con struction of the chamber, with its numerous cross beams, its deep embrasures and recesses, its insecure and uneven floor, its steep ladder-like staircases, was highly favourable to concealment, it being utterly impossible, owing to the intersections of the beams, for the searchers to see far before them, or to move about quickly. In the midst of the chamber was a large wooden compartment en- closing the cumbrous and uncouth machinery of the castle clock, and through this box ran the cord communicating with the belfry above. At that time, pieces of ordnance were mounted in all the embrasures, but there is now only one gun, placed in a port-hole ^commanding Thames Street, and the long thoroughfare leading to Eton. The view from ~ this port-hole of the groves of Eton, and of the ^ lovely plains on the north-west, watered by the >3> river, is enchanting beyond description. Viewed from a recess which has been partly closed, the ap- pearance of this chamber is equally picturesque and singular; and it is scarcely possible to pass beneath its huge beams, or to gaze at the fantastic, yet striking combinations they form in connexion with the deep embrasures, the steep staircases, and trap-doors, and not feel that the whole place belongs to romance, and that a multitude of strange and startling stories must be connected with it. The old architects were indeed great ro mancers, and built for the painter and the poet. HAMMERING RECOMMENCES. 215 DPP«R CHA.MBKR IN THB CHBrKW TOWER Bouchier and his companion crept about under the great mesh-work of beams — peered into all the embrasures, and be- neath the carriages of the culverins. There was a heap of planks and beams lying on the floor between the two staircases, but no one was near it. The result of their investigations did not tend to decrease their alarm. Bouchier would fain have had the man keep watch in the chamber, but neither threats nor entreaties could induce him to remain there. He was therefore sent below, and the cap- tain returned to the roof. He had scarcely emerged upon the leads when the hammering recommenced more violently than before. In vain Bouchier ordered his men to go down. ]No one would stir ; and superstitious fear had by this time obtained such mastery over the captain, that he hesitated to descend alone. To add to his vexation, the arauebusier had taken the torch with 216 WINDSOR CASTLE. him, so that he should have to proceed in darkness. At length, he mustered up courage to make the attempt; but he paused between each step, peering through the gloom, and half-fancying he could discern the figure of Heme near the spot where the pile of wood lay. Certain it was that the sound of diabolical laughter, mingled with the rattling of the chain and the sharp blows of the hammer, smote his ears. The laughter became yet louder as Bouchier advanced, the hammering ceased, and the clanking of the chain shewed that its mysterious wearer was approaching the foot of the steps to meet him. But the captain had not nerve enough for the encounter. Invoking the protection of the saints, he beat a precipitate retreat, and closed the little door at the head of the steps after him. The demon was apparently satisfied with the aLnm he had oc- casioned, for the hammering was not renewed at that time. VIII. SHEWING THE VACILLATIONS OF THE KING BETWEEN WOLSEY AND ANNE BOLEYN. Before returning to the state apartments, Henry took a turn on the ramparts on the north side of the castle, between the Curfew Tower and the Winchester Tower, and lino-ered for a WOL8EYS ARTFUL APPEAL. 217 short time on the bastion commanding that part of the acclivity where the approach, called the Hundred Steps, is now contrived. Here he cautioned the sentinels to be doubly vigilant throughout the night, and having gazed for a moment at the placid stream flowing at the foot of the castle, and tinged with the last rays of the setting sun, he proceeded to the royal lodgings, and entered the banquet-chamber, where supper was already served. Wolsey sat on his right hand, but he did not vouchsafe him a single word, — addressing the whole of his discourse to the Duke of Suffolk, who was placed on his left. As soon as the repast was over, he retired to his closet. But the cardinal would not be so repulsed, and sent one of his gentlemen to crave a moment's audience of the king, which, with some reluctance, was accorded. " Well, cardinal !" cried Henry, as Wolsey presented himself, and the usher withdrew. " You are playing a deep game with me, as you think ; but take heed, for I see through it I" " I pray you dismiss these suspicions from your mind, my liege," said Wolsey. " No servant was ever more faithful to his master than I have been to you." " No servant ever took better care of himself," cried the king, fiercely. " Not alone have you wronged me to enrich yourself^ but you are ever intriguing with my enemies. I have nourished in my breast a viper ; but I will cast you off — will crush you as I would the noxious reptile !" And he stamped upon the floor, as if he could have trampled the cardinal beneath his foot " Beseech you, calm yourself, my liege," replied Wolsey, m the soft and deprecatory tone which he had seldom known to fail with the king ; " I have never thought of my own aggrandize- ment, but as it was likely to advance your power. For the countless benefits I have received at your hands, my soul over- flows with gratitude. You have raised me from the meanest condition to the highest You have made me your confidant, your adviser, your treasurer, and with no improper boldness 1 say it, your fi-iend. But I defy the enemies who have poisoned your ears against me, to prove that I have ever abused the trust placed in me. The sole fault that can be imputed to me is, thai I have meddled more with temporal matters than with spiritual , and it is a crime for which I must answer before Heaven. But I have so acted because I felt that I might thereby best serve your highness. If I have aspired to the papal throne, — which you well know I have, — it has been that I might be yet a more powerful friend to your majesty, and render ycu, what you are entitled to be, the first prince in Christendom." " Tut, tut !" exclaimed the king, who was, nevertheless, moved by the artful appeal. *' The gifts I have received from foreign princes," pursued 218 WINDSOR CASTLE. Wolsey, seeing the effect he had produced, " the wealth I have amassed, have all been with a view of benefiting your majesty." " Humph !" exclaimed the king. • " To prove that I speak the truth, sire," continued the wily cardinal, " the palace at Hampton Court, which I have jusi completed — — " " And at a cost more lavish than I myself chould have ex- pended on it," interrupted the king, angrily. " If I had destined it for myself, I should not have spent a tithe of what I have done," rejoined Wolsey. " Your highness's unjust accusations force me to declare my intentions somewhat prematurely. Deign," he cried, throwing himself at the king's feet, — " deign to accept that palace and all within it. You were pleased, during your late residence there, to express your approval of it. And I trust it will find equal favour in your eyes, now that it is your own." " By holy Mary, a royal gift !" cried Henry, — '' rise, car- dinal. You are not the grasping, selfish person you have been represented." " Declare as much to my enemies, sire, and I shall be more than content," replied Wolsey. " You will find the palace better worth acceptance than at first sight might appear." '^ How so ?" cried the king. " Your highness will be pleased to take this key," said the cardinal : — " it is the key of the cellar." " You have some choice wine there," cried Henry, signifi- cantly — " given you by some religious house, — or sent you by some foreign potentate — ha !" " It is wine that a king might prize," replied the cardinal. " Your majesty will find a hundred hogsheads in that cellar ; — and each hogshead filled with gold." " You amaze me !" cried the king, feigning astonishment. " And all this you freely give me ?" " Freely and fully, sire," replied Wolsey. ** Nay, I have saved it for you. Men think I have cared for myself, whereas I have cared only for your majesty. Oh ! my dear liege, by the devotion I have just approved to you, and which I would also approve, if needful, with my life, I beseech you to con- sider well before you raise Anne Boleyn to the throne. In giving you this counsel, I know I hazard the favour I have just re- gained. But even at that hazard, I must offer it. Your infatu- ation blinds you to the terrible consequences of the step. The union is odious to all your subjects — but most of all to those not tainted with the new heresies and opinions. It will never be forgiven by the Emperor Charles the Fifth, who will seek to avenge the indignity offered to his illustrious relative ; while Francis will gladly make it a pretext for breaking his truce with you. Add to this, the displeasure of the apostolic see, ,and ANNE flOLEYN REQUIRES WOLSEY's DISMISSAL. 219 '> must be apparent, that powerful as you are, your position will be one of infinite peril." " Thus far advanced, I cannot honourably abandon the di- vorce," said Henry. " Nor do I advise its abandonment, sire," replied Wolsey ; but do not let it be a means of injuring you with all men. Co not let a mal-alliance place your very throne in jeopardy ; as, with your own subjects and all foreign powers against you, must necessarily be the case." " You speak warmly, cardinal," said Henry. " My zeal prompts me to do so," replied Wolsey. " Anne Boleyn is in no respect worthy of the honour you propose her." " And whom do you think more worthy ?" demanded Henry. " Those whom I have already recommended to your majesty — the Duchess D'Alen^on, or the Princess Renee," replied Wolsey ; " by a union with either of whom you would secure the cordial co-operation of Francis, and the interests of the see of Rome, which in the event of a war with Spain you may need." " No, Wolsey," replied Henry, taking a hasty turn across the chamber ; " no considerations of interest or security shall induce me to give up Anne. I love her too well for that. Let the lion Charles roar, the fox Francis snarl, and the hydra-headed Clement launch forth his flames, I will remain firm to my purpose. I will not play the hypocrite with you, whatever I may do with others. I cast off Catherine that I may wed Anne, because I cannot otherwise obtain her. And shah I now, when I have dared so much, and when the prize is in my grasp, abandon it? — Never! Threats, expostulations, en- treaties, are alike unavailing." " I grieve to hear it, my liege," replied Wolsey, heaving a deep sigh ; " it is an ill-omened union, and will bring woe to you, woe to your realm, and woe to the Catholic church." " And woe also to you, false cardinal," cried Anne Boleyn, throwing aside the arras, and stepping forward. " I have over- heard what has passed ; and from my heart of hearts, I thank you, Henry, for the love you have displayed for me. But 1 here solemnly vow never to give my hand to you till Wolsey is dismissed from your councils." " Anne !" exclaimed the king. " My own enmity I could forego," pursued Anne, vehemently, " but I cannot forgive him his duplicity and perfidy towards you. He has just proffered you his splendid palace of "Hampton, and his treasures, — and wherefore? — I will tell you, — because he feared they would be wrested from him. His jester had acquainted him with the discovery just made of the secret hoard, and he was therefore compelled to have recourse to this desperate move. But I was apprized of his intentions by Will Sommers, and havt; come in time to foil him." 320 WINDSOR CASTLE. " By my faith, 1 oelieve you are right, sweetneart," said the king. ^ " Go tell your allies, Francis and Clement, that the king's love for me outweighs his fear of them," cried Anne, laughing spitefully. " As for you, I regard you as nothing." " Vain woman, your pride will be abased," rejoined VVolsey, bitterly. " Vain man, you are already abased," replied Anne. " A few weeks ago I would have made terms with you. Now I am vour mortal enemy, and will never rest till I have procured your downfall." " The king will have an amiable consort, truly," sneered Wolsey. " He will have one who can love him and hate his foes," re- plied Anne ; " and not one who would side with them and thee, as would be the case with the Duchess D'Alen9on or the Princess Renee. Henry, you know the sole terms on which you can procure my hand." The king nodded a playful affirmative. " Then dismiss him at once, — disgrace him," said Anne. " Nay, nay," replied Henry, " the divorce is not yet passed. You are angered now, and will view matters more coolly to- morrow." " I shall never change my resolution," she replied. " If my dismissal and disgrace can save my sovereign, I pray him to sacrifice me without hesitation," said Wolsey ; " but while I have liberty of speech with him, and aught of power remaining, I will use it to his advantage. I pray your majesty suffer me to retire." And receiving a sign of acquiescence from the king, he with- drew, amid the triumphant laughter of Anne. IX. HOW TRISTRAM LYNDWOOD WAS INTERROGATED BY THE KINO. Anne Boleyn remained with her royal lover for a few minutes to pour forth her gratitude for the attachment he had displayed to her. And to confirm the advantage she had gained over Wolsey. As V)on as she was gone, Henry summoned an usher, and giving iim some instructions respecting Mabel Lyndwood, proceeded to the Curfew Tower. Nothing was said to him of the strange noise that had been heard in the upper chamber, for the arquebusiers were fearful of exciting his displeasure by a confession of their alarm, and he descended at once to the duuaeon. TRISTRAM INTERROGATED BY THE KING. 221 " Well, fellow," he cried, sternly regarding the captive, who arose at his entrance, "you have now had ample time for reflec- tion, and 1 trust are in a better frame of mind than when I last spoke with you. I command you to declare all you know concerning Heme the Hunter, and to give me such information respecting the proscribed felon, Morgan Fenwolf, as will enable me to accomplish his capture." " I have already told your highness, that my mouth is sealed by an oath of secrecy,** replied Tristram, humbly, but firmly. " Obstinate dog ! thou shalt either speak, or I will hang thee from the top of this tower as I hanged Mark Fytton, the butcher," roared Henry. " You will execute your sovereign pleasure, my liege," said the old man. " My life is in your hands. It is little matter whether it is closed now or a year hence. I have well-nigh run out my term." " If thou carest not for thyself, thou mayst • not be equally indifferent to another," cried the king. '* What, ho ! bring in his grand-daughter." The old man started at the command, and trembled violently. The next moment, Mabel was led into the dungeon by Shore- ditch and Paddington. Behind her came Nicholas Clamp. On seeing her grandsire, she uttered a loud cry, and would have rushed towards him, but she was held back by her companions. " Oh ! grandfather," she cried ; " what have you done ? — why do I find you here ?" Tristram groaned, and averted his head. " He is charged with felony and sorcery," said the king, sternly ; " and you, maiden, come under the same suspicion." " Believe it not, sire," cried the old man, flinging himself at Henry's feet ; " oh, believe it not. Whatever you may judge of me, believe her innocent. She was brought up most devoutly, by a lay sister of the monastery at Chertsey ; and she knows nothing, save by report, of what passes in the forest." " Yet she has seen and conversed with Morgan Fenwolf," said the king. " Not since he was outlawed," said Tristram. " I saw him to-day, as I was brought to the castle," cried Mabel ; " and — " but recollectine that she might implicate her grandfather, she suddenly stopped. " What said he ? — ha .'" demanded the king. " I will tell your majesty what passed," interposed Nicholas Clamp, stepping forward, " for I was with the damsel at the time. He came upon us suddenly from behind a great tree, and ordered her to accompany him to her grandsire." " Ha !" exclaimed the king. " But he had no authority for what he said, 1 am well con- vinced," pursued Clamp. " Mabel disbelieved him, and refused 22^ WINDSOR CASTLE. to go, and I should have captured him if ttie fiend he serves haa not lent him a helping hand." " What says the prisoner himself to this ?" observed the king. " Didst thou send Fenwolf on the errand ?" " I did," replied Tristram. " I sent him to prevent her from going to the castle." Mabel sobbed audibly. '' Thou art condemned by thy own confession, caitiff!" said the king, " and thou knowest upon what terms alone thou canst save thyself from the hangman, and thy grand-daughter from the stake !" " Oh, mercy, sire, — mercy !" shrieked Mabel. " Your fate rests with your grandsire," said the king, sternly. " If he chooses to be your executioner, he will remain silent." " Oh ! speak, grandsire, speak !" cried Mabel. " What mat- ters the violation of an unholy vow ?" " Give me till to-morrow for consideration, sire," said the old man. " Thou shalt have till midnight," replied the king ; " and till then, Mabel shall remain with thee." *' I would rather be left alone," said Tristram. " I doubt it not," replied the king ; " but it shall not be." And without bestowing a look at Mabel, whose supplications he feared might shake his purpose, he quitted the vault, with his attendants, leaving her alone with her grandsire. " I shall return at midnight," he said to the arquebusier sta- (■"^ed at the door; "and meanwhile, let no one enter the dungeon — not even the Duke of Suffolk, unless," he added, hold- ing forth his hand to display a ring, " he shall bring this signet." X. OF THE BRIEF ADVANTAGE GAINED BY THE QUEEN AND THE CARDINAL. As the king, wholly unattended — for he had left the archers at the Curfew Tower — was passing at the back of Saint George's Chapel, near the north transept, he paused for a moment to look at the embattled entrance to the New Commons — a structure erected in the eleventh year of his own reign, by James Denton, a canon, and afterwards Dean of Lichfield, for the accommoda- tion of such chantry priests and choristers as had no place in the college. Over the doorway, surmounted by a niche, ran (and still runs) the inscription — " ^des pro sacellanorum ch,orist- ARUM coviviis EXTRUCTA, A.D. 1519." The building has since been converted into one of the canon's houses. PATCH DISCOVEFuED BY THE KING* 22S While he was contemplating this beautiful gateway, which was glimmering in the bright moonlight, a tall figure suddenly darted BHTRAMCS TO THX MEW COUVONS from behind one of the buttresses of the chapel, and seized his left arm with an iron grasp. The suddenness of the attack took him by surprise; but he instantly recovered himself, plucked away his arm, and drawing his sword, made a pass at his assailant, who, however, avoided the thrust, and darted with inconceivable swiftness through the archway leading to the cloisters. Though Henry followed as quickly as he could, he lost sight of the fugitive, but just as he was about to enter the passage running between the tomb-house and the chapel, he perceived a person in the south ambulatory, evidently anxious to conceal himself, and rushing up to him, and dragging him to the light, he found it was no other than the cardinal's jester. Patch. " What dost thou here, knave ?" cried Henry, angrily. " I am waiting for my master, the cardinal," replied trie jester, terrified out of his wits. " Waiting for him here !" cried the king. " Where is he ?" " In that house," replied Patch, pointing to a beautiful bay window full of stained glass, overhanging the exquisite arches of the north ambulatory. " Why, that is Doctor Sampson's dwelling," cried Henry, *' he 224 WINDSOR CASTLE. HCUaE IN THE NORTH AMBDLA.TORT OF THE DEAJJ'S CLOISTERS who was chaplain to the queen, and is a strong opponent of the divorce. What doth he there ?" " I am sure I know not," replied Patch, whose terror increased each moment. " Perhaps I have mistaken the house. Indeed, I am sure it must be Doctor Voysey's, the next door." " Thou liest, knave ?^ cried Henry, fiercely ; " thy manner convinces me there is some treasonable practice going forward. But I will soon find it out. Attempt to give the alarm, and I will cut thy throat." With this, he proceeded to the back of the north ambulatory, and finding the door he sought unfastened, raised the latch, and walked softly in. But before he got half-way down the passage. Doctor Sampson himself issued from an inner room with a lamp in his hand. He started on seeing the king, and exhibited great alarm. " The cardinal of York is here — I know it,'* said Henry, in a deep whisper. " Lead niP to hinj " WOLSEY PROCEEDS TO DOCTOR SAMPSON's DWELLING. 225 '• Oh ! go not forward, my gracious liege," cried Sampson, placing himself in his path. " Wherefore not ?' rejoined the king. " Ha ! what voice is ihat I hear in the upper chamber. Is she here, and with Wolsey ? Out of my way, man," he added, pushing the canon aside, and rushing up the short wooden staircase. When Wolsey returned from his interview with the king, which had been so unluckily interrupted by Anne Boleyn, he found his ante-chamber beset with a crowd of suitors, to whose solicitations he was compelled to listen, and having been de- tained in this manner for nearly half-an-hour, he at length retired into an inner room. " Vile sycophants !" he muttered, " they bow the knee be- fore me, and pay me greater homage than they render the king, — but though they have fed upon my bounty, and risen by my help, not one of them, if he was aware of my true position, but would desert me. Not one of them but would lend a help- ing hand to crush me. Not one but would rejoice in my downfal. But they have not deceived me. I knew them from the first — saw through their hollowness, and despised them. While power lasts to me, I will punish some of them. While power lasts !" he repeated. " Have I any power remaining ? I have already given up Hampton and my treasures to the king ; and the work of spoliation once commenced, the royal plunderer will not be content till he has robbed me of all ; while his minion Anne Boleyn has vowed my destruction. Well, I will not yield tamely, nor fall unavenged." As these thoughts passed through his mind, Patch, who had waited for a favourable moment to approach him, delivered him a small billet, carefully sealed, and fastened with a silken thread. Wolsey took it, and broke it open ; and as his eye eagerly scanned its contents, the expression of his countenance totally changed. A flash of joy and triumph irradiated his fallen features and thrusting the note into the folds of his robe, he inquired Oi the jester by whom it had been brought, and how long ? " It was brought by a messenger from Doctor Sampson," replied Patch, " and was committed to me with special in- iunctions to deliver it to your grace immediately on your return, and secretly." The cardinal sat down, and for a few moments appeared lost in deep reflection ; he then arose, and telling Patch he should return presently, quitted the chamber. But the jester, who was of an inquisitive turn, and did not Uke to be confined to half a secret, determined to follow him, and accordingly tracked him along the great corridor, down a winding staircase, through a private door near the Norman Gateway, across the middle ward, and finally saw him enter Doctor Sampson's dwelling, at the back of the north ambulatory. He was reconnoitring the windows ol the house from the opposite side of the cloisters, in the hope Q 21*6 WINDSOR CASTLE. of discovering something, when he was caught, as before men- tioned, by the king. Wolsey, meanwhile, was received by Doctor Sampson at the door-way of his dwelling, and ushered by him into a smaL chamber, on the upper floor, wainscoted with curiously-carved and lustrously black oak. A silver lamp was burning on the table, and in the recess of the window, which was screened by thick curtains, sat a majestic lady, who rose on the cardinal's entrance. It was Catherine of Arragon. " I attend your pleasure, madam," said Wolsey, with a pro- found inclination. " You have been long in answering my summons," said the queen ; " but I could not expect greater promptitude. Time was when a summons from (Jatherine of Arragon would have been quickly and cheerfully attended to; when the proudest noble in the land would have borne her message to you, and when you would have passed through crowds to her audience- chamber. Now, another holds her place, and she is obliged secretly to enter the castle where she once ruled, to despatch a valet to her enemy, to attend his pleasure, and to receive him in the dwelling of a humble canon. Times are changed with me, Wolsey — ^sadly changed." " I have been in attendance on the king, madam, or I should have been with you sooner," replied Wolsey. "It grieves me sorely to see you here." " i want not your pity," replied the queen, proudly. " I did not send for you to gratify your malice by exposing my abject state. I did not send for you to insult me by false sympathy ; but in the hope that your own interest would induce you to redress the wrongs you have done me." " Alas ! madam, I fear it is now too late to repair the error I have committed," said Wolsey, in a tone of affected penitence and sorrow. " You admit, then, that it was an error," cried Catherine. " Well, that is something. Oh ! that you had paused before you began this evil work — before you had raised a storm which will destroy me and yourself. Your quarrel with my nephew the Emperor Charles has cost me dear, but it will cost you yet more dearly." " I deserve all your reproaches, madam," said Wolsey, with feigned meekness ; " and I will bear them without a murmur. But you have sent for me for some specific object, I presume ?" " I sent for you to give me aid, as much for your own sake as mine," replied the queen, " for you are in equal danger. Pre- vent this divorce — foil Anne — and you retain the king's favour. Our interests are so far leagued together, that you must serve me to serve yourself. My object is to gain time to enable my friends to act. Your colleague is secretly favourable to me. Pronounce no sentence here, but let the cause be removc^d to wyat's letters produced. 227 Komes. My nephew the emperor will prevail upon the pope to decide in my favour." *' I dare not thus brave the king's displeasure, madam," re- plied Wolsey. " Dissembler !" exclaimed Catherine. " I now perceive the insincerity of your professions. Thus much I have said to try you. And now to my real motive for sending for you. I have in my possession certain letters that will ruin Anne Boleyn with the king." " Ha !' exclaimed the cardinal, joyfully ; " if that be the case, all the rest will be easy. Let me see the letters, 1 pray you, madam." Before Catherine could reply, the door was thrown violently open, and the king stood before them. " Soh !" roared Henry, casting a terrible look at Wolsey, " I have caught you at your treasonable practices at last ! — And you, madam," he added, turning to Catherine, who meekly, but steadily, returned his gaze, " what brings you here again ? Because I pardoned your indiscretion yesterday, think not I shall always be so lenient. You will leave the castle instantly. As to Wolsey, he shall render me a strict account of his conduct." " I have nothing to declare, my liege," replied Wolsey, recover- ing himself. " I leave it to the queen to explain why I came hither." " The explanation shall be given at once," said Catherine. " I sent for the cardinal to request him to lay before your majesty these two letters from Anne Boleyn to Sir Thomas Wyat, that you might judge whether one who could write thus would make yo!i a fitting consort. You disbelieved my charge of levity yesterday. Read these, sire, and judge whether I spoke the truth." Henry glanced at the letters, and his brow grew dark. " What say you to them, my liege ?" cried Catherine, with a glance of triumph. " In the one she vows eternal constancy to Sir Thomas Wyat ^ and in the other, — ^written after her engage- ment to you, — she tells him that though they can never meet as heretofore, she will always love him." " Ten thousand furies !" cried the king. " Where got you these letters, madam?" " They were given to me by a tall dark man, as I quitted the castle last night," said the queen. " He said they were taken from the person of Sir Thomas Wyat while he lay concealed in the forest in the cave of Heme the Hunter." " If I thought she wrote them," cried Henry, in an access of jealous fury, " I would cast her off for ever." " Methinks your majesty should be able to judge whether they are true or false," said Catherine. " I know her writing well — too well, alas ! — and am satisfied they are genuine." ** I am well assured that Wyat was concealed in the Lady Anne's chamber when your majesty demanded admittance, and q2 228 WINDSOR CASTLE. could not obtain it, — when the Earl of Surrey sacrificed himself for her, and for his friend," said Wolsey. " Perdition !" exclaimed the king, striking his brow with ki< clenched hand. " Oh ! Catherine," he continued, after a pause, during which she intently watched the workings of his coun- tenance, " and it was for this light-hearted creature I was about to cast you off!" " I forgive you, sire — I forgive you !" exclaimed the queen, clasping his hands, and bedewing them with grateful tears. " You have been deceived. Heaven keep you in the same mind!" " You have preserved me," said Henry ; " but you must not tarry here. Come with me to the royal lodgings." " No, Henry," replied Catherine, with a shudder, " not while she is there." " Make no conditions, madam," whispered Wolsey. '' Go." " She shall be removed to-morrow," said Henry. "In that case I am content to smother my feelings," said the queen. " Come then, Kate," said Henry, taking her hand. " Lord cardinal, you will attend us." " Right gladly, my liege," replied Wolsey. " If this mood will only endure," he muttered, " all will go well. But his jea- lousy must not be allowed to cool. Would that Wyat were here !" Doctor Sampson could scarcely credit his senses, as he beheld the august pair come forth together, and a word from Wolsey explaining what had occurred, threw him into transports of de- Hght. But the surprise of the good canon was nothing to that exhibited as Henry and Catherine entered the royal lodgings, and the king ordered his own apartments to be instantly prepared for her majesty's reception. XL HOW TRI8TEAM LYNDWOOD AND MABEL WEEK LIBERATED. Intelligence of the queen's return was instantly conveyed to Anne Boleyn, and filled her with indescribable alarm. All her visions of power and splendour seemed to melt away at once. She sent for her father. Lord Rochford, who hurried to her in a state of the utmost anxiety, and closely questioned her whether the extraordinary change had not been occasioned by some imprudence of her own. But she positively denied the charge ; alleging that she had parted with the king scarcely an houl before on terms of the most perfect amity, and with the full conviction that she had accomplished the cardinal's ruin. " You should not have put forth your hand against him, till you were sure of striking the blow," said Rochford. " There is no telling what secret influence he has over the king ; and there SUFFOIiK REPAIRS TO THE KING. 229 may yet be a hard battle to fight. But not a moment must be lost in counteracting his operations. Luckily, Suffolk is here; and his enmity to the cardinal will make him a sure friend to us. Pray Heaven you have not given the king fresh occasion for jealousy ! That is all I fear." And quitting his daughter, he sought out Suffolk, who, alarmed at what appeared like a restoration of Wolsey to favour, promised heartily to co-operate with him in the struggle, and that no time might be lost, the duke proceeded at once to the royal closet, where he found the king pacing moodily to and fro. " Your majesty seems disturbed," said the duke. " Disturbed ! — ay !" exclaimed the king. " I have enough to disturb me. I will never love again. I will forswear the whole sex. Harkee, Suffolk, you are my brother, my second self, and know all the secrets of my heart. After the passionate devotion I have displayed for Anne Boleyn, — after all I have done for her, — all I have risked for her, — 1 have been deceived." " Impossible, my liege !" exclaimed Suffolk. " Why, so I thought," cried Henry, " and I turned a deaf ear to all insinuations thrown out against her, till proof was afforded which I could no longer doubt." " And what was the amount of the proof, my liege ?" asked Suffolk. " These letters," said Henry, handing them to him, " found on the person of Sir Thomas Wyat." " But these only prove, my liege, the existence of a former passion, — nothing more," remarked SuflPolk, after he had scanned them. " But she vows eternal constancy to him !" cried Henry ; *' says she shall ever love him ! — says so at the time she professes devoted love for me ! How can I trust her after that ? Suffolk, I feel she does not love me exclusively ; and my passion is so deep and devouring, that it demands entire return. I must have her heart as well as her person ; and I feel I have only won her B my quality of king." " I am persuaded your majesty is mistaken," said the duke. " Would I could think so!" sighed Henry. " But no — no, * cannot be deceived. I will conquer this fatal passion. Oh, Suffolk! it is frightful to be the bondslave of a woman — a fickle, inconstant woman. But between the depths of love and hate is but a step ; and I can pass from one to the other." " Do nothing rashly, my dear liege," said Suffolk ; " nothing that may bring with it after-repentance. Do not be swayed by those who have inflamed your jealousy, and who could practise upon it. Think the matter calmly over, and then act. And till you have decided, see neither Catherine nor Anne ; and, above all, do not admit Wolsey to your secret councils.'' **' You are his enemy, Suffolk," said the king, sternly. ** I am your majesty's friendj" replied the duke. " Beseech 230 WINDSOR CASrLE. you, yield to me on this occasion, and I am sure ot your thanks hereafter." " Well, 1 believe you are right, my good friend and brother," said Henry, " and 1 will curb my impulses of rage and jealousy. To-morrow, before I see either the queen or Anne, we will ride forth into the forest, and talk the matter further over." " Your highness has come to a wise determination," said the duke. " Oh, Suffolk !" sighed Henry, " would I had never seen this syren ! She exercises a fearful control over me, and enslaves my very soul." " 1 cannot say whether it is for good or ill that you have met, my dear liege," replied Suffolk, " but I fancy I can discern the way in which your ultimate decision will be taken. But it is now near midnight. I wish your majesty sound and untroubled repose." " Stay !" cried Henry, " I am about to visit the Curfew Tower, and must take you with me. I will explain my errand as we go. I had some thought of sending you there in my stead. Ha !" he exclaimed, glancing at his finger — " By Saint Paul I it is gone." " What is gone, my liege ?" asked Suffolk. " My signet," replied Henry. " I missed it not till now. It has been wrested from me by the fiend, during my walk from the Curfew Tower. Let us not lose a moment, or the pri- soners will be set free by him, — ^if they have not been liberated already." So saying, he took a couple of dags — a species of short gun- from a rest on the wall, and giving one to Suffolk, thrust the other into his girdle. Thus armed, they quitted the royal lodg- ings, and hurried in the direction of the Curfew Tower. Just as they reached the Horse- Shoe Cloisters, the alarm bell began to ring. " Did I not tell you so ?" cried Henry, furiously ; " they have escaped. Ha ! it ceases ! — what has happened ?" About a quarter of an hour after the king had quitted the Curfew Tower, a tall man, enveloped in a cloak, and wearing a high conical cap, presented himself to the arquebusier stationed at the entrance to the dungeon, and desired to be admitted to the prisoners. ** I have the king't signet," he said, holding forth the ring. On seeing this, the arquebusier, who recognised the ring, unlocked the door, and admitted him. Mabel was kneeling on the ground beside her grandsire, with her hands raised as in prayer, but as the tall man entered the vault, she started to her feet, and uttered a slight scream. " What is the matter, child?' cried Tristram. " He is here ! — he is come !" cried Mabel, in a tone of the fieepest terror. TRISTRAM AND MABEL LIBERATED BY HERNE. 231 " Who — the king !" cried Tristram, looking up. " Ah ! I see ! Heme is come to deliver me." " Do not go with him, grandsire," cried MabeL " In the name of all the saints, I implore you, do not." " Silence her !" said Heme, in a harsh, imperious voice, " or I leave you." The old man looked imploringly at his grand-daughter. " You know the conditions of your liberation ?" said Heme. « I (io — I do," replied Tristram, hastily, and with a shudder. " Oh I grandfather," cried Mabel, falling at his feet, " do not, 1 conjure you, make any conditions with this dreaded being, or it will be at the expense of your salvation. Better I should perish at the stake — better you should suffer the most igno- minious death, than this should be." " Do you accept them ?" cried Heme, disregarding her sup- plications. Tristram answered in the affirmative. " Recall your words, grandfather — recall your words !" cried Mabel. " I will implore pardon for you on my knees from the king, and he will not refuse me." " The pledge cannot be recalled, damsel," said Heme ; " and it is to save you from the king, as much as to accomplish his own preservation, that your grandsire consents. He would not have you a victim to Henry's lust." And as he spoke, he divided the forester's bonds with his knife. " You must go with him, Mabel," he added. " I will not !" she cried. " Something warns me that a great danger awaits me." " You must go, girl," cried Tristram, angrily. " I will not leave you to Henry's lawless passion." Meanwhile, Heme had passed into one of the large embra- sures, and opened, by means of a spring, an entrance to a secret staircase in the wall. He then beckoned Tristram towards him, and whispered some instructions in his ear. " I understand," replied the old man. " Proceed to the cave," cried Heme, " and remain there till I join you." Tristram nodded assent. " Come, Mabel !" he cried, advancing towards her, and seizing her hand. " Away !" cried Heme, in a menacing tone. Terrified by the formidable looks and gestures of the demon, the poor girl offered no resistance, and her grandfather drew her into the opening, which was immediately closed after her. About an hour after this, and when it was near upon the stroke of midnight, the arquebusier who had admitted the tall stranger to the dungeon, and who had momentarily expected his coming forth, opened the door to see what was going forward. Great was his astonishment to find tho cell empty ! After looking around 232 WINDSOR CASTLE. in oewilderment, he rushed to the chamber above, to tell his comrades what had happened. " This is clearly the work of the fiend," said Shoreditch ; " it is useless to strive against him." " That tall black man was doubtless Heme himself," said Paddmgton. " I am glad he did us no injury. I hope the king will not provoke his malice further." " Well, we must inform Captain Bouchier of the mischance,'* said Shoreditch. " I would not be in thy skin. Mat Bee, for a trifle. The king will be here presently, and then " '' It is impossible to penetrate through the devices of the evil one," interrupted Mat. " I could have sworn it was the royal signet, for I saw it on the king's finger as he delivered the order. I wish such another chance of capturing the fiend would occur to me." As the words were uttered, the door of a recess was thrown sud denly open, and Heme, in his wild garb, with his antlered helm upon his brow, and the rusty chain depending from his left arm, stood before them. His appearance was so terrific and un- earthly that they all shrank aghast, and Mat Bee fell with his face on the floor. " I am here !" cried the demon. " Now, braggart, wilt dare to seize me ?" But not a hand was moved against him. The whole party seemed transfixed with terror. " You dare not brave my power, and you are right," cried Heme — " a wave of my hand would bring this old tower about your ears, — a word would summon a legion of fiends to torment you." " But do not utter it, I pray you, good Herne — excellent Heme," cried Mat Bee. " And, above all things, do not wave your hand, for we have no desire to be buried alive, — have we, comrades ? I should never have said what I did if I had thought your fiendship within hearing." " Your royal master will as vainly seek to contend with me as he did to bury me beneath the oak tree," cried Herne. " If you want me further, seek me in the upper chamber." And with these words, he darted up the ladder-like flight of steps and disappeared. As soon as they recovered from the fright that had enchained them, Shoreditch and Paddington rushed forth into the area in front of the turret, and shouting to those on the roof, told them that Herne was in the upper room — a piece of informa- tion which was altogether superfluous, as the hammering had re- commenced, and continued till the clock struck twelve, when it stopped. Just then, it occurred to Mat Bee to ring the alarm bail, and he seized the rope, and began to pull it ; but the bell had scarcely sounded, when the cord, severed from above, feU down upon his head. HERNE SINKS THROUGH THE FLOOR. 23? At this juncture, the king and the Duke of Suffolk arrived. Wlien told what had happened, though prepared for it, Henry burst into a terrible passion, and bestowed a buffet on Mat Bee, that well nigh broke his jaw, and sent him reeUng to the fur- ther side of the chamber. He had not at first understood that Heme was supposed to be in the upper room ; but as soon as he was made aware of the circumstance, he cried out — " Ah, dastards ! have you let him brave you thus ? But I am glad of it. His capture is reserved for my own hand." " Do not expose yourself to this risk, my gracious liege," said Suffolk. " Wliat ! are you too a sharer in their womanish fears, Suffolk i cried Henry. " I thought you had been made of stouter stuff". If there is danger, I shall be the first to encounter it. Come," he added, snatching a torch from an arquebusier. And, draw- ing his dag, he hurried up the steep steps, while Suffolk fol- lowed his example, and three or four arquebusiers ventured after them. Meanwhile, Shoreditch and Paddington ran out, and informed Bouchier that the king had arrived, and was mounting in search of Heme, upon which the captain, shaking off his fears, ordered his men to follow him, and opening the little door at the top of the stairs, began cautiously to descend, feeling his way with his sword. He had got about half-way down, when Henry sprang upon the platform. The light of the torch fell upon the ghostly figure of Heme, with his arms folded upon his breast, standing near the pile of wood, lying between the two staircases. So ap- palling was the appearance of the demon, that Henry stood still to gaze at him, while Bouchier and his men remained irreso- lute on the stairs. In another moment, the Duke of Suffolk had gained the platform, and the arquebusiers were seen near the head of the stairs. " At last, thou art in my power, accursed being !" cried Henry, *' Thou art hemmed in on all sides, and canst not escape !" " Ho ! ho ! ho !" laughed Heme. " This shall prove whether thou art human or not," cried Henry, taking deliberate aim at him with the dag. " Ho ! ho ! ho !" roared Heme. And as the report rang through the room, he sank through the floor, and disappeared from view. " Gone !" exclaimed Henry, as the smoke cleared off; " gone ! Holy Mary ! then it must indeed be the fiend. I made the middle of his skull my aim, and if he had not been invulnerable, the bullet must have pierced his brain." " I heard it rebound from his horned helmet, and drop to the floor," said Bouchier. " What is that chest?" cried Henry, pointing to a strange coffin-shaped box, lying, as it seemed, on the exact spot where the (lemon had disai)peared. 234 WINDSOR CASTLE. No one had seen it before, though all called to mind thft mysterious hammering ; and they had no doubt that the coffin was the work of the demon. " Break it open !" cried Henry ; " for aught we know, Hern may be concealed within it." The order was reluctantly obeyed by the arquebusiers. But no force was required, for the lid was not nailed down; and when it was removed, a human body, in the last stage of decay, was discovered. "Pah! close it up," cried Henry, turning away in disgust. " How came it there ?'* " It must have been brought by the powers of darkness," said Bouchier ; " no such coffin was here when I searched the chamber two hours ago. But see," he added, stooping down, and picking up a piece of paper which had fallen from the coffin, " here is a scroll." " Give it me !" cried Henry ; and holding it to the light, he read the words, " The body of Mark Fytton^ the butcher^ — the victim of a tyranfs cruelty ^'^ Uttering a terrible imprecation, Henry flung the paper from him ; and bidding the arquebusiers burn the body at the foot of the gallows without the town, he quitted the tower without further search. XIl. HOW WOLSET WAS DISGRACED BY THE KING. On the following day, a reconciliation took place between the king and Anne Boleyn. During a ride in the Great Park with his royal brother, Suffolk not only convinced him of the ground- lessness of his jealousy, but contrived to incense him strongly against Wolsey. Thus the queen and the cardinal lost the momentary advantage they had gained, while Anne's power was raised yet higher. Yielding to her entreaties not to see Catherine again, nor to hold further conference with Wolsey until the sentence of the court should be pronounced, Henry left the castle that very day, and proceeded to his palace of Bridewell. The distress of the unhappy queen at this sudden revolution of affairs may be conceived. Distrusting Wolsey, and putting her sole reliance on Heaven, and the goodness of her cause, she withdrew to Blackfriars, where she remained till the court met. As to the cardinal himself, driven desperate by his situation, and exasperated by the treatment he had experienced, he resolved, at whatever risk, to thwart Henry's schemes, and revenge himself upon Anne Boleyn. Thus matters continued till the court met as before in the parliament-chamber, at Blackfriars. On this occasion Henry was present, and took his place AUider a cloth of estate, — the TIIR COURT AT BLACKFRIARS. 235 queen sitting at some distance below him. Opposite them were the legates with the Archbishop of Canterbury, and the whole of the bishops. The aspect of the assemblage was grave and anxious. Many eyes were turned on Henry, who looked gloomy and menacing, but the chief object of interest was the queen, who, though pale as death, had never in her highest days of power worn a more majestic and dignified air than on this occasion. The proceedings of the court then commenced, and the king being called by the crier, he immediately answered to the sum- mons. Catherine was next called, and instead of replying, she marched towards the canopy beneath which the king was seated, prostrated herself, and poured forth a most pathetic and elo- quent appeal to him ; at the close of which, she arose and making a profound reverence, walked out of the court, leaning upon the arm of her general-receiver, Griffith. Henry desired the crier to call her back, but she would not return ; and seeing the effect produced by her address upon the auditory, he endeavoured to efface it by an eulogium on her character and virtues, accom- panied by an expression of deep regret at the step he was com- pelled to take in separating himself from her. But his hypocrisy availed him little, and his speech was received with looks of ill- disguised incredulity. Some further discourse then took place between the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Bishop of Ro- chester; but as the queen had absented herself, the court was adjourned to the next day, when it again met, and as she did not then appear, though summoned, she was pronounced con- tumacious. After repeated adjournments, the last session was held, and judgment demanded on the part of the king, when Campeggio, as had been arranged between him and Wolsey, declined to pronounce it until he had referred the matter to the pope, and the court was dissolved. About two months after this event, during which time the legates' commission had been revoked, while Henry was revolving the expediency of accomplishing the divorce through the medium of his own ecclesiastical courts, and without refer- ence to that of Rome, — a dispatch was received from the pope by the two cardinals, requiring them to cite the king to appear before him by attorney on a certain day. At the time of the arrival of this instrument, Campeggio chanced to be staying with Wolsey at his palace at Esher, and as the king was then holding his court at Windsor, they both set out for the castle on the following day, attended by a retinue of nearly a hundred horsemen, splendidly equipped. It was now the middle of September, and the woods, instead of presenting one uniform mass of green, glowed with an infinite variety of lovely tints. And yet, despite the beauty of the scene, there was something melancholy in witnessing the decline of the year, as marked by those old woods, and by the paths that led 236 WINDSOR CASTLE. through them, so thickly strewn with leaves. Wolsey was greatly affected. " These noble trees will ere long be reft of their glories," he thought — " and so, most likely, will it be with me — and perhaps my winter may come on sooner than theirs!" The cardinal and his train had crossed Staines Bridge ; and passing through Egham, had entered the Great Park, near Engle- field Green. They were proceeding along the high ridge over- looking the woody region between it and the Castle, when a joyous shout in the glades beneath reached them ; and look- ing down, they saw the king, accompanied by Anne Boleyn and attended by his falconers and a large company of horse- men, pursuing the sport of hawking. The royal party ap- peared so much interested in their sport, that they did not notice the cardinal and his train, and were soon out of sight. But as Wolsey descended Snow Hill, and entered the long avenue, he heard the trampling of horses at a little distance ; and shortly afterwards, Henry and Anne issued from out the trees. They were somewhat more than a bow-shot in advance of the cardinal ; but instead of halting till he came up, the king had no sooner ascertained who it was, than, despatching a messenger to the castle, who was seen galloping swiftly down the avenue, he rode off with Anne Boleyn toward the opposite side of the park. Though deeply mortified by the slight, Wolsey concealed his vexation from his brother cardinal, and pur- sued his way to the castle, before which he presently arrived. The gate was thrown open at his approach, but he had scarcely entered the lower ward, when Sir Henry Norris, the king's groom of the stole, advanced to meet him, and, with a sorrownil expression of countenance, said that his royal master had so many guests at the castle, that he could not accommodate him and his train. " I understand your drift, sir," replied Wolsey — " you would tell me I am not welcome. Well, then, his eminence Cardinal Campeggio and myself must take up our lodging at some hostel in the town, for it is necessary we should see the king." " If your grace is content to dismiss your attendants," said Norris, in a low tone, " you and Cardinal Campeggio can be lodged in Henry the Third's Tower. Thus much 1 will take upon me; but I dare not admit you to the royal lodgings." Wolsey tried to look unconcerned, and calling to his gen- tleman usher, George Cavendish, gave him some instructions in a low voice, upon which the other immediately placed himself at the head of the retinue, and ordered them to quit the castle with him, leaving only the jester. Patch, to attend upon his master. Campeggio'? attendants, being, comparatively speaking, few in number, were allowed to remain, and his litter was con- veyed to Henry the Third's Tower — a fortification standing, as HERNE APPEARS TO WOLSEY 237 already stated, in the south side of the lower ward, near the edge of the dry moat surrounding the Round Tower. At the steps of this tower Wolsey dismounted, and was about to follow Campeggio into the doorway, when Will Sommers, who had heard of his arrival, stepped forward, and with a salutation of mock formality, said — " I am sure it will grieve the king, my master, not to be able to accommodate your grace's train ; but since it is larger than his own you will scarce blame his want of hospitality." " Nor the courtesy of his attendants," rejoined Wolsey, sharply. " I am in no mood for thy jesting now. Stand aside, sirrah, or I will have the rod applied to thy back !" " Take care the king does not apply the rod to your own, lord cardinal," retorted Will Sommers. " If he scourges you ac- cording to your deserts, your skin will be redder than your robe." And his mocking laugh pursued Wolsey like the hiss of a snake, into the tower. Some two hours after this, Henry and his attendants returned from the chase. The king seemed in a blithe humour, and Wolsey saw him laugh heartily as Will Sommers pointed with his bauble towards Henry the Third's Tower. The cardinal received no invitation to the royal banquet ; and the answer to his solicitation for an interview was, that he and Campeggio would be received in the presence-chamber on the following morning, but not before. That night a great revel was held in the castle. Masquing, dancing, and feasting, filled up the evening, and the joyous sounds and strains reached WoUey in his seclusion, and forced him to contrast it with his recent [»osition, when he would have been second only to the king in the entertainment. He laid his head upon his pillow, but not to rest, i nd while tossing feverishly about his couch, he saw the arras wur which the walls were covered, move, and a tall, dark figure step fi'om behind it. The cardinal would have awakened his jester, who slept in a small truckle-bed at his feet, but the strange visitor motioned him to be still. " You may conjecture who I am, cardinal," he said, " but in case you should doubt, I will tell you. I am Heme the Hunter ! And now to my errand. I'here is a damsel, whom you once saw in the forest near the great lake, and whom you promised to befriend. You can assist her now — to-morrow it may be out of your power." " I have enough to do to aid myself, without meddling with what concerns me not," said Wolsey. " This damsel does concern you," cried Heme. ^' Read this, and you will see in what way." And he tossed a letter to Wolsey, who glanced at it by the light of the lamp. " Ha I is it so ?" he exclaimed. " Is she " 238 WINDSOR CASTLE. " Hush r cried Heme, " or you will wake this sleeper. It IS as you suppose. Will you not aid her now ? Will you not bestow some of your treasure upon her before it is wholly wrested from you by the king ? I will do aught you wish, secretly and swiftly." " Go, then, to my palace at Esher," cried the cardinal. " Take this key to my treasurer — it is the key of my coffers. Bid him deliver to you the six caskets in the cabinet in the gilt chamber. Here is a token by which he will know that you came from me," he added, delivering him a small chain of gold, " for it has been so agreed between us. But you will be sure to give the treasure to Mabel." " Fear nothing," replied Heme. And stretching forth his hand to receive the key and the chain, he glided behind the tapestry, and disappeared. This strange incident gave some diversion to Wolsey's thoughts; but ere long they returned to their former channel. Sleep would not be summoned, and as soon as the first glimpse of day appeared, he arose, and wrapping his robe around him, left his room and ascended a winding staircase leading to the roof of the tower. The morning promised to be fine, but it was then hazy, and the greater part of the forest was wrapped in mist. The castle, however, was seen to great advantage. Above Wolsey rose the vast fabric of the Round Tower, on the summit of which the broad standard was at that moment being unfurled ; while the different battlements and towers arose majestically around. But Wolsey's gaze rested chiefly upon the exquisite mausoleum lying immediately beneath him, in which he had partly prepared for himself a magnificent monument. A sharp pang shook him as he contemplated it, and he cried aloud — " My very tomb will be wrested from me by this rapacious monarch ; and after all my care, and all my cost, I know not where I shall rest my bones !" Saddened by the reflection, he descended to his chamber, and again threw himself on the couch. But Wolsey was not the only person in the castle who had passed a sleepless night. Of the host of his enemies many had been kept awake by the anticipation of his downfal on the morrow ; and among these was Anne Boleyn, who had received an as- surance from the king that her enmity should at length be fully gratified. At the appointed hour, the two cardinals proceeded to the royal lodgings. They were detained for some time in the ante- chamber, where Wolsey was exposed to the taunts and sneers of the courtiers, who had lately so servilely fawned upon him. At length, they were ushered into the presence-chamber, at the upper end of which, beneath a canopy emblazoned with the ro^al arms woven in gold, sat Henry, with Anne Bolejn on his r^i' Q}\}e i>uinii?^al of (L'an'iinaT ^aWsi^ THE KINGS EXPLOSION OF RAGE. 239 right hand. At the foot of the throne stood Will Sommers, and near him the Dukes of Richmond and Suffolk. Norfolk, Roch- ford, and a number of other nobles, all open enemies of Wolsey, were likewise present. Henry watched the advance of the car- dinals with a stern look, and after they had made an obeisance to him, he motioned them to rise. " You have sought an interview with me, my lords," he said, with suppressed rage. " What would you ?" " We have brought an instrument to you, my liege," said Wolsey, " which has just been received from his holiness the I pope." ^ " Declare its nature," said Henry. *' It is a citation," replied Wolsey, " enjoining your highness to appear by attorney in the papal court, under a penalty of ten thousand ducats." And he presented a parchment, stamped with the great seal of Rome, to the king, who glanced his eye fiercely over it, and then dashed it to the ground, with an explosion of fury terrible to hear and to witness. " Ha ! by Saint George !" he cried ; " am I as nothing, that the pope dares to insult me thus ?" " It is a mere judicial form, your majesty," interposed Cam- )eggio ; " and is chiefly sent by his holiness to let you know we lave no further jurisdiction in the matter of the divorce." " I will take care you have not, nor his holiness either," roared the king. " By my father's head ! he shall find I will be no longer trifled with." " But, my liege," cried Campeggio " Peace !" cried the king. " I will hear no apologies nor ex- cuses. The insult has been offered, and cannot be effaced. As for you, Wolsey " " Sire !" exclaimed the cardinal, shrinking before the whirl- wind of passion, which seemed to menace his utter extermination. ** As for you, I say," pursued Henry, extending his hand to- wards him, while his eyes flashed fire, " who by your outrageous pride have so long overshadowed our honour, — who by your in- satiate avarice and appetite for wealth have oppressed our sub- jects, — who by your manifold acts of bribery and extortion have impoverished our realm, and by your cruelty and partiality have subverted the due course of justice, and turned it to your own ends, — the time is come when you shall receive due punish- ment for your offences." "You wrong me, my dear liege," cried Wolsey, abjectly. " These are the accusations of my enemies. Grant me a patient hearing, and I will explain all." " I would not sharpen the king's resentment against you, lord cardinal," said Anne Boleyn, " for it is keen enough ; but I cannot permit you to say that these charges are merely hostile. hi 240 WINDSOR CASTLE. Those who would support the king's honour and dignity mu», desire to see you removed from his councils." ^' T am ready to take thy place, lord cardinal," said Will Sommers ; " and will exchange my bauble for thy chancellor's mace, and my fool's cap for thy cardinal's hat." '•' Peace !" thundered the king. " Stand not between me and the object of my wrath. Your accusers are not one, but many, Wolsey ; nay, the whole of my people cry out for justice 'Against you. And they shall have it. But you shall hear the charges they bring. Firstly, contrary to our prerogative, and for your own advancement and profit, you have obtained au- thority legatine from the pope ; by which authority you have not only spoiled and taken away their substance from many religious houses, but have usurped much of our own jurisdiction. You have also made a treaty with the King of France for the pope without our consent, and concluded another friendly treaty with the Duke of Ferrara, under our great seal, and in our name, with- out our warrant. And, furthermore, you have presumed to couple yourself with our royal self in your letters and instruc- tions, as if you were on an equality with us." " Ha ! ha ! ' The king and I would have you do thus !' ' The king and I give you our hearty thanks !' Ran it not so, car- dinal ?" cried Will Sommers. " You will soon win the cap and bells." " In exercise of your legatine authoiity," pursued the king, " you have given away benefices contrary co our crown and dig- nity, for the which you are in danger of forfeiture of your lands and goods." " A premunire, cardinal," cried Will Sommers. " A premu- nire ! — ha ! ha !" " Then it has been your practice to receive all the ambassa- dors to our court first at your own palace," continued Henry, — " to hear their charges and intentions, and to instruct them as you might see fit. You have also so practised that all our letters sent from beyond sea have first come to your own hands, by which you have acquainted yourself with their contents, and compelled us and our council to follow your devices. You have also written to all our ambassadors abroad in your own name concerning our affairs, without our authority; and received letters in return from them by which you have sought to com- pass your own purposes. By your ambition and pride you have undone many of our poor subjects; have suppressed religious houses, and received their possessions; have seized upon the goods of wealthy spiritual men deceased ; constrained all ordi- naries yearly to compound with you; have gotten riches for yourself and servants by subversion of the laws, and by abuse of your authority in causing divers pardons of the pope to be sus- pended until you, by promise of a yearly pension, chose to revive WOLSEY DISGRACED. 241 them ; and also by crafty and untrue tales have sought to create dissension among our nobles." " That we can all avouch for," cried Suffolk. " It was never merry in England while there were cardinals among us.'* " Of all men in England your grace should be the last te say so," rejoined Wolsey ; " for if I had not been cardinal, vou would not have had a head upon your shoulders to utter the taunt." " No more of this !" cried the king. " You have misdemeaned yourself in our court by keeping up as great state in our absence as if we had been there in person ; and presumptuously have dared to join and imprint your badge — the cardinal's hat, under our arms, graven on our coins struck at York. And lastly — whenever in open parliament allusion hath been made to heresies and erroneous sects, you have failed to correct and notice them, to the danger of the whole body of good and Christian people of this our realm." *' This last charge ought to win me favour in the eyes of one who professes the opinions of Luther," said Wolsey, to Anne. " But I deny it, as I do all the rest." " I will listen to no defence, Wolsey," replied the king. ** I will make you a terrible example to others how they offend us and our laws hereafter." " Do not condemn me unheard 1" cried the cardinal, prostrat • ing himself. " I have heard too much ; and I will hear no more I" cried the king, fiercely. " I dismiss you from my presence for ever. If you are innocent, as you aver, justice will be done you. If you are guilty, as I believe you to be, look not for leniency from me, for i will shew you none !" And, seating himself, he turned to Anne, and said, in a low tone, " Are you content, sweetheart ?" " I am," she replied. " I shall not now break my vow. False cardinal !" she added aloud, " your reign is at an end." " Your own may not be much longer, madam," rejoined Wolsey, bitterly. " The shadow of the axe," he added, pointing to the reflection of a partisan on the floor, "is at your feet. Ere long it may rise to the head." And, accompanied by Campeggio, he slowly quitted the pre- sence-chamber. CI)U0 tn1s9 tf)t dfovivti) iSooit of tf)e Ci)rotucle of iSamlittot: Castle. ^ V.'.-i '^ ' I ir.ti'.h'uv^ «:Ii J*om '": /.i^-.il«tj ^^u n-. IMk m J^iftb, MABEL LYNDWOOD. MOAT OF TH« ROOSB TOWXS WITH BOWARD THB THIRD 8 TOWXR IN THK BAOZaaOOMB. 33oofe ti)t dFiftJ. I. »«tr THE EABL OF SURREY AND THE FAIR OERALDINE MET IN KING JASCBS'S BOWER IN THE MOAT; AND HOW THEY WERE SURPRISED BY THE DUKB OF RICHMOND. In order to preserve unbroken the chain of events with which the last book of this chronicle concluded, it was deemed ex- pedient to disturb the unity of time, so far as it related to some of the less important characters ; and it will now be necessary, therefore, to return to the middle of June, when the Earl of Surrey's terra of captivity was drawing to a close. 246 WINDSOR CASTLE. As the best means of conquering the anxiety produced by the vision exhibited to him by Heme, increased as it was by the loss of the reUc he had sustained at the same time, the earl had de- voted himself to incessant study, and for a whole month, he remained within his chamber. The consequence of his unremit- ting application was, that though he succeeded in his design, and completely regained his tranquillity, his strength gave way under the effort, and he was confined for some days to his couch by a low fever. As soon as he was sufficiently recovered to venture forth, he mounted to the summit of the Round Tower, in the hope that a walk round its breezy battlements might conduce to his restora- tion to health. * The day was bright and beautiful, and a gentle wind was stirring; and as Surrey felt the breath of heaven upon his cheek, and gazed upon the glorious prospect before him, he wondered that his imprisonment had not driven him mad. Everything around him, indeed, was calculated to make the sense of captivity painful. The broad and beautiful meads, stretching out beneath him, seemed to invite a ramble over them, — the silver river courted a plunge into its waves — the w^oods an hour's retirement into their shady recesses. The bells of Eton-college rang out merrily, but their sound saddened, rather than elated him. The road between Eton and Windsor, then marked by straggling cottages with gardens between them, with here and there a dwelling of a better kind, was thronged with herds of cattle and their drivers, for a fair was held that day in the town of Windsor, to which they were hastening. Then there were country maidens and youthful hinds in their holiday apparel, trooping towards the bridge. Booths were erected, near which in the Brocas meads, the rustic sports of wrestling, running, and casting the bar, were going forward; while numbers of boats shot to and fro upon the river, and strains of music pro- ceeded from a large gilt barge moored to its banks. Nearer, and in the broad green plain lying beneath the north terrace, were a company of archers shooting at the butts. But these sights instead of affording pleasure to Surrey, only sharpened the anguish of his feelings by the contrast they offered to his present position. To distract his thoughts, he quitted the near view, and let his eye run along the edge of the horizon, until it rested upon a small speck, which he knew to be the lofty spire of Saint Paul's cathedral. If, as he supposed, the fair Geraldine was in attendance upon Anne Boleyn, at the palace at Bridewell, she must be under the very shadow of this very spire ; and the supposition, whether correct or not, produced such quick and stifling emotions, that the tears rushed to his eyes. Ashamed of his weakness, he turned to the other side of the tower, and bent his gaze upon the woody heights of the Great Park. These recalled Heme the Hunter ; and burning; with re- " KINO JAMES's BoWeR.'* 24f sentment at the tricks practised upon him by tKe demon, he determined that the first use he would make of his liberty should be to seek out, and, if possible, effect the capture of the mys- terious being. Some of the strange encounters between Heme and the king had been related to him by the officer on guard at the Norman Tower ; but these only served as stimulants to the adventure. After a couple of hours thus passed on the keep, he descended, refi-eshed and invigorated. The next day he was there again, and the day after that ; when feeling that his restoration was well-nigh complete, he requested permission to pass the following evening in the dry moat of the donjon. And this was readily accorded him. Covered with green sod, and shaded by many tall trees, growing out of the side of the artificial mound on which the keep was built, the fosse offered all the advantages of a garden to the. prisoners who were allowed to take exercise within it. Here, as has been mentioned. King James the First of Scotland first beheld, from the battlements above, the lovely Jane Beaufort take her solitary walk, and by his looks and gestures contrived to make her sensible of the passion with which she inspired him ; and here at last, in an arbour which, for the sake of the old and delightful legend connected with it, was kept up at the time of this chronicle, and then bore the name of the royal poet, they had secretly met, and interchanged their vows of affection. Familiar with the story, familiar also with the poetic strains to which the monarch's passion gave birth, Surrey could not help comparing his own fate with that of the illustrious captive who had visited the spot before him. Full of such thoughts, he pen- sively tracked the narrow path winding between the grassy banks of the fosse — now casting up his eyes to the keep — now looking towards the arbour, and wishing that he had been favoured with such visitings as lightened the captivity of the Scottish king. At last, he sought the bower — a charming little nest of green leaves and roses, sheltering a bench which seemed only contrived for lovers — and taking out his tablets, began to trace within them some stanzas of that exquisite poem which has linked his name for ever with the Round Tower. Thus occupied, the time stole on insensibly, and he was not aware that he had overstayed the limits allowed him, till he was roused by the voice of the officer, who came to summon him back to his prison. " You will be removed to your old lodging in the Round Tower to-morrow night, my lord," said the officer. " For what reason ?" demanded the earl, as he followed his conductor up the steep side of the mound. But receiving no reply, he did not renew the inquiry. Entering a door in the covered way at the head of the flight of steps communicating with the Norman Tower, Jiejr descended them, in silence. Just as they reached the 148 WINDSOR CASTLE. foot of this long staircase, the earl chanced to cast back his eyes, and, to his inexpressible asto- nishment, perceived on the landing at the head of the steps, and just before the piece of ordnance com- manding the ascent, the figure of Heme Hunter. 8TAIRCA8K TO THB ROOVS TOWER. Before he could utter an exclamation, the figure retreated through the adjoining archway. Telling the officer what he had seen, Surrey would fain have gone in quest of the fiendish spy; but the other would not permit him; and affecting to treat the matter as a mere creation of fancy, he hurried the earl to his chamber in the Curfew Tower. The next day, Surrey was removed betimes to the Round Tower, and the cause of the transfer was soon explained by the discharge of ordnance, the braying of trumpets, and the rolling of drums, announcing the arrival of the king. From the mystery observed towards him, Surrey was led to the conclusion tjiat the fair Geraldine accompanied the royal party; but he in vain sought to satisfy himself of the truth of the surmise by examining, through the deep embrasure of his window, the cavalcade that soon afterwards entered the upper quadrangle. Amid the throng of beautiful dames surrounding Anne Boleyn he could not be certain that he detected the fair Geraldine ; but he readily dis- tinguished the Duke of Richmond among the nobles, and the siglit awakened a pang of bitter jealousy in his breast. The day wore away slowly, for he could not fix his attention upon his books, neither w^as he allowed to go forth upon the battlements of the tower. In the evening, however, the officer informed him he might take exercise within the dry moat if he was so inclined, and he gladly availed himself of the permission. After pacing to and fro along the walk for a short time, he THE INVITATION TO THE MEETING. > c9 entered the arbour, and was about to throw himself upon lUe bench, when he observed a slip of paper lying upon it. He took it up, and found a few Unes traced upon it in hurried cha-^ racters. They ran thus : — " The fair Geraldine arrived this morning in the castle. If the Earl of Surrey desires to meet her, he will find her within this arbour at midnight." This billet was read and re-read by the young earl with feel- ings of indescribable transport; but a little reflection damped his ardour, and made him fear it might be a device to ensnare him. There was no certainty that the note proceeded in any way from the fair Geraldine, nor could he even be sure that she was in the castle. Still, despite these misgivings, the attraction was too powerful to be resisted, and he turned over the means of getting out of his chamber, but the scheme seemed wholly im- practicable. The window was at a considerable height above the ramparts of the keep, and even if he could reach them, and escape the notice of the sentinels, he should have to make a second descent into the fosse. And supposing all this accomplished, how was he to return ? The impossibility of answering this latter mental interrogation compelled him to give up all idea of the attempt. On returning to his prison-chamber, he stationed himself at the embrasure overlooking the ramparts, and listened to the regular tread of the sentinel below, half resolved, be the con- sequences what they might, to descend. As the appointed time approached, his anxiety became almost intolerable, and quitting the window, he began to pace hurriedly to and fro within the chamber, which, as has been previously observed, partook of the circular form of the keep, and was supported in certain places by great wooden pillars and cross beams. But instead of dissipat- ing his agitation, his rapid movements seemed rather to increase it, and at last, wrought to a pitch of uncontrollable excitement, he cried aloud — "If the fiend were to present himself now, and to offer to lead me to her, I would follow him." Scarcely were the words uttered than a hollow laugh broke from the further end of the chamber, and a deep voice ex- claimed — " I am ready to take you to her." " I need not ask who addresses me," said Surrey, after a pause, and straining his eyes to distinguish the figure of ilic speaker in the gloom. " I will tell you who I am," rejoined the other. "I am he who visited you once before — who shewed you a vision of the fair Geraldine, — and carried off your vaunted relic, — ho ! ho !" " Avoid thee, false fiend !" rejoined Surrey, " thou temptest me now in vain.'' " You have summoned me," returned Heme ; " and I will not be dismissed. I am ready to convey you to your mistress, who awaits you in King James's bower, and marvels at your tardiness." " And with what design ''ost thou offer me this service r* demanded Surrey. 250 WINDSOR CASTLE. " It will be time enough to put that question when I make any condition," repUed Heme. " Enough, I am willing to aid you. Will you go ?" " Lead on !" replied Surrey, marching towards him. Suddenly, Heme drew a lantern from beneath the cloak in which he was wrapped, and threw its light on a trap-door lying open at his feet. " ijescend I" he cried. Surrey hesitated a moment, and then plunged down the steps. In another instant, the demon followed. Some hidden machinery was then set in motion, and the trap-door returned to its place. At length, Surrey arrived at a narrow passage, which appeared to correspond in form with the bulwarks of the keep. Here Heme passed him, and taking the lead, hurried along the gallery and descended another flight of steps, which brought them to a large vault, apparently built in the foundation of the tower. Before the earl had time to gaze round this chamber, the demon masked the lantern, and taking his hand, drew him through a narrow passage terminated by a small iron door, which flew open at a touch, and they emerged among the bushes clothing the side of the mound. " You can now proceed without my aid," said Heme ; " but take care not to expose yourself to the sentinels." Keeping under the shade of the trees, for the moon was shining brightly, Surrey hastened towards the arbour, and as he entered it, to his inexpressible delight found that he had not been deceived, but that the fair Geraldine was indeed there. " How did you contrive this meeting ?" she cried, after their first greetings had passed. " And how did you learn I was in the castle, for the strictest instructions were given that the tidings should not reach you." The only response made by Surrey was to press her lily hand devotedly to his lips. " I should not have ventured hither," pursued the fair Geral- dine, "unless you had sent me the relic as a token. I knew you would never part with it, and I therefore felt sure there was no deception." " 6ut how did you get here ?" inquired Surrey. " Your messenger provided a rope-ladder, by which I descended in the moat," she replied. Surrey was stupified. '^ You seem astonished at my resolution," she continued "and, indeed, I am surprised at it myself; but I could not overcome my desire to see you, especially as this meeting may be our last. The king, through the Lady Anne Boleyn, has positively enjoined me to think no more of you, and has given your father, the Duke of Norfolk, to understand that your marriage without the royal assent will be attended by the loss of all the favour he now enjoys." " And think yon I will submit to such tyranny?" cried Surrey THE MEETING IN THE BOWER. 251 " Alas !" replied the fair Geraldine, in a mournful tone, " I feel we shall never be united. This conviction, which has lately forced itself upon my mind, has not made me love you less, though it has in some degree altered my feelings towards you." " But I may be able to move the king," cried Surrey. " I have some claim besides that of kindred on the Lady Anne Boleyn — and she will obtain his consent." " Do not trust to her," replied the fair Geraldine. " You may have rendered her an important service, but be not too sure of a return. No, Surrey, I here release you from the troth you plighted to me in the cloisters." "I will not be released from it!" cried the earl, hastily, " neither will I release you. I hold the pledge as sacred and as binding as if we had been affianced together before Heaven." " For your own sake, do not say so, my dear lord," rejoined the fair Geraldine ; " beseech you, do not. That your heart is bound to me now, I well believe — and that you could become incon- stant I will not permit myself to suppose. But your youth forbids an union between us for many years — and if during that time you should behold some fairer face than mine — or should meet some heart you may conceive more loving, — though that can hardly be, — I would not have a hasty vow restrain you. Be free, then — free at least for three years — and if at the end of that time your affections are still unchanged, I am willing you should bind yourself to me for ever." " I cannot act with equal generosity to you," rejoined Surrey, in a tone of deep disappointment. " I would sooner part with life than relinquish the pledge I have received from you. But I am content that my constancy should be put to the test you propose. During the long term of my probation, I will shrink from no trial oi' faith. Throughout Europe I will proclaim your beauty in the lists, and will maintain its supremacy against all comers. But, oh ! sweet Geraldine, since we have met in this spot, hallowed by the loves of James of Scotland and Jane Beaufort, let us here renew our vows of eternal constancy, ana agree to meet again at the time you have appointed, with hearts as warm and loving as those we bring together now." And as he spoke he drew her towards hinv and imprinted a passionate kiss on her lips. " Let that ratify the pledge," he said. " Ho ! ho ! ho !" laughed a deep voice, without. " What was that ?" demanded the fair Geraldine, in a tone of alarm. -' You have the relic, have you not ?" inquired the earl, in a low tone. " No," she replied, " your messenger merely shewed it to me. But why do you ask ? Ah ! I understand. The fiendish laughter that just now sounded in my ears proceeded from " " Heme the Hunter " replied Surrey, in a whisper. " But 252 WINDSOR CASTLE. fear nothing. I will defend you with my life. Ah 1 accursed f^bance ! I have no weapon." " None would avail against him," murmured the fair Geral- ame. " Lead me forth ; I shall die if I stay here." Supporting her in his arms, Surrey complied, but they had scarcely gained the entrance of the arbour, when a tall figure stood before them. It was the Duke of Richmond. A gleam of moonlight penetrating through the leaves, fell upon the group, and rendered them distinctly visible to each other. "Soh!" exclaimed the duke, after regarding the pair in silence for a moment, " I have not been misinformed. You have contrived a meeting here." " Richmond I" said Surrey, sternly, " we once were dear and loving friends, and we are still honourable foes. I know that I am safe with you. I know you will breathe no word about this meeting, either to the fair Geraldine's prejudice or mine." " You judge me rightly, my lord," replied the duke, in a tone of equal sternness. ** I have no thought of betraying you; thou2;h, by a word to my royal father, I could prevent all chance of future rivalry on your part. I shall, however, demand a strict account from you on your liberaiion." " Your grace acts as beseems a loyal gentleman," replied Surrey. " Hereafter I will not fail to account to you for my conduct in any way you please." *' Oh ! let me interpose between you, my lords," cried the fair Geraldine, " to prevent the disastrous consequences of this quarrel. I have already told your grace I cannot love you — and that my heart is devoted to the Earl of Surrey. Let me appeal to your noble nature — to your generosity — not to persist in a hopeless suit." " You have conquered, madam," said the duke, after a pause. " I have been to blame in this matter. But I will make amends for my error. Surrey, I relinquish her to you." "My friend!" exclaimed the earl, casting himself into the duke's arms. " I will now endeavour to heal the wounds I have unwittingly occasioned," said the fair Geraldine. " I am surprised your grace should be insensible to attractions so far superior to mine as those of the Lady Mary Howard." " The Lady Mary is very beautiful, 1 confess," said the duke ; " and if you had not been in the way, I should assuredly have been her captive." " I ought not to betray the secret, perhaps," hesitated the fair Geraldine, " but gratitude prompts me to do so. The lady is not so blind to your grace's merits as I have been." " Indeed !" exclaimed the duke. " If it be so, Surrey, we may yet be brothers as well as friends." " And that it is so I can avouch, Richmond," rejoined the earl, " for I am in my sister's secret as well as the fair Geraldine. But now that this explanation has taken place, I must entreat youi HERNE JOINS THE MEETING. 253 grace to conduct the fair Geraldiiie back to her lodgings, while I regain, the best way I can, my chamber in the Round Tower." " I marvel how you escaped from it," said Richmond ; " but I suppose it was by the connivance of the officer." " He who set me free — who brought the fair Geraldine hither — and who, I suspect, acquainted you with our meeting, was no other than Heme the Hunter," replied Surrey. " You amaze me !" exclaimed the duke ; ^' it was indeed a tall dark man, muffled in a cloak, who informed me that you were to meet at midnight in King James's bower in the moat, and T therefore came to surprise you." " Your informant was Heme," replied Surrey. " Right !" exclaimed the demon, stepping from behind a tree, ^here he had hitherto remained concealed ; " it was I, — I, Heme the Hunter. And I contrived the meeting in anticipation of a far different result from that which has ensued. But I now tell you, my lord of Surrey, that it is idle to indulge a passion for the fair Geraldine. You will never wed her." " False fiend, thou liest I" cried Surrey. " Time will shew," replied Heme. " I repeat, you will wed another — and more, I tell you, you are blinder than Richmond has shewn himself, — for the most illustrious damsel in the king- dom has regarded you with eyes of affection, and yet you have not perceived it." " The Princess Mary ?" demanded Rickmond. " Ay, the Princess Mary," repeated Heme. " How say you now, my lord ? — will you let ambition usurp the place of love ?" ** No," replied Surrey. " But I will hold no further converse with thee. Thou wouldst tempt to perdition. Hence, fiend !" " Unless you trust yourself to my guidance you will never reach your chamber," rejoined Heme, with a mocking laugh. " The iron door in the mound cannot be opened on this side, and you well know what the consequence of a discovery will be. Come, or I leave you to your fate." And he moved down the path on the right. " Go with him, Surrey," cried Richmond. Pressing the fair Geraldine to his breast, the Earl committed her to the charge of his friend, and tearing himself away, followed the steps of the demon. He had not proceeded far when he beard his name pronounced by a voice issuing from the tree itbove him. Looking up, he beheld Heme in one of the top- liost branches, and at a sign, instantly climbed up to him. The jtiick foliage screened them from observation, and Surrey con- cmded his guide was awaiting the disappearance of the sentinel, who was at that moment approaching the tree. ■. But such apparently was not the other's intentions; for the man had scarcely passed than Heme sprang upon the ramparts, and the poor fellow turning at the sound, was scared almost out.of hiff senses at the sight of the dreaded fiend. Dropping his halbert, he fell upon hit face w^tb a stifled cry« Heme then motioned ;254 WINDSOR CASTLE. Surrey to descend, and they marched together quickly to a low door opening into the keep. Passing through it, and ascending a flight of steps, they stood upon the landing at the top of the staircase communicating with the Norman tower, and adjoining the entrance to Surrey's chamber. Apparently famihar with the spot. Heme took down a large key from a nail in the wall, against which it hung, and unlocked the door. Enter !" he said to Surrey, " and do not forget the debt you owe to Heme the Hunter." And as the Earl stepped into the chamber, the door was locked behind him. 11. HOW SIB THOMAS WYAT FOUND MABEL IN THE SAND-STONE CAVE; — AND WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM THERE. A WEEK after the foregoing occurrence, the Earl of Surrey wa set free. But his joy at regaining his liberty was damped bji learning that the fair Geraldlne had departed for Ireland. She had left the tenderest messages for him with his sister, the Lady Mary Howard, accompanied with assurances of unalter- able attachment. But other changes had taken place, which were calculated to afford him some consolation. Ever since the night on which he had been told that the Lady Mary was not indifferent to him, "Richmond }iad devoted himself entirely to her ; and matters had^ SURREY AND RICIJMONI) VIgIT THE FORESTEr's HUT. 255 already proceeded so far, that he had asked her in marriage of the Duke of Norfolk, who, after ascertaining the king's pleasure on the subject, had gladly given his consent, and the youthful pair were affianced to each other. Surrey and Richmond now be- came closer friends than ever ; and if, amid the thousand distrac- tions of Henry's gay and festive court, the young earl did not forget the fair Geraldine, he did not, at least, find the time hang heavily on his hands. About a week after Wolsey's dismissal, while the court was still sojourning at Windsor, Surrey proposed to Richmond, to ride one morning with him in the Great Park. The duke willingly assented, and mounting their steeds, they galloped towards Snow Hill, wholly unattended. While mounting this charming ascent at a more leisurely pace, the earl said to his companion — " I will now tell you why I proposed this ride to you, Richmond. I have long determined to follow up the adventure of Heme the Hunter, and I wish to confer with you about it, and ascertain^ whether you are disposed to join me." " I know not what to say, Surrey," replied the duke, gravely, and speaking in a low tone ; " the king, my father, failed in his endeavours to expel the demon, who still lords it in the forest." " The greater glory to us if we succeed," said Surrey. " I will take counsel with the Lady Mary on the subject before I give an answer," rejoined Richmond. " Then there is little doubt what your grace's decision will be," laughed Surrey. " To speak truth, it was the fear of your consulting her that made me bring you here. What say you to a ride in the forest to-morrow night ?" " I have little fancy for it," replied Richmond; " and if you will be ruled by me, you will not attempt the enterprise yourself." " My resolution is taken," said the earl ; " but now, since we have reached the brow of the hill, let us push forward to the lake." A rapid ride of some twenty minutes brought them to the edge of the lake, and they proceeded along the verdant path leading to the forester's hut. On arriving at the dwelling, it appeared wholly deserted, but they nevertheless dismounted, and tying their horses to the trees at the back of the cottage, entered it. While they were examining the lower room, the plash ol oars reached their ears, and rushing to the window, they de- scried the skiff rapidly approaching the shore. A man was seated within it, whose attire, though sombre, seemed, to proclaim him of some rank, but as his back was towards them, they could not discern his features. In another instant, the skiff touched the strand, and the rower leaping ashore, proved to be Sir Thomas Wyat. On making this discovery they both ran out to him, and the warmest greetings passed' between them. When these were over, Surrey expressed! his surprise to Wyat at seeing him there, declaring he was wholly unaware of his return from the court of France. 256' WINDSOR CASTLE. " I came back about a inonth ago," said Wyat. " His majesty supposes me at Allington ; nor shall I return to court without a summons." •'I am not sorry to hear it," said Surrey ; " but what are you doing here ?" ** My errand is a strange and adventurous one," replied Wyat " You may have heard that before I departed for France I passed some days in the forest in company with Heme the Hunter. What then happened to me I may not disclose ; but I have vowed never to rest till I have freed this forest from the weird being who troubles it.'' " Say you so ! " cried Surrey ; " then you are most fortunately encountered, Sir Thomas, for I myself, as Richmond will tell you, am equally bent upon the fiend's expulsion. We will be com- panions in the adventure." " We will bpeak of that anon," repUed Wyat. " I was soriy *o find this cottage uninhabited, and the fair damsel who dwelt ower, and overturn that of another by the dis- MABEL AGAIN IMPRISONED. 265 nonour of his daughter — though if he had done so," he added with a scoffing laugh — " it might not have restrained him." " I know whom you mean," said Mabel. " And is it pos- sible he can be my father ?" " It is as I have told you," replied Heme. " You now know my resolve. To-morrow at midnight our nuptials shall take place." " Nuptials !" echoed Mabel. " Ay, at that altar," he cried, pointing to the Druid pile of stones — " there you shall vow yourself to me and I to you, before terrible witnesses. I shall have no fear that you will break your oath. Reflect upon what I have said." With this, he placed the bugle to his lips, blew a low call upon it, and Fenwolf and Tristram immediately answering the sum- mons, he whispered some instructions to the former, and disap- peared down one of the side passages. Fenwolfs deportment was now more sullen than before. In vain did Mabel inquire from him what Heme was about to do with Sir Thomas Wyat. He returned no answer, and at last, wearied by her importunity, desired her to hold her peace. Just then, Tristram quitted the cavern for a moment, when he instantly changed his manner, and said to her quickly, — " I overheard what passed between you and Heme. Consent to be mine, and I will deliver you from him." " That were to exchange one evil for another," she replied. "If you would serve me, deliver Sir Thomas Wyat." " I will only deliver him on the terms I have mentioned," replied Fenwolf. At this moment, Tristram returned, and the conversation ceased. Fresh logs were then thrown on the fire by Fenwolf, and, at his request, Tristram proceeded to a hole in the rock, which served as a sort of larder, and brought from it some pieces or venison, which were broiled upon the embers. At the close of the repast, of which she sparingly partook, Mabel was conducted by Morgan Fenwolf into a small chamber opening out of the great cavern, which was furnished, like the cell she had lately occupied, with a small straw pallet. Leaving her a lamp, Fenwolf locked the door, and placed the key in his girdle. IV. HOW SIR THOMAS WYAT WAS VISITED BY HERNE IN THE CELL. Made aware by the clangour of the lock, and Fenwolfs exulting laughter, of the snare in which he had been caught. Sir Thomas W'^yat instantly sprang from his hiding-place, and rushed to the door ; but being framed of the stoutest oak, and strengthened '*^^ 266 WINDSOR CASTLE. with plates of iron, it defied all his efforts, nerved as they were by rage and despair, to burst it open. Mabel's shrieks, as she was dragged away, reached his ears, and increased his anguish ; and he called out loudly to her companions to return, but his vociferations were only treated with derision. Finding it useless to struggle further, Wyat threw himself upon the bench, and endeavoured to discover some means of deliver- ance from his present hazardous position. He glanced round the cell to see whether there was any other outlet than the doorway, but he could discern none, except a narrow grated loophole open- ing upon the passage, and contrived, doubtless for the admission of air to the chamber. No dungeon could be more secure. Raising the lamp, he examined every crevice, but all seemed solid stone. The recess in which he had taken shelter, proved to be a mere hollow in the wall. In one corner lay a small straw pallet, which, no doubt, had formed the couch of Mabel ; and this, together with the stone bench and rude table of the same material constituted the sole furniture of the place. Having taken this careful survey of the cell, Wyat again sat down upon the bench with the conviction that escape was out of the question ; and he therefore endeavoured to prepare himself for the worst, for it was more than probable he would be allowed to perish of starvation. To a fiery nature like his, the dreadful uncertainty in which he was placed was more difficult of en- durance than bodily torture. And he was destined to endure it long. Many hours flew by, during which nothing occurred to relieve the terrible monotony of his situation. At length, in spite of his anxiety, slumber stole upon him unawares ; but it was filled with frightful visions. How long he slept he knew not, but when he awoke, he found that the cell must have been visited in the interval, for there was a manchet of bread, part of a cold neck of venison, and a flask of wine on the table. It was evident, therefore, that his captors did not mean to starve him, and yielding to the promptings of ap- petite, he attacked the provisions, determined to keep strict watch when his gaoler should next visit him. The repast finished, he again examined the cell, but with no better success than before ; and he felt almost certain, from the position in which the bench was placed, that the visitor had not found entrance through the door. After another long and dreary interval, finding that sleep was stealing upon him fast, he placed the bench near the door, and leaned his back against the latter, certain that in this position he should be wakened if any one attempted to gain admittance in that way. His slumber was again disturbed by fearful drotims : and he was at length aroused by a touch upon the shoulder, while a deep voice shouted his own name in his ears. Starting to his feet, and scarcely able to separate the reality from the hideous phantasms that had troubled him, he found WYAT REJECTS HERNE's OFFERS. 26' that the door was still fastened, and the bench unremoved, while before him stood Heme the Hunter. " Welcome again to my cave. Sir Thomas Wyat !" cried the demon, with a mocking laugh ; " I told you, on the night of the attempt upon the king, that though you escaped him, you would not escape me. And so it has come to pass. You are no\i wholly in my power, body and soul — ha ! ha !" " I defy you, false fiend," replied Wyat. ** I was mad enough to proffer you my soul on certain conditions; but they have never been fulfilled." " They may yet be so," rejoined Heme. " No," replied Wyat, " I have purged my heart from the fierce and unhallowed passion that swayed it. I desire no assistance from you." " If you have changed your mind that is nought to me," re- joined the demon, derisively — " I shall hold you to your com- pact." " Again I say 1 renounce you, infernal spirit !" cried Wyat — " you may destroy my body — but you can work no mischief to my soul." " You alarm yourself without reason, good Sir Thomas," replied Heme, in a slightly sneering tone. "1 am not the malignant being you suppose me ; neither am I bent upon fighting the battles of the enemy of mankind against Heaven. I may be leagued with the powers of darkness, but 1 have no wish to aid them ; and I therefore leave you to take care of your soul in your own way. What I desire from you is your service while living. Now listen to the conditions I have to propose. You must bind yourself by a terrible oath, the slightest infraction of which shall involve the perdition of the soul you are so solicitous to preserve, not to disclose aught you may see, or that may be impacted to you here. You must also swear implicit obedience to me in all things — to execute any secret commissions, of whatever nature, I may give you — to bring associates to my band — and to join me in any enterprise J may propose. This oath taken, you are free. Kefuse it, anrj I leave you to perish." " I do refuse it," replied Wyat, boldly. " I would die a thou- sand deaths rather than so bind myself. Neither do I fear being lefl to perish here. You shall no t quit this cell without me." " You are a stout soldier. Sir Thomas Wyat," rejoined the demon, with a scornful laugh ; " but you are scarcely a match for Heme the Hunter, as you will fiiid, if you are rash enough to make the experiment. Beware !" he exclaimed, in a voice of thunder, observing the knight lay his hand upon his bword, "I am invulnerable, and you will, therefore, vainly strike at me. Do not compel me to use the dread means, which I could instantly employ, to subject you to my will. I mean you well, and would rather serve than injure you. But I will not 268 WINDSOR CASTLE, let you go, unless you league yourself with me. Swear, there- fore, obedience to me, and depart hence to your friends, Surrey and Richmond, and tell them you have failed to find me." " You know, then, of our meeting ?" exclaimed Wyat. " Perfectly well," laughed Heme. " It is now eventide, and at midnight the meeting will take place in the forester's hut. If you attend it not, / will. They will be my prisoners as well as you. To preserve yourself and save them, you must join me." " Before I return an answer," said Wyat, ^' I must know what has become of Mabel Lyndwood." " Mabel Lyndwood is nought to you. Sir Thomas," rejoined Heme, coldly. " She is so much to me that 1 will run a risk for her which I would not run for myself," rephed Wyat. " If I promise obedience to you, will you liberate her — will you let her depart with me ?" "No," replied Heme, peremptorily. "Banish all thoughts of her from your breast. You will never behold her again. I will give you time for reflection on my proposal. An hour be- fore midnight I shall return, and if I find you in the same mind, I abandon you to your fate." And with these words, he stepped back towards the lower end of the cell. Wyat instantly sprang after him, but before he could reach him a flash of fire caused him to recoil, and to his horror and amazement, he beheld the rock open, and yield a passage to the retreating figure. When the sulphureous smoke, with which the little cell A^as filled, had, in some degree cleared off, Wyat examined the sides of the rock, but could not find the slightest trace of a secret outlet, and therefore concluded that the disappearance of the demon had been effected by magic. HOW MABEL ESCAPED FROM THE CAVE WITH SIE THOMAS WYAT, The next day Mabel was set at liberty by her jailer, and the hours flew by without the opportunity of escape, for which she sighed, occurring to her. As night drew on, she became more anxious, and at last expressed a wish to retire to her cell. When about to fasten the door, Fenwolf found that the lock had got strained, and the bolts would not move, and he was therefore obliged to content himself with placing a bench against it, on which he took a seat. 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. MABEL ATTEMPTS TO ESCAPE. 269 By-and-by, however, when Fenwolfs heavy breathing gave token of the soundness of his sleep, Tristram raised himself upon his elbow, and gazed round. The lamp placed upon the table imperfectly illumined the cavern, for the fire which had been lighted to cook the evening meal, had gone out completely. Getting up cautiously, and drawing his hunting-knife, the old man crept towards Fenwolf, apparently with the intent of stabbing him, but he suddenly changed his resolution, and dropped his arm. At that moment, as if preternaturally warned, Fenwolf opened his eyes, and seeing the old forester standing by, sprang upon him, and seized him by the throat. " Ah ! traitor !" he exclaimed, " what are you about to do ?" " I am no traitor," repHed the old man. " I heard a noise in the passage leading to Wyat's cell, and was about to rouse you, when you awakened of your own accord, probably disturbed by the noise." " It may be," replied Fenwolf, satisfied with the excuse, and relinquishing his grasp; "I fancied I heard something in my dreams. But come with me to Wyat's cell. I will not leave you here." And snatching up the lamp, he hurried with Tristram into the passage. They were scarcely gone, than the door of the cell was opened by Mabel, who had overheard what had passed : and so hurriedly did she issue forth that she overturned the bench, which fell to the ground with a considerable clatter. She had only just time to replace it, and to conceal herself in an adjoining passage, when Fenwolf rushed back into the cavern. " It was a false alarm," he cried. " I saw Sir Thomas Wyat in his cell through the loophole, and I have brought the key away with me. But I am sure I heard a noise here." " It must have been mere fancy," said Tristram. " All is as we left it." " It seems so, certes," replied Fenwolf, doubtfully. " But I will make sure." While he placed his ear to the door, Mabel gave a signal to Tristram that she was safe. Persuaded that he heard some sound in the chamber, Fenwolf nodded to Tristram that all was right, and resumed his seat. In less than ten minutes, he was again asleep. Mabel then emerged from her concealment, and cautiously approached Tris- tram, who feigned, also, to slumber. As she approached him, he rose noiselessly to his feet. " The plan has succeeded," he said, in a low tone. " It was I who spoiled the lock. But come with me. I wiU lead you out of the cavern." " Not without Sir Thomas Wyat," she replied ; " I will not leave him here." " You will only expose yourself to risk, and fail to deliver 270 WINDSOR CASTLE. him," rejoined Tristram. " Fenwolf has the key of his cell — Nay, if you are determined upon it, I will not hinder you.. But you must find your own way out, for I shall not assist Sir Thomas Wyat." Motioning him to silence, Mabel crept slowly, and on the points of her feet, towards Fenwolf, The key was in his girdle. Leaning over him, she suddenly and dexterously plucked it forth. At the very moment she possessed herself of it, Fenwolf stirred, and she dived down, and concealed herself beneath the table. Fenwolf, who had been only slightly disturbed, looked up, and seeing Tristram in his former position, which he had resumed when Mabel commenced her task, again disposed himself to slumber. * Waiting till she was assured of the soundness of his repose, Mabel crept from under the table, signed to Tristram to remain where he was, and glided with swift and noiseless foot- steps down the passage leading to the cell. In a moment, she was at the door — the key was in the lock — ^and she stood before Sir Thomas Wyat. A few words sufficed to explain to the astonished knigbt how she came there, and comprehending that not a moment was to be lost, he followed her forth. In the passage, they held a brief consultation together, in a low tone, as to the best means of escape, for they deemed it use- less to apply to Tristram. The outlet with which Sir Thomas Wyat was acquainted lay on the other side of the cavern ; nor did he know how to discover the particular passage leading to it. As to Mabel, she could offer no information, but she knew that the stable lay in an adjoining passage. Recollecting, from former experience, how well the steeds were trained. Sir Thomas Wyat eagerly caught at the suggestion, and Mabel led him further down the passage, and striking off through an opening on the left, brought him, after a few turns, to a large chamber, in which two or three black horses were kept. Loosening one of them, Wyat placed a bridle on his neck, sprang upon his back, and took up Mabel beside him. He then struck his heels against the sides of the animal, who needed no further incitement to dash along the passage, and in a few seconds brought them into the cavern. The trampling of the horse wakened Fenwolf, who started to his feet, and ran after them, shouting furiously. But he was too late. Goaded by Wyat's dagger, the steed dashed furiously on, and plunging with its double burthen into the pool at the bottom of the cavern, disappeared. THE POWDER MAGAZINE. 27 A VL OV Tns DliaPEEATE RESOLUTION FORMED BY TRISTRAM AND FENWOLF ; — ANB HOW THE TRAIN WAS LAID. Transported with rage at the escape of the fugitives, Fen- wolf turned to old Tristram, and drawing his knife threatened to make an end of him. But the old man, who was armed with a short hunting-sword, stood upon his defence, and they re- mained brandishing their weapons at each other for some minutes, but without striking a blow. " Well, I leave you to Heme's vengeance," said Fenwolf, re- turning his knife to his belt. " You will pay dearly for allowing them to escape." " I will take my chance," replied Tristram, moodily — " my mind is made up to the worst I will no longer serve this fiend." " What ! dare you break your oath ?" cried Fenwolf. " Re- member the terrible consequences." *' I care not for them," replied Tristram. " Harkee, Fenwolf, I know you will not betray me, for you hate him as much as I do, and nave as great a desire for revenge. I will rid the forest of this fell being." " Would you could make good your words, old man !" cried Fenwolf.. " I would give my life for vengeance upon him." " I take the offer," said Tristram — " you shall have vengeance." *' But how ?" cried the other. " I have proved that he is in- vulnerable — and the prints of his hands are written in black cha- racters upon my throat. If we could capture him, and deliver him to the king, we might purchase our own pardon." " No, that can never be," said Tristram. " My plan is to destroy him." " VVell, let me hear it," said Fenwolf. " Come with me, then," rejoined Tristram. And taking up the lamp, he led the way down a narrow lateral passage. When about half way down it, he stopped before a low door, cased with iron, which he opened, and shewed that the recess was filled with large canvas bags. " Why, this is the powder-magazine," said Fenwolf. " I can now guess how you mean to destroy Heme. I like the scheme well enough ; but it cannot be executed without certain destruc- tion to ourselves." " I will take all risk upon myself," said Tristram — " I only require your aid in the preparations. What I propose to do is this. There is powder enough in the magazine, not only to blow up the cave, but to set fire to all the wood surrounding it. It must be scattered among the dry brushwood in a great circle round the cave, and connected by a train with this magazine. When Heme comes back, I will fire the train." " Thei-e is much hazard in the scheme, and I fear it will fail," replied Fenwolf, after a pause — " nevertheless, I will assist you." 272 WINDSOR CASTLE. "Then, let us go to work at once," said Tristram, " for we nave no time to lose. Heme will be here before midnight, and I should like to have all ready for him." Accordingly, they each shouldered a couple of the bags, and returning to the cavern, threaded a narrow passage, and emerged from the secret entrance in the grove. While Fenwolf descended for a fresh supply of powder, Tristram commenced operations. Though autumn was now far advanced, there had been remarkably fine weather of late ; the ground was thickly strewn with yellow leaves; the fern was brown and dry; and the brushwood crackled and broke as a passage was forced through it. The very trees were parched by the long-continued drought. Thus favoured in his design, Tris- tram scattered the contents of one of the bags in a thick line among the fern and brushwood, depositing here and there, among the roots of a tree, several pounds of powder, and covering the heaps over with dried sticks and leaves. While he was thus employed, Fenwolf appeared with two more bags of powder, and descended again for a fresh supply. When he returned, laden as before, the old forester had already described a large portion of the circle he intended to take. Judging that there was now powder sufficient, Tristram ex- plained to his companion how to proceed ; and the other com- menced laying a train on the left of the secret entrance, carefully observing the instructions given him. In less than an hour, they met together at a particular tree, and the formidable circle was complete. " So far, well !" said Tristram, emptying the contents of his bag beneath the tree, and covering it with leaves and sticks, as before ; '• and now to connect this with the cavern." With this, he opened another bag, and drew a wide train towards the centre of the space. At length, he paused at the foot of a large hollow tree. " I have ascertained," he said, " that this tree stands immedi- ately over the magazine ; and by following this rabbit's burrow, I have contrived to make a small entrance into it. A hollow reed introduced through the hole, and filled with powder, will be sure to reach the store below." " An excellent idea !" replied Fenwolf. " I will fetch one instantly." And starting off to the side of the lake, he presently returned with several long reeds, one of which was selected by Tristram, and thrust into the burrow. It proved of the precise length required; and as soon as it touched the bottom, it was carefully filled with powder from a horn. Having connected this tube with the side train, and scattered powder for several yards around, so as to secure its instantaneous ignition, Tristram pronounced that the train was complete. HERNE UNEXPECTEDLY RETURNS. 273 " We have now laid a trap from which Heme will scarcely escape," he observed, with a moody laugh, to Fenwolf. They then prepared to return to the cave ; but had not pro- ceeded many yards, when Heme, mounted on his sable steed, burst through the trees. " Ah ! what makes you here ?" he cried, instantly checking hii career. '' I bade you keep strict watch over Mabel. Where is she?" '' She has escaped with Sir Thomas Wyat," replied Fenwolf; " and we have been in search of them " " Escaped !" exclaimed Heme, springing from his steed, and rushing up to him ; " dogs ! you have played me false. But Your lives shall pay the penalty of your perfidy." ^' We had no hand in it whatever," replied Fenwolf, doggedly. " She contrived to get out of a chamber in which I placed her, and to liberate Sir Thomas Wyat. They then procured a steed from the stable, and plunged through the pool into the lake." " Hell's malison upon them, and upon you both !" cried Heme. " but you shall pay dearly for your heedlessness, — ^if, indeed, it has not been something worse. How long have they been gone ?" " It may be two hours," replied Fenwolf. " Go to the cave," cried Heme, " and await my return there ; and if I recover not the prize, woe betide you both !" And with these words, he vaulted upon his steed and dis- appeared. " And woe betide you too, false fiend I" cried Fenwolf. " When you come back you shall meet with a welcome you little expect. Would we had fired the train, Tristram, even though we had perished with him !" " It will be time enough to fire it on his return," repUed the old forester ; " it is but postponing our vengeance for a short time. And now to fix our positions. I will take my station in yon brake." " And I in that hollow tree," said Fenwolf. " Whoever first beholds him shall fire the train." " x\greed !" replied Tristram. " Let us now descend to the cave, and see that all is right in the magazine, and then we will '•etum and hold ourselves m readiness for action." 274 WINDSOR CASTLE VIL HOW THE TRAIN WAS FIRED ; — AND WHAT FOLLOWED THE EXPLOSION. About ten o'clock in the night under consideration, Surrey and Richmond, accompanied by the Duke of Shoreditch, and half a dozen other archers, set out from the castle, and took their way along the Great Park, in the direction of the lake. They had not ridden far, when they were overtaken by two norsemen who, as far as they could be discerned in that doubtful light, appeared stalwart personages, and well mounted, though plainly attired. The new comers very unceremoniously joined them. " There are ill reports of the park, my masters," said the fore- most of these persons to Surrey, " and we would willingly ride with you across it." " But our way may not be yours, friend," replied Surrey, who did not altogether relish this proposal. " We are not going further than the lake." " Our road lies in that direction," replied the other, " and, if you please, we will bear you company as far as we go. Come, tell me frankly," he added, after a pause, " are you not in search of Heme the Hunter ?" WYAT AND MABEL FOUND IN THE WOOD. 27b ** Why do you ask, friend?" rejoined the earl^ bomewhat angrily. " Because if so," replied the other, " I shall be right glad to join you, and so will my friend, Tony Cryspyn, who is close behind me. I have an old grudge to settle with this Heme, who has more than once attacked me, and I shall be glad to pay it." " If you will take my advice, Hugh Dacre, you will ride on, and leave the achievement of the adventure to these young galliards," interposed Cryspyn. *• Nay, by the mass ! that shall never be," rejoined Dacre, " ii they have no objection to our joining them. If they have, they have only to say so, and we will go on." " I will be plain with you, my masters," said Surrey. " We are determined this night, as you have rightly conjectured, to seek out Heme the Hunter ; and we hope to obtain such clue to him as will ensure his capture. If, therefore, you are anxious to join us, we shall be glad of your aid. But you must be content to follow, and not lead ; and to act as you may be directed ; or you will only be in the way, and we would rather dispense with your company." " We are content with the terms, — are we not, Tony ?" said Dacre. His companion answered somewhat sullenly in the affirmative. " And now that the matter is arranged, may I ask where you propose to go ?" he continued. " We are on our way to a hut on the lake, where we expect a companion to join us," replied Surrey. " What ! Tristram Lyndwood's cottage ?" demanded Dacre. " Ay," replied the earl, " and we hope to recover his fair grand-daughter from the power of the demon." " Ha ! say you so ?" cried Dacre ; " that were a feat indeed !" The two strangers then rode apart for a few moments, and conversed together in a low tone, during which Richmond ex- pressed his doubts of them to Surrey, adding that he was deter- mined to get rid of them. The new comers, however, were not easily shaken off. As soon as they perceived the duke's design, they stuck more pertinaciously to him and the earl than before, and made it evi- dent they would not be dismissed. By this time, they had passed Spring Hill, and were within a mile of the valley in which lay the marsh, when a cry for help was heard in the thicket on the left, and the troop im- mediately halted. The cry was repeated, and Surrey, bidding the others follow him, dashed off in the direction of the sound. Presently, they perceived two figures beneath the trees, whom they found, on a nearer approach, were Sir Thomas Wyat, witk Mabel in a state of insensibility in his arms. T 2 276 WINDSOR CASTLB. Dismounting by the side of his friend, Surrey hastily de- manded how he came there, and what had happened ? " It is too long a story to relate now," said Wyat ; " but the sum of it is, that I have escaped by the aid of this damsel, from the clutches of the demon. Our escape was effected on horseback, and we had to plunge into the lake. The immer- sion deprived my fair preserver of sensibility, so that as soon as I latided, and gained a covert where I fancied myself secure, I dismounted, and tried to restore her. While I was thus occupied, the steed I had brought with me broke his bridle and darted off into the woods. After awhile, Mabel opened her eyes, but she was so weak that she could not move, and I was fain to make her a couch in the fern, in the hope that she would speedily revive. But the fright and suffering had been too much for her, and a succession of fainting fits followed, during which I thought she would expire. This is all. Now let us prepare a litter for her, and convey her where proper assistance can be rendered." Meanwhile the others had come up, and Hugh Dacre, flinging himself from his horse, and pushing Surrey somewhat rudely aside, advanced towards Mabel, and taking her hand, said, in a voice of some emotion, — " Alas ! poor girl ! I did not expect to meet thee again in this state." " You knew her, then ?" said Surrey. Dacre muttered an affirmative. ** Who is this man ?" asked Wyat oi the earl. " I know him not," answered Surrey. " He joined us on the road hither." " I am well known to Sir Thomas Wyat," replied Dacre, in a significant tone, " as he will avouch when I recall certain matters to his mind. But do not let us lose time here. This damsel claims our first attention. She must be conveyed to a place of safety, and where she can be well tended. We can then return to search for Heme." Upon this, a litter of branches was speedily made, and Mabel being laid upon it, the simple conveyance was sustained by four of the archers. The little cavalcade then quitted the thicket, and began to retrace its course towards the castle. Wyat had been accommodated with a horse by one of the archers, and rode in a melancholy manner by the side of the litter. They had got back nearly as far as the brow of Spring Hill when a horseman, in a wild garb, and mounted on a coal- black steed, dashed suddenly and at a furious pace, out of the trees on the right. He made towards the litter, overturning Sir Thomas Wyat, and before any opposition could be offered him, seized the inanimate form of Mabel, and placing her before him on his steed, dashed off as swiftly as he came, and with a burst of loud, exulting laughter. V % I S i^HE EXPLosioir. 277 ** It is Heme ! it is Heme !" burst from every lip. And they all started in pursuit, urging the horses to their utmost speedL Sir Thomas Wyat had instantly remounted his steed, and he came up with the others. Heme's triumphant and demoniacal laugh was heard as he scoured with the swiftness of the wind down the long glade. But the fiercest determination animated his pursuers, who being all admirably mounted, managed to keep him fully in view. Away I away I he speeded in the direction of the lake ; and after him they thundered, straining every sinew in the desperate chase. It was a wild and extraordinary sight, and partook ot the fantastical character of a dream. At length. Heme reached the acclivity, at the foot of which lay the waters of the lake glimmering in the starlight, and by the time he had descended to its foot, his pursuers had gained its brow. The exertions made by Sir Thomas Wyat had brought him a little in advance of the others. Furiously goading his horse, he dashed do\N n the hill side, at a terrific pace. All at once, as he kept his eye on the flying figure of the demon, he was startled by a sudden burst of flame in the valley. A wide circle of light was rapidly described, a rumbling sound was heard like that preceding an earthquake, and a tremendous explosion followed, hurling trees and fragments of rock into the air. Astounded at the extraordinary occurrence, and not knowing what might ensue, the pursuers reined in their steeds. But the terror of the scene was not yet over. The whole of the brushwood had caught fire and blazed up with the fury and swiftness of lighted flax. The flames caught the parched branches of the trees, and in a few seconds the whole grove was on fire. The sight was awfully grand, for the wind, which was blow- mg «trongly, swept the flames forward, so that they devoured all before them. When the first flash was seen, the demon had checked his steed, and backed him, so that he had escaped without injury, and he stood at the edge of the flaming circle watching the progress of the devastating element, but at last, finding that his pursuers had taken heart, and were approaching him, he bestirred himself, and rode round the blazing zone. Having by this time recovered from their surprise, Wyat and Surrey dashed after him, and got so near him that they :iiade sure of his capture. But at the very moment they expected to reach him, he turned his horse's head, and forced him to leap over the blazing boundary. In vain the pursuers attempted to follow. Their horses refused to encounter the flames ; while Wyat's steed, urged on by its frantic master, reared bolt upriijht, and dislodged him. 27S WINDSOR CASTLE. But the demon held on his way, apparently unscathed, in the midst of the flames, casting a look of grim defiance at his pur- suers. As he passed a tree, from which volumes of fire were bursting, the most appalling shrieks reached his ear, and he beheld Morgan Fenwolf emerging from a hole in the trunk. But without bestowing more than a glance upon his unfortunate fol- lower, he dashed forward, and becoming involved in the wreaths of flame and smoke, was lost to sight. Attracted by Fenwolfs cries, the beholders perceived him crawl out of the hole, and clamber into the upper part of the tree, where he roared to them most piteously for aid. But even if thej had been disposed to render it, it was impossible to do so now : and after terrible and protracted suffering, the poor wretch, hah stifled with smoke, and unable longer to maintain his hold of the branch to which he had crept, fell into the flames beneath, and perished. Attributing its outbreak to supernatural agency, the party gazed on in wonder at the fire, and rode round it, as closely as their steeds would allow them. But though they tarried till the flames had abated, and little was left of the noble grove but a collection of charred and smoking stumps, nothing was seen of the fiend or of the hapless girl he had carried offl It served to confirm the notion of the supernatural origin of the fire, in that it was confined within the mystic circle, and did not extend further into the woods. At the time that the flames first burst forth, and revealed the countenances of the lookers on, it was discovered that the self- styled Dacre and Cry spy n were no other than the king and the Duke of Suffolk. " If this mysterious being is mortal, he must have perished now, observed Henry ; " and if he is not, it is useless to seek for him further." Day had begun to break as the party quitted the scene of devas- tation. The king and Suffolk with the archers returned to the castle, but Wyat, Surrey, and Richmond, rode towards the lake, and proceeded along its banks in the direction of the forester's hut. Their progress was suddenly arrested by the sound of lamenta- tion, and they perceived, in a little bay, overhung by trees, which screened it from the path, an old man kneeling beside the body of a female, which he had partly dragged out of the lake It was Tristram Lyndwood, and the body was that of Mabel. Her tresses were dishevelled, and dripping with wet, as were her garments ; and her features white as marble. The old man was weeping bitterly. With Wyat to dismount, and grasp the cold hand of the hapless maiden, was the work of a moment. " She is dead !" he cried, in a despairing voice, removing the DEATH OF TRISTRAM LYNDWOOD. 279 dank tresses from her brow, and imprinting a reverent kiss upoi: it. " Dead ! — lost to me for ever !" "I found her entangled among those water-weeds," said Tristram, in tones broken by emotion, " and had just dragged her to shore when you came up. As you hope to prosper, now and hereafter, give her a decent burial. For me all is over." And, with a lamentable cry, he plunged into the lake, struck out to a short distance, and then sank tc rise no more. irtust evCtfff tf)e iTiftf) iSoofe of tlje C^tonicU ok Uoofe t&e ^ixti). JANE SEYMOUR. <^ KORTS-XABT VMW OF TH» CABTUI FROM TH« BROCAH )Soo& ti)t ^trti). OF henbt's attachment to jane sbtmoub. On the anniversary of Saint George, 1536, and exactly seven years from the opening of this chronicle, Henry assembled the knights- companions within Windsor Castle to hold the grand feast of the most noble Order of the Garter. Many important events had occurred in the wide interval thus suffered to elapse. Wolsey had long since sunk under his reverses — for he never regained the royal favour after his dis- missal — and had expired at Leicester Abbey, on 26th November, 1530. But the sufferings of Catherine of Arragon were prolonged up to the commencement of the year under consideration. Afler the divorce, and the elevation of Anne Boleyn to the throne in her stead, she withdrew to Kimbolton Castle, where she dwelt yi the greatest retirement, under the style of the princess 284 WINDbOK CASTLE. dowager. Finding her end approaching, she sent a humble message to the king, imploring him to allow her one last inter- view with her daughter, that she might bestow her blessing upon her ; but the request was refused. A touching letter, however, which she wrote to the king on her death-bed moved him to tears ; and having ejaculated a few ej«j)ressions of his sense of her many noble qualities, he retired to his closet to indulge his grief in secret. Solemn obsequies were ordered to be performed at Windsor and Greenwich on the day of her interment, and the king and the whole of his retinue put on mourning for her. With this arrangement Anne Boleyn cared not to comply. Though she had attained the summit of her ambition; though the divorce had been pronounced, and she was crowned jueen ; though she had given birth to a daughter — the Princess Elizabeth, afterwards the illustrious queen of that name,— two years before ; and though she could have no reasonable appre- hensions from her, the injured Catherine, during her lifetime, had always been an object of dread to her. She heard of her death with undisguised satisfaction, clapped her hands, ex- claiming to her attendants, " Now, I am indeed queen !" and Eut the crowning point to her unfeeling conduct, by decorating erself and her dames in the gayest apparel on the day of the funeral. Alas ! she little knew that at that very moment the work of retribution commenced, and that the wnmgs of the injured queen, whose memory she thus outraged, were soon to be terribly and bloodily avenged. Other changes had likewise taken place, which may be here recorded. The Earl of Surrey had made the tour of France, Italy, and the Empire, and had fully kept his word, by proclaiming the supremacy of the fair Geraldine's beauty at all tilts and tour- naments, at which he constantly bore away the prize. But the greatest reward, and that which he hoped would crown his fidelity — the hand of his mistress, — was not reserved for him. At the expiration of three years, he returned home, polished by travel, and accounted one of the bravest and most accom- plished cavaliers of the day. His reputation had preceded him, and he was received with marks of the highest distinction and favour by Henry, as well as by Anne Boleyn. But the king was still averse to the match, and forbade the fair Geraldine to return to court. Finding so much opposition on all sides, the earl was at last brought to assent to the wish of the fair Geraldine, that their engagement should be broken off. In her letters, she assured him that her love had undergone no abatement — and never would do so — but that she felt they must give up all idea of an union. These letters, probably the result of some manoeuvring on m^ own part, set on foot by the royal mandate, were warmly secondod JANE SEYMOUR. 286 Dy tne Duke of Norfolk, and, after many and long solicitations, he succeeded in wringing from his son a reluctant acquiescence to the arrangement The disappointment produced its natural consequences on the ardent temperament of the young Earl, and completely chilled and blighted his feelings. He became moody and discontented; took little share in the amusements and pas- times going forward; and from being the blithest cavalier at court became the saddest. The change in his demeanour did not escape the notice of Anne Boleyn, who easily divined the cause, and she essayed by raillery and other arts to wean him from his grief. But all was for some time of no avail. The Earl continued inconsolable. At last, however, by the instrumentality of the queen and his father, he was contracted to the Lady Frances Vere, daughter of the Earl of Oxford, and was married to her in 1535. Long before this, the Duke of Richmond had been wedded to the Lady Mary Howard. For some time, previous to the present era of this chronicle, Anne Boleyn had observed a growing coolness towards her on the part of the king, and latterly it had become evident that his passion for her was fast subsiding, if indeed it had not altogether expired. Though Anne had never truly loved her royal consort, and though at that very time she was secretly encouraging the regards of another, she felt troubled by this change, and watched all the king's movements with jealous anxiety to ascertain if any one had supplanted her in his affections. At length, her vigilance was rewarded by discovering a rival in one of the loveliest of her dames, Jane Seymour. This fair creature, the daughter of Sir John Seymour, of Wolff Hall, in Wiltshire, and who was afterwards, it is almost needless to say, raised to as high a dignity as Anne Boleyn herself, was now in the very pride of her beauty. Tall, exquisitely proportioned, with a complexion of the utmost brilliancy and delicacy, large liquid blue eyes, bright chestnut tresses, and lovely features, she possessed charms that could not fail to captivate the amorous monarch. It seems marvellous that Anne Boleyn should have such an attendant ; but perhaps she felt confident in her own attractions. Skilled in intrigue herself, Anne, now that her eyes were opened, perceived all the allurements thrown out by Jane to ensnare the king, and she intercepted many a furtive glance between them. Still she did not dare to interfere. The fierce- ness of Henry*s temper kept her in awe, and she well knew that the slightest opposition would only make him the more deter- mined to run counter to her will. Trusting, therefore, to get rid of Jane Seymour by some stratagem, she resolved not to attempt to dismiss her except as a last resource. 286 WINDSOR CASTLE. A slight incident occurred, which occasioned a departure from the prudent course she had laid down to herself. Accompanied by her dames, she was traversing the great gallery of the palace at Greenwich, when she caught the reflec- tion of Jane Seymour, who was following her, in a mirror, regarding a jewelled miniature. She instantly turned round at the sight, and Jane, in great confusion, thrust the picture into her bosom. " Ah ! what have you there ?" cried Anne. " A picture of my father. Sir John Seymour," replied Jane, blushing deeply. '• Let me look at it ?" cried Anne, snatching the picture from her. " Ah ! call you this your father ? To my thinking it is much more like my royal husband. Answer me frankly, minion — answer me, as you value your life ! Did the king give you this ?" " I must decline answering the question," replied Jane, who by this time had recovered her composure. " Ah ! am I to be thus insolently treated by one of my own dames !" cried Anne. " I intend no disrespect to your majesty," replied Jane ; " and I will, since you insist upon it, freely confess that I received the portrait from the king. I did not conceive there could be any harm in doing so, because I saw your majesty present your own portrait, the other day, to Sir Henry Norris." Anne Boleyn turned as pale as death, and Jane Seymour per- ceived that she had her in her power. " I gave the portrait to Sir Henry as a recompence for an important service he rendered me," said Anne, after a slight pause. " No doubt," replied Jane ; " and I marvel not that he should press it so fervently to his lips, seeing he must value the gift highly. The king likewise bestowed his portrait upon me foi rendering him a service." " And what was that ?" asked Anne. " Nay, there your majesty must hold me excused," replied the other. *•' It were to betray his highness's confidence to declare it. I must refer you to him for an explanation." " Well, you are in the right to keep the secret," said Anne, forcing a laugh ; *' I dare say there is no harm in the portrait — indeed, I am sure there is not, if it was given with the same in- tent that mine was bestowed upon Norris. And so we will say no more upon the matter — except that I must beg you to be discreet with the king. If others should comment upon your conduct, I may be compelled to dismiss you." " Your majesty shall be obeyed," said Jane, with a look that intimated that the request had but slight weight with her. " Catherine will be avenged by means of this woman," mut- tered Anne, as she turned away. " I already feel some of the torments with which she threatened me. And she suspects Norris. SIR' HENRY NORRKl 287 I must impress more caution on him. Ah ! when a man lOves deeply, as he loves me, due restraint is seldom maintained." But though alarmed, Anne was by no means aware of the critical position in which she stood. She could not persuade herself that she had entirely lost her influence with the king ; and she thought that when his momentary passion had subsided. It would return to its old channels. She was mistaken. Jane Seymour was absolute mistress of his heart; and Anne was now as great a bar to him, as she had before been an attraction. Had her conduct been irre- proachable, it might have been difficult to remove her; but, unfortunately, she had placed herself at his mercy, by yielding to the impulses of vanity, and secretly encouraging the passion of Sir Henry Norris, groom of the stole. This favoured personage was somewhat above the middle size, squarely and strongly built. His features were regularly and finely formed, and he had a ruddy complexion, brown, curling hair, good teeth, and fine eyes of a clear blue. He possessed great personal strength ; was expert in all manly exercises, and shone especially at the jousts and the manege. He was of an ardent temperament, and Anne Boleyn had inspired him with so desperate a passion, that he set at nought the fearful risk he ran to obtain her favour. In all this seemed traceable the hand of fate, — in Henry's pas- sion for Jane Seymour, and Anne's insane regard for Norris, — us if in this way, and by the same means in which she herself had been wronged, the injured Catherine of Arragon was to be avenged. ■ How far Henry's suspicions of his consort's regard for Norris had been roused, did not at the time appear. Whatever he felt in secret, he took care that no outward manifestation shoul > betray him. On the contrary, he loaded Norris, who had always been a favourite with him, with new marks of regard, and en- couraged rather than interdicted his approach to the queen. Things were in this state when the court proceeded t( ; Wind sor, as before related, on Saint Geoig«»'e day 288 WQiOSOB CAaiTIB ^i^ THB TOWN 0» WINDSOR, FBOM THB ODRPKW TOWBR 11. HOTV ANNE BOLEYN RECEIVED PROOF OP HENRY*8 PASSION FOR JANE SEYMOUR. On the day after the solemnization of the Grand Feast of the Order of the Garter, a masqued fete of great splendour and magnificence was held within the castle. The whole of the state apartments were thrown open to the distinguished guests, and universal gaiety prevailed. No restraint was offered to the festi- vity by the king, for though he was known to be present, he did not choose to declare himself. The queen sat apart, on a fauteuil in the deep embrasure of a window, — and as various companies of fantastic characters ad- vanced towards her, she more than once fancied she detected amongst them the king, but the voices convinced her of her mistake. As the evening was wearing, a mask in a blue domino drew near her, and whispered, in a devoted and familiar tone, — "My queen!" " Is it you, Norris ?" demanded Anne, under her breath. " It is," he replied. " Oh, madam ! I have been gazing at you the whole evening, but have not dared to approach you tU' now." THE TALL MONK. 289 " I am porry you have addressed me at all, Norris," she re- joined. " Your regard for me has been noticed by others, and may reach the king's ears. You must promise never to address me in the language of passion again." " If I may not utter my love, I shall go mad," replied Norris. " After raising me to the verge of Paradise, do not thrust me to the depths of Tartarus." "I have neither raised you, nor do I cast you down," re- joined Anne. " That I am sensible of your devotion, and grateful for it, I admit, but nothing more. My k^e and alle- giance are due to the king." " Tme," replied Norris, bitterly ; '* they are so, but he is wholly insensible to your merits. At this very moment, he is pouring his love-vows in the ear of Jane Seymour." "Ah! is he so?" cried Anne. "Let me have proof of his perfidy, and I may incline a more favourable ear to you." "I will instantly obtain you the proof, madam," replied Norris, bowing and departing. Scarcely had he quitted the queen, and mixed with tlie throng of dancers, than he felt a j>ressure upon his arm, and turning at the touch, beheld a tall monk, the lower part of whose face was muffled up, leaving only a pair of fierce black eyes, and a large aquiline nose visible. " I know what you want. Sir Henry Norris," said the tali monk, in a low, deep voice ; "'you wish to give the queen proof of her royal lord's inconstancy. It is easily done. Come with me." " Who are you ?" demanded Norris, doubtfully. " What matters it who I am ?" rejoined the other ; " I am one of the masquers, and chance to know what is passing around me. I do not inquire into your motives, and therefore you have no right to inquire into mine." " It is not for my own satisfaction that I desire this proof," said Norris, " because I would rather shield the king's indiscretions than betray them. But the queen has conceived suspicions which she is determined to verify." " Think not to impose upon me," replied the monk, with a sneer. "Bring the queen this way, and she shall be fully satisfied." " I can run no risk in trusting you," said Norris, " and there fore I accept your offer." " Say no more," cried the monk, disdainfully, " I will await you here." And Norris returned to the queen. " Have you discovered anything ?" she cried. " Come with me, madam," said Norris, bowing, and taking her hand. Proceeding thus, they glided through the throng of dancers, who respectfully cleared a passage for them as thev u 290 WINDSOR CASTLE. walked along, until they approached the spot where the tall monk was standing. As they drew near him, he moved on, and Norris and the queen followed in silence. Passing from the great hall in which the crowd of dancers was assembled, they descended a short flight of steps, at the foot of which, the monk paused, and pointed with his right hand to a chamber, partly screened by the folds of a curtain. At this intimation, the queen and her companion stepped quickly on, and as she advanced, Anne Boleyn perceived Jane Seymour and the king seated on a couch within the apartment. Henry was habited like a pilgrim, but he had thrown down his hat, ornamented with the scallop-shell, his vizard, and his staff, and had just forced his fair companion to unmask. At the sight, Anne was transfixed with jealous rage, and was for the moment almost unconscious of the presence of Norris, or of the monk, who remained behind the curtain, pointing to what was taking place. " Your majesty is determined to expose my blushes," said Jane Seymour, slightly struggling with her royal lover. " Nay, I only want to be satisfied that it is really yourself, sweetheart," cried Henry, passionately. " It was in mercy to me, I suppose, that you insisted upon shrouding those beauteous features from my view." " Hear you that, madam ?" whispered Norris to Anne. The queen answered by a convulsive clasp of the hand. ' " Your majesty but jests with me," said Jane Seymour. " Jests !" cried Henry, passionately. " By my faith, I nevei understood the power of beauty till now. No charms ever moved my heart like yours ; nor shall I know a moment's peace till you become mine." " I am grieved to hear it, my liege," replied Jane Seymour, " for I never can be yours, unless as your queen." Ai>;ain Norris hazarded a whisper to Anne Boleyn, which was answered by another nervous grasp of the hand. " That is as much as to say," pursued Jane, seeing the gloomy reverie into which her royal lover was thrown, " I can give your majesty no hopes at all." " You have been schooled by Anne Boleyn, sweetheart," said Henry. " How so, my liege ?" demanded Jane Seymour. " Those are the very words she used to me when I wooed her, and which induced me to divorce Catherine of Arragon," replied Henry. " Now they may bring about her own removal." ** Just Heaven !" murmured Anne. " I dare not listen to your majesty," said Jane Seymour, in a tremulous tone ; " and yet, if I dared speak- " " Speak on, fearlessly, sweetheart," said Henry. "Then I am well assured," said Jane, "that the queen no longer loves you ; nay, that she loves another." JANE SEYMOUR RETORTS UPON ANNE. 291 "^ It is false, minion !" cried Anne Boleyn, rushing forward, while Norris hastily retreated — " it is false ! It is you who w^ould deceive the king for your own purposes. But I have fortunately been brought hither to prevent the injury you would do me. Oh ! Henry, have I deserv^ed this of you ?" " You have chanced to overhear part of a scene in a masque- rade, madam — that is all," said the kmg. " I have chanced to arrive mos: opportunely for myself," said Anne. "As for this slanderous and deceitful minion, I shall dismiss her from my service. If your majesty is determined to prove faithless to me, it shall not be wath one of my owti dames." " Catherine of Arragon should have made that speech," re- torted Jane Seymour, bitterly ; " she had reason to complain that she was supplanted by one much beneath her. And she never played the king falsely." " Nor have I," cried Anne, fiercely ; " if I had my will I should strike thee dead, for the insinuation. Henry — my lord — my love — if you have any regard for me, instantly dismiss Jane Seymour." " It may not be, madam," replied Henry, in a freezing tone. *' She has done nothing to deserve dismissal. If any one is to blame in the matter, it is myself." " And will you allow her to make these accusations against me without punishment ?" cried Anne. " Peace, madam !" cried the king, sternly ; " and thank my good-nature that I go no further into the matter. If you are weary of the masque, I pray you retire to your own apartments. For myself, I shall lead Jane Seymour to the bransle." " And if your majesty should need a partner," said Jane, walking up to Anne, and speaking in a low tone, " you will doubtless find Sir Henry Norris disengaged." The queen looked as if stricken by a thunderbolt. She heard the triumphant laugh of her rival ; she saw her led forth, all smiles and beauty and triumph, by the king to the dance ; and she covered her lace in agony. While she was in this state, a deep voice breathed in her ears, " The vengeance of Ca- therine of Arragon begins to work !" Looking up, she beheld the tall figure of the monk retreating from the chamber. III. WHAT PASSED BETWEEN NOBRIO AND THE TAJLL MONK. Tottering to the seat which Henry and Jane had just quitted, Anne sank into it. After a Httle time, having in some degree recovered her composure, she was about to return to the great hall, when Norris appeared. 292 WIKDSOR CASTLE. '* I did not deceive yoa, madam," he said, " when I told you the king was insensible to your charms. He only lives for Jane Seymour." " Would I could dismiss her !" cried Anne, furiously. " If you were to do so, she would soon be replaced by another," rejoined Norris. " The king delights only in change. With him, the last face is ever the most beautiful." " You speak fearful treason, sir!" replied Anne — *• but I be- lieve it to be the truth." " Oh, then, madam !" pursued Norris, "since the king is so regardless of you, why trouble yourself about him ? — there are those who would sacrifice a thousand lives, if they possessed them, for your love." " I fear it is the same with all men," rejoined Anne. " A woman's heart is a bauble which, when obtained, is speedily tossed aside." " Your majesty judges our sex too harshly," said Norris. " If I had the same fortune as the king, I should never change." " The king himself once thought so, — once swore so," replied Anne, petulantly. " It is the common parlance of lovers. But I may not listen to such discourse longer." " bh, madam !" cried Norris, " you misjudge me greatly. My heart is not made of the same stuff as that of the royal Henry. I can love deeply — devotedly — lastingly." " Know you not that, by these rash speeches, you place your head in jeopardy?' said Anne. " I would rather lose it than not be permitted to love you,** he replied. " But your rashness endangers me," said the queen. " Your passion has already been noticed by Jane Seymour, and the slightest further indiscretion wnll be fatal." " Nay, if that be so," cried Norris, " and your majesty should be placed in peril on my account, I will banish myself from the court, and from your presence, whatever the effort may cost me !" " No," replied Anne, " I will not tax you so hardly. I do not think," she added, tenderly — " deserted, as I am, by the king, that I could spare you." " You confess, then, that I have inspired you with some re- gard ?" he cried, rapturously. " Do not indulge in these transports, Norris," said Anne, mournfully. "Your passion will only lead to your destruc- tion — ^perchance, to mine ! Let the certainty that I do love, content you, and seek not to tempt your fate further." " Oh ! madam, you make me the happiest of men by the avowal," he cried. " I envy not now the king, for I feel raised above him by your love." " You must join the revel, Norris," said Anne — " your ab- sence from it will be observed." NOUliiS DISARMED BY TUE TALL WOKK. 2y3 And extending her hand to him, he knelt down, and pressed it passionately to his lips. " Ah ! we are observed," she cried, suddenly, and almost with a shriek. " Rise, sir!" Norris instantly sprang to his feet, and to his inexpressible dismay, saw the figure of the tall monk gliding away. Throwing a meaning look at the almost sinking queen, he followed the mysterious observer into the great hall, determined to rid himsell of him in some way, before he should have time to make any revelations. Avoiding the brilliant throng, the monk entered the adjoining corridor, and descending the great staircase, passed into the upper quadrangle, FroiB thence, he proceeded towards the cloisters near Saint George's Chapel, where he was overtaken by Norris, who had followed him closely. " What would you with me. Sir Henry Norris ?" cried the monk, halting. "You may guess," XMrKANCa lO THK Vt CLOlaT&KS said Norris, sternly, and drawing his sword. " There are secrets which are dangerous to the possessor. Unless you swear never to betray what you have seen and heard, you die." The tall monk laughed derisively. " You know that your life is in my power," he said, ** und therefore you threaten mine. Well, e'en take it if you can." As he spoke, he drew a sword from beneath his robe, an if the queen comes within the scope of the divorce, she also comes within the pale of the scaffold.' '' " A pledge was extorted from him to that effect," said Anne, in a hollow voice. " That an attempt will be made against j^ou, I firmly believe," ;296 WINDSOU CASTLE. rc})lied the earl; "but if you are wholly innocent you have nothing to fear." " Oh, father ! I know not that," cried Anne. " Innocence avails little with the stony-hearted Henry." *' It will prove your best safeguard," said the earl. " And nov farewell, daughter I Heaven guard you! Keep the strictest watch upon yourself." So saying, he quitted the apartment, and as soon as she was left alone, the unhappy Anne burst into an agony of tears. From this state of affliction she was roused by hearing her own name pronounced in low accents, and looking up, she beheld Sir Henry Norris. " Oh, Norris !" she said, in a tone of reproach, " you have come hither to destroy me." " No one knows of my coming," he said ; " at least, no one who will betray me. I was brought hither by one who will take care we are not observed." " By Heme ?" demanded Anne. Norris answered in the affirmative. " Would you had never leagued yourself with him !" she cried, " I fear the rash act will bring destruction upon us both." " It is too late to retract now," he replied ; " besides, there was no help for it. I sacrificed myself to preserve you." " But will the sacrifice preserve me ?" she cried. " I fear not. I have just been told that the king is preparing some terrible measure against me — that he meditates removing me, to make way for Jane Seymour." " You have heard the truth, madam," replied Norris ; " he will try to bring you to the block." " And with him, to try is to achieve," said Anne. " Oh ! Norris, it is a fearful thing to contemplate such a death!" " But why contemplate it, madam ?" said Norris ; " why, if you are satisfied that the king has such designs against you — why, if you feel that he will succeed, tarry for the fatal blow ? Fly with me — fly with one who loves you, and will devote his whole life to you — who regards you, not as the queen, but as Anne Boleyn. Relinquish this false and hollow grandeur, and fly with me to happiness and peace." " And relinquish my throne to Jane Seymour ?" rejoined Anne. " Never ! I feel that all you assert is true — that my present position is hazardous — that Jane Seymour is in the ascendant, while I am on the decline, if not wholly sunk — that you love me entirely, and would devote your life to me — still, with all these motives for dread, I cannot prevail upon myself voluntarily to give up my title, and to abandon my post to a rival." " You do not love me, then, as I love you, Anne," said Norris ** If I were king, I would abandon my throne for you." ** You think so now. Norris. because you are not king," she re- HERNE DRAGS KORRIS AWAY. 297 plied. "But 1 am queen, and will reniaui so, till I am foiXied to abandon my dignity." " 1 understand, madam," rejoined Norris, gloomily. " But oh ! bethink you to what risks you expose yourself. You know the king's terrible determination — his vindictiveness, his fe- rocity." " Full well," she replied — " full well ; but 1 will rather die a queen than live disgraced and ruined. In wedding Henry the Eighth, I laid my account to certain risks, and those 1 must brave." Before Norris could urge anything further, the door was suddenly opened, and a tall, dark figure, entered the chamber, and said, hastily, " The king is at hand." *' One word more, and it is my last," said Norris, to Anne. *' Will you fly with me to-night ? — all shall be ready." " I cannot," replied Anne. " Away !" cried Heme, dragging Norris forcibly behind the tapestry. Scarcely had they disappeared when Henry entered the chamber. He was in a gayer mood than had been usual with him of late. " I am come to tell you, madam," he said, " that I am abou. to hold jousts in the castle on the first of May, at which your good brother and mine, the Lord Rochford, will be the challenger, while I myself shall be the defendant. You will adjudge the prize." " Why not make Jane Seymour queen of the jousts ?" said Anne, unable to resist the remark. " She will be present at them," said Henry, " but I have my own reasons," he added significantly, " for not wishing her to appear as queen on this occasion." " Whatever may be your reasons, the wish is sufficient for me," said Anne. " Nay, will you not tarry a moment with me ? It is long since we have had any converse in n *vate together." " I am busy at this moment," replied Ht V, bluffly; " but what is it you would say to me ?" " I would only reproach you for some lack ol tenderness, and much neglect," said Anne. " Oh ! Henry ! do you remember how you sw^ore by your life — ^your crown — your faith — all that you held sacred or dear, — that you would love me ever ?" " And so I w^ould, if I could," replied the king ; " but un- fortunately the heart is not entirely under control. Have you, yourself, for instance, experienced no change in your affections ?" " No," replied Anne ; " I have certainly suffered severely from your too evident regard for Jane Seymour ; but thougn deeply mortified and distressed, I have never for a moment been shaken in my love for your majesty." 298 WINDSOR CASTLE. " A loyal and loving reply," said Henry. " I thought 1 had perceived some slight diminution in your regard.** " You did yo\irself grievous injustice by the supposition," re- plied Anne. "I would fain believe so," said the king; "but there are some persons who would persuade me that you have not only lost your affection for me, but have even cast eyes of regard on another." " Those who told you so lied !" cried Anne, passionately. " Never woman was freer from such imputation than myself." " Never woman was more consummate hypocrite," muttered Henry. " You do not credit me, I see ?" cried Anne. " If I did not, I should know how to act," replied the king. " You remember my pledge." " Full well," replied Anne ; " and if love and duty would not restrain me, fear would." "So I felt," rejoined the king; "but there are some of your »ex upon whom nothing will operate as a warning, — so faith- less and inconstant are they by nature. It has been hinted to me that you are one of these. But I cannot think it. I can never believe that a woman for whom I have placed my very throne in jeopardy — for whom I have divorced my queen — whose family I have elevated and ennobled — and whom I have placed upon the throne, — would play me false. It is monstrous ! — incredible !" " It is — it is !" replied Anne. " And now farewell," said Henry. " I have stayed longer than I intended; and I should not have mentioned these accusations, which I regard as wholly groundless, unless you had reproached me." And he quitted the chamber, leavinis Anne in a strange stat^, of perplexityjind terror PBEPARATIONS FOR THE JOUSTS. 299 '"HiiitiV'jljitiiff.iiimr OU> BVIVDIVOB TBOit THX HUMCRKD 8TKFS. V. WHAT HAPPENED AT THE JODSTR The first of May arrived; and though destined to JOt m dark- ness and despair, it arose in sunshine and smiles. All were astir at an early hour within the castle, and prepara- tions were made for the approaching show. Lists were erected in the upper quadrangle, and the whole of the vast area was strewn with sand. In front of the royal lodojings was raised a gallery, the centre of which being set apart for the queen and her dames, was covered with cloth of gold and crimson velvet, on v/hich the royal arms were gorgeously emblazoned. The two . wings were likewise richly decorated, and adorned with scutcheons and pennons, while from "the battlements of the eastern side of the court were hung a couple of long flags. As soon as these preparations were completed, a throng of pages, esquires, armorers, archers, and henchmen, entered it from the jNorman jrateway, and took up positions within the 800 WINDSOR CASTLE. barriers, the space without the pales being kept by a double line of halberdiers. Next came the trumpeters, mounted on richly- caparisoned horses, and having their clarions decorated with silken bandrols, fringed with gold. Stationing themselves at the principal entrance of the lists, they were speedily joined by the heralds, pursuivants, and other offic ers of the tilt-yard. Presently afterwards, the Duke of Suffolk, who was appointed judge of the lists, appeared, and rode round the arena to see that all was in order. Apparently well satisfied with the survev, he dismounted, and proceeded to the gallery. Meanwhile, the crowd within the court was increased by a great influx of the different members of the household, amongst whom were Shoreditch, Paddington, and Hector Cutbeard. " Marry, this promises to be a splendid sight !" said the clerk of the kitchen ; " the king will, no doubt, do his devoir gallantly for the sake of the bright eyes that will look upon him." "You mean the queen's, of course?" said Shoreditch. " I mean hers who may be queen," replied Cutbeard — " Mis- tress Jane Seymour." " May be queen !" exclaimed Shoreditch. " You surely do not think the king will divorce his present consort ?" " Stranger things have happened," replied Cutbeard, signifi- cantly. " If I am not greatly out in my reckoning," he added, " these are the last jousts Queen Anne will behold." " The saints forfend !" cried Shoreditch ; " what reason have you for thinking w ?'* " That I may not declare," replied Cutbeard ; " but before the jousts are over, you will see whether I have been rightly in- formed or not." " Hush !" exclaimed Shoreditch. " There is a tall monk eyeing us strangely ; and I am not certain that he has not over- heard what you have said." " He is welcome to the intelligence," replied Cutbeard ; *' the end will prove its truth." Though this was uttered in a confident tone, he, nevertheless, glanced with some misgiving at the monk, who stood behind Paddington. The object of the investigation was a very tall man, with a cowl drawn over his brow. He had k ragged black beard, fierce dark eyes, and a complexion like bronze. Seeing Cutbeard's glance anxiously fixed upon him, he advanced to- wards him, and said, in a low tone — ** You have nothing to fear from me ; but talk QOt S\.> loud^ if you value your head." So saying, he proceeded to another part of the lists* " Who is that tall monk ?" asked Paddington. " Devil knows !" answered Cutbeard. " I never saw him before ; but he has a villanous, cut-throat look." Soon afterwards, a flourish of trumpets was heard, and amid their ioyous bruit, the queen, sumptuously arrayed in cloth of NORRIS'S PROWESS AT THE LISTS. 301 gold and ermine, and having a small crown upon her brow, e~n- to ed the gallery, and took her seat within it Never had she looked more beautiful than on this fatal morning ; and in the eyes of all the beholders she completely eclipsed her rival, Jane Seymour. The latter, who stood on her right hand, and was exquisitely attired, had a thoughtful and anxious air, as if some grave matter weighed upon her mind. While the queen's attendants were taking their places. Lord Rochford, accompanied by Sir Henry Norris, and the Earls of Surrey and Essex, entered the lists. The four knights were completely armed, and mounted on powerful steeds barded witli rich cloth of gold, embroidered with silver letters. Each had a great crimson plume in his helmet. They rode singly round the arena, and bowed as they passed the royal gallery, Norris bend- ing almost to his saddle-bow while performing his salutation to the queen. The field being thus taken by the chal-lengers, who retired to the upper end of the court, a trr.mpet was thrice sounded by a herald, and an answer was immediately made by another herald, stationed opposite Henry the Seventh's buildings. When the clamour ceased, the king, fully armed, and followed by the Marquis of Dorset, Sir Thomas Wyat, and the Lord Clifford, rode into the lists. Henry was equipped in a superb suit of armour, inlaid with gold, and having a breastplate of the globose form, then in vogue. His helmet was decorated with a large snow-white ])lume. The trappings of his steed were of crimson velvet, em- broidered with the royal arms, and edged with great letters of massive gold bullion, full of pearls and precious stones. He was attended by a hundred gentlemen, armorers, and other officers, arrayed in white velvet. Having ridden round the court like the others, and addressed his salutation exclusively to Jane Seymour, Henry took his station with his companions near the base of the Round Tower, the summit of which was covered with spectators, as were the towers and battlements around. A trumpet was now sounded, and the king and the Lord Rochford having each taken a lance from his esquire, awaited the signal to start from the Duke of Suffolk, who was seated in the left wing of the royal gallery. It was not long delayed. As the clarion sounded clearly and loudly for the third time, he called out that the champions might go. No sooner were the words uttered, than the thundering tramp of the steeds resounded, and the opponents met mid-way. Both their lances were shivered; but as the king did not, in the slightest degree, change his position, he was held to have the best of it. Courses were then run by the others, with varied success, the Marquis of Dorset being unhorsed by Sir Henry Norris, whose prowess was r«wiirded by the plaudits of the 302 WINDSOR CASTLE. assembla^o, and what was infinitely more dear to him, by the smiles of" Jie queen. "Y(M have ridden well, Norris," cried Henry, advancing toward^i him. " Place yourself opposite me, and let us splinter a lance together." As Norris reined back his steed, in compliance with the in- junction, the tall monk stepped from out the line, and drawing near him, said, " If you wish to prove victorious, aim at the upper part of the king's helmet." And with these words, he withdrew. By the time Norris had placed his lance in the rest, the trumpet sounded. The next moment, the word was given, and the champions started. Henry rode with great impetuosity, and struck Norris in the gorget with such good will that both he and his steed were shaken. But Norris was more fortunate. Following the advice of the monk, he made the upper part of the king's helmet his mark, and the blow was so well dealt, that, though it did not dislodge the royal horseman, it drove back his steed on its haunches. The success was so imequivocal, that Norris was at once de- clared the victor by the judge. No applause, however, followed the decision, from a fear of giving offence to the king. Norris dismounted, and committing his steed to the care of an esquire, and his lance to a page, took off his helmet, and advanced towards the royal gallery, near which the Earl of Surrey and Sir Thomas Wyat were standing talking with the other dames. As Norris drew near, Anne leaned over the edge of the gallery, smiled at him tenderly, and, whether by design or accident, let fall her embroidered handkerchief. Norris stooped to pick it up, regarding her, as he did so, with a glance of the most passionate devotion. A terrible gaze, however, was fixed on the unfortunate pair at that moment. It was that of the king. While Henry was careering in front of the gallery to display himself before Jane Seymour, a tall monk approached him, and said — '•' Look at Sir Henry Norris !" Thus addressed, Henry raised his beaver, that he might see more distinctly, and beheld Norris take up the embroidered handkerchief, which he recognised as one that he had given, in the early days of his affection, to the queen. The sight stung him almost to madness, and he had great difficulty in repressing his choler. But if this slight action, heightened to importance, as it w-as, by the looks of the parties, roused his ire, it was nothing to what followed. Instead of restoring it to the queen, Norris, unconscious of the danger in which he stood, pressed the handkerchief fervently to his lips. " I am hitherto the victor of the jousts," he said ; " mav I keep this as the prize ?" Anne smiled assent. " It is the proudest I ever obtained,'* pursued Norris. And he olaced it wiihin his helmet. THE JOUSTS STOPPED BY THE KING. S03 " Does your majesty see that ?" cried the tall monk, wl'o jrtili remained standing near the king. ♦* Death of my life !" exclaimed Henry, " it is the very hand- kerchief I gave her before our union ! I can contain myself no longer, and must perforce precipitate matters. What, ho !" he cried, riding up to that part of the gallery where the Duke of Suffolk was seated — " let the jousts be stopped !" " Wherefore, my dear liege ?" said Suffolk. " The Earl of Surrey and Sir Thomas Wyat are about to run a course." " Let them be stopped, I say !" roared Henry, in a tone that admitted of no dispute. And wheeling round his charger, he dashed into the middle of the barriers, shouting in loud, authori- tative accents — " The jousts are at an end ! Disperse !" The utmost consternation was occasioned by the announce- ment. The Duke of Suffolk instantly quitted his seat, and pressed through the crowd to the king, who whispered a few hasty words in his ear. Henry then called to the Earl of Surrey, the Marquis of Dorset, the Lord Clifford, Wyat, and some others, and bidding them attend him, prepared to quit the court. As he passed the royal gallery, Anne called to him, in an agonized voice— " Oh, Henry ! what is the matter ? — what have I done ?" But without paying the slightest attention to her, he dashed through the Norman Gate, galloped down the lower quadrangle, and quitted the castle. The confusion that ensued may be imagined. All saw that something extraordinary and terrible had taken place, though few knew precisely what it was. Dismay sat in every coun- tenance, and the general anxiety was heightened by the agitation of the queen, who, uttering a piercing scream, fell back, and was borne off in a state of insensibility by her attendants. Unable to control himself at the sight, Norris burst through the guard, and rushing up the great staircase, soon gained the apartment to which the queen had been conveyed. Owing to the timely aid afforded her, she was speedily restored ; and the first person her eyes fell upon was her lover. At the sight of him, a glance of affection illumined her features, but it was in- stantly changed into an expression of alarm. At this juncture, the Duke of Suffolk, who, with Bouchier and a party of halberdiers, had entered the room, stepped up to the queen, and said — " Will it please you, madam, to retire to an inner apartment. 1 grieve to say, you are under arrest" " Arrest !" exclaimed Anne ; " for what crime, your grace ?" " You are charged with incontinency towards the king's high- aess," replied Suffolk, sternly. " But I am innocent !" cried Anne — " as Heaven shall judge me, I am innocent !" *' I trust you will be able to prove yourself so, madam," 804 WINDSOR CASTLE. S'e'r] Suffolk. " Sir Henry Norris, your person is likewise *' Then I am lost indeed !" exclaimed Anne, distractedly. ** Do not let these false and malignant accusations alarm you, madam," said Norris. " You have nothing to fear. I will die protesting your innocence." " Sir Henry Norris," said the duke, coldly, " your own im- prudence has brought about this sad result." " I feel it," replied Norris ; " and I deserve the worst punish- ment that can be inflicted upon me for it. But I declare to you, — as I will declare upon the rack, if I am placed upon it, — that the queen is wholly innocent. Let her not suffer for my fault." " You hear what Sir Henry says," cried Anne ; " and 1 call upon you to recollect the testimony he has borne." '• I shall not fail to do so, madam," replied Suffolk. " Your majesty will have strict justice." " Justice !" echoed Anne, with a laugh of bitter incredulity. " Justice from Henry the Eighth ?" '' Beseech you, madam, do not destroy yourself," said Norris, prostrating himself before her. " Recollect by whom you are surrounded. My folly and madness have brought you into this strait, and I sincerely implore your pardon for it." " You are not to blame, Norris," said Anne — " it is fate, not you, that has destroyed me. The hand that has dealt this blow is that of a queen within the tomb." '* Captain Bouchier," said the Duke of Suffolk, addressing that officer, who stood near him, " you will convey Sir Henry Norris to the strong-room in the lower gateway, w^hence he will be re- moved to the Tower." " Farewell, for ever, Norris !" cried Anne. " We shall meet no more on earth. In what has fallen on me, I recognise the hand of retribution. But the same measure which has been meted to me shall be dealt to others. I denounce Jane Seymour before Heaven ! She shall not long retain the crown she is about to snatch from me !" " That imprecation had better have been spared, madam," said the duke. " Be advised, my gracious mistress !" cried Norris ; '- and do not let your grief and distraction place you in the power of your enemies. All may yet go well." " I denounce her !" persisted Anne, wholly disregarding the caution ; " and I also denounce the king. No union of his shall be happy, and other blood than mine shall flow !" At a sign from the duke, she was here borne, half-suffocated with emotion, to an inner apartment, while Norris was con- veyed by Bouchier and a company of halberdiers to the lower gateway, and placed within the prison chamber. ANN6S SUPPLICATION FOR FOIIGIVEXESS. 305 nUBOV OHAUBBR IV HtHRT TBI KiaBTU'u 4AT1WAT VL WHAT PASSED BETWEEN ANNE BOLEYN AND TDE DUKE OF SUFFOLK ; — AND HOW HERNE THE HUNTER APPEARED TO HER IN THE ORATORY. For some hours, Anne Boleyn's attendants were alarmed for her reason, and there seemed good grounds for the apprehension — so wildly and incoherently did she talk, and so violently comport herself — she who was usually so gentle — now weeping as if her soul would pass away in tears — now breaking into fearful hysterical laughter. It was a piteous sight, and deeply moved all who witnessed it. But towards evening she became calmer, and desired to be left by herself. Her wish being complied with, she fell upon her kness, and besought Heaven's forgiveness for her manifold offences. " May my earthly sufferings," she cried, " avail me hereafter, and may my blood wash out my guilt ! 1 feel the enormity ol my offence, and acknowledge the justice of my punishment. Pardon me, oh ! injured Catherine — pardon me, I implore thee ! Thou seest in me the most abject, pitiable woman, in the whole realm ! Overthrown, neglected, despised — about to die a shame- ful death — what worse can befal me ! Thine anguish was great* 306 WINDSOR CASTLE. but it was never sharpened by remorse like mine. Oh ! that 1 could live my life over again ! I would resist all the dazzling temptations I have yielded to — above all, I would not injure thee. Oh, that I had resisted Henry's love — his false vows — his fatal lures ! But it is useless to repine. I have acted wrongfully, — and must pay the penalty of my crime. May my tears, my penitence, my blood, operate as an atonement, and procure me pardon from the Merciful Judge before whom I shall shortly appear !" In such prayers and lamentations she passed more than an hour, when her attendants entered to inform her that the Duke of Suffolk and the Lords Audley and Cromwell were without, and desired to see her. She immediately went forth to them. " We are come to acquaint you, madam," said Suffolk, " that you will be removed, at an early hour to-morrow morning, to the Tower, there to abide during the king's pleasure." " If the king will have it so, my lords," she replied, " I must needs go — but I protest my innocence, and will protest it to the last. I have ever been a faithful and loyal consort to his high- ness, and though I may not have demeaned myself to him so humbly and gratefully as I ought to have done — seeing how much I ow^e him — ^yet I have lacked nothing in affection and duty. I have had jealous fancies and suspicions of him, especially of late, and have troubled him with them , but I pray his for- giveness for my folly, which proceeded from too much regard, and if I am acquitted of my present charge, I will offend him so no more." " We will report what you say to the king," rejoined Suffolk, gravely. " But we are bound to add, that his highness does not act on mere suspicion ; the proofs of your guilt being strong against you." '' There can be no such proofs !" cried Anne, quickly. ** Who are my accusers — and what do they state ?" " You are charged with conspiring against the king's life, and dishonouring his bed," replied Suffolk, sternly. " Your accusers will appear in due season." " They are base creatures suborned for the purpose !" cried Anne. " No loyal person would so forswear himself." " Time will shew you who they are, madam," said Suffolk. " But having now answered all your questions, I pray you, permit us to retire." " Shall I not see the king before 1 am taken to the Tower ?" said Anne, upon whom the terror of her situation rushed with new force. " His highness has quitted the castle," replied Suffolk, " and there is no likelihood of his return to-night." " You tell me so to deceive me," cried Anne. " Let me see him — let me throw myself at his feet. I can convince him of my innocence — can move him to compassion. Let me see him, I implore of you — I charge y. > ,■ HERNE APPEARS IN THE ORATORY. 307 *•' I swear to you, madam, that the king has departed for Hampton Court," repHed Suffolk. " Then take me to him there, under strong guard, or as secretly as you please !" she cried, passionately. *^ I will return with you instantly if I am unsuccessful." " Were I to comply with your request, it would be fruitless, madam," replied Suffolk ; " the king would not see you." " Oh, Suffolk !" cried Anne, prostrating herself before him, " I have shewn you many kindnesses in my season of power, and have always stood your friend with the king. Do me this favour now. I will never forget it. Introduce me to the king. I am sure I can move his heart, if I can only see him." " It would, cost me my head, madam," said the duke, in c./ inexorable tone. " Rise, I pray you." " You are more cruel than the king," said Anne, obeying. " And now, my lords," she continued, with more composure and dignity, " since you refuse my last request, and plainly prove to me the sort of justice I may expect, I will not detain you longer. I shall be ready to attend you to the Tower to-morrow." " The barge will proceed an hour before dawn," said Suffolk. " Must I then go by water ?" asked Anne. " Such are the king's commands," replied Suffolk. " It is no matter," she rejoined. " I shall be ready when you will, for I shall not retire to rest during the night." Upon this, Suffolk and the others withdrew, and Anne again retired to the oratory. She remained alone, brooding, in a state of indescribable anguish, upon the probable fate awaiting her, when, all at once, raising her eyes, she beheld a tall, dark figure, near the arras. Even in the gloom, she recognised Heme the Hunter, and wit^a difficulty repressed a scream. " Be silent !" cried Heme, with an emphatic gesture. " I am come to deliver you." Anne could not repress a joyful cry. " Not so loud," rejoined Heme, " or you will alarm youl attendants. I will set you free on certain conditions." " Ah ! conditions !" exclaimed Anne, recoiling — " if they are such as will affect my eternal welfare, I cannot accept them." " You will repent it when it is too late," replied Heme. " Once removed to the Tower, I can no longer aid you. My power extends only to the forest and the castle." " Will you take me to the king at Hampton Court ?" said Anne. "It would be useless," replied Heme. " I will only do what I have stated. If you fly with me, you.^can never appear again as Anne Boleyn. Sir Henry Norris shall be set free at the iame time, and vou shall both dwell with me in the foresu Come !" X2 S08 W'INDSOll CASTLE. " I cannot go," said Anne, holding back ; " it were to fly to a worse danger. I may save my soul now, but if I embrace your offer, I am lost for ever." Heme laughed derisively. " You need have no fear on that score," he said, " I will not trust you," replied Anne. " I have yielded to temptation already, and am now paying the penalty of it." " You are clinging to the crown," said Heme, " because you know that by this step you will irrecoverably lose it. And you fancy that some change may yet operate to your advantage with the king. It is a vain, delusive hope. If you leave this castle for the Tower, you will perish ignominiously on the block." " What will be, must be !" replied Anne. " I will not save myself in the way you propose." *' Norris will say, and with reason, that you love him not," cried Heme, " Then he will wrong me," replied Anne ; " for I do love him. But of what account were a few years of fevered happines? compared with endless torture !" " I will befriend you in spite of yourself," vociferated Heme, seizing her arm ; " you shall go with me !" " I will not," said Anne, falling on her knees. " Oh, Father of Mercy I" she cried, energetically, " deliver me from this fiend!" " Take your fate, then !" rejoined Heme, dashing her furiously backwards. And when her attendants, alarmed by the sound, rushed into the chamber, they found her stretched on the floor in a state of insensibility. VH. HOW HERNE APPEARED TO HENRY IN THE HOME PARK. On that same night, at a late hour, a horseman, mounted on a powerful steed, entered the eastern side of the Plome Park, and stationed himself beneath the trees. He had not been there long, when the castle clock tolled forth the hour of midnight, and ere the deep strokes died away, a second horseman was seen galloping across the moonlit glade towards him. " Has all been done as I directed, Suffolk ?" he demanded, as the new comer approached him. " It has, my liege," replied the duke. " The queen is im- prisoned within her chamber, and will be removed, at early dawr to the Tower." " You had better start in an hour fi:om this time," said the king. " It is a long passage by water, and I am anxious to a,void all chance of attempt at rescue. " THE MEETING OF THE KING AND SUFFOLK. 309 •* Your wishes shall be obeyed," replied the duke. " Pooi soul ! her grief was most agonizing, and I had much ado to maintain my composure. She implored^ in the most passionate manner, to be allowed to see your highness before her removal, I told her it was impossible ; and that even if you were at the castle, you would not listen to her supplications." " You did right," rejoined Henry ; " 1 will never see her more, — not that I fear being moved by her prayers, but that, knowing how deceitful and faithless she is, I loathe to look upon her. What is expressed upon the matter by the household ? Speak frankly !" " Frankly, then," replied the duke, " your highness's pro- ceedings are regarded as harsh and unjustifiable. The general opinion is, that you only desire to remove Anne to make way for Mistress Jane Seymour." " Ha ! they talk thus, do they ?" cried the king. " I will silence their saucy prating ere long. Tell all who venture to speak to you on the subject that I have long suspected the queen of a secret liking for Norris, but that I determined to conceal my suspicions till I found I had good warrant for them. That occurred, as you know, some weeks ago. However, I awaited a pretext for proceeding against them, and it was fur- nished by their own imprudence to-day. Convinced that some- thing would occur, I had made my preparations; nor was 1 deceived. You may add, also, that not until my marriage is in- validated, Anne's offspring illegitimatized, and herself beheaded, shall I consider the foul blot upon my name removed." " Has your majesty any further commands ?" said Suffolk. " I saw Norris in his prison before I rode forth to you." " Let him be taken to the Tower, under a strong escort, at once," said Henry. " Lord Rochford, I suppose, has already been removed there ?'* " He has," replied the duke. " Shall I attend your majesty to your followers ?" " It is needless," replied the king. " They are waiting for me, close at hand, at the foot of Datchet-bridge. Farewell, my good brother ; look well to your prisoners. I shall feel more easy when Anne is safely lodged within the Tower." So saying, he wheeled round, and striking spurs into his steed, dashed through the trees, while the duke rode back to the castle. Henry had not proceeded far, when a horseman, mounted on a sable steed, emerged from the thicket, and galloped up to him. The wild attire and an tiered helm of this personage proclaimed the forest fiend. " Ah, thou here, demon !" cried the king, his lion nature overmastered by superstitious fear for a moment. '* What wouldst thou?" " You are on the eve of committino; a great crime," replied 310 WINDSOR CASTLE. Heme; *^ and I told you that at such times I would always appear to you." " To administer justice is not to commit crime," rejoinea the king. " Anne Boleyn deserves her fate." " Think not to impose on me as you have imposed on Suffolk !" cried Heme, with a derisive laugh. " I know your motives better, I know you have no proof of her guilt, and that in your heart of hearts you believe her innocent. But you destroy her because you would wed Jane Seymour ! We shall meet again ere long — ho ! ho ! ho !" And giving the rein to his steed, he disappeared among the trees. vni. THE SIGNAL GUN. Anne Boleyn's arraignment took place in the great hall of the White Tower, on the 16th of May, before the Duke of Norfolk, who was created lord high steward for the occasion, and twenty- six peers. The duke had his seat under a canopy of state, and beneath him sat the Earl of Surrey as deputy earl-marshal. Notwithstanding an eloquent and impassioned defence, Anne was found guilty ; and having been required to lay aside her crown and the other insignia of royalty, was condemned to be burned or beheaded at the king's pleasure. On the following day, she was summoned to the archiepiscopal palace at Lambeth, whither she was privately conveyed; and her marriage with the king was declared by Cranmer to be null and void, and to have always been so. Death by the axe was the doom awarded to her by the king, and the day appointed for the execution was Friday, the 19th of May, at the hour of noon. Leaving the conduct of the fatal ceremony to the Duke of Suffolk, who had orders to have a signal gun fired from the summit of the White Tower, which was to be answered from various points, when all was over, Henry repaired to Windsor Castle on the evening of Thursday. Before this, he had formally offered his hand to Jane Seymour ; and while the un- fortunate queen was languishing within the Tower, he was basking in the smiles of his new mistress, and counting the hours till he could make her his own. On the Tuesday before the execution, Jane Seymour retired to her father's mansion, Wolff Hall, in Wiltshire, where preparations were made for the marriage, which it was aiTanged should take place there in l^rivate on the Saturday. On arriving at the castle, Henry gave out that he should hunt On the following morning? in the Great Park, and retired to his THE GUESTS AT THE GARTER. 311 closet. Bat he did not long remain there, and putting on the o-arb of a yeoman of the guard, descended by the narrow Sight of steps (already mentioned as occupying the same situation as the existing Hundred Steps), to the town, and proceeded B^STIOM A^3 VfiT.L mOM TEtt HUKDRBD STKPa. to the Garter, where he found several guests assembled, dis- cussing the affairs of the day, and Bryan Bowntance's strong ale at the same time. Amongst the number were, the Duke of Shoreditch, Paddington, Hector Cutbeard, and Kit Coo. At the moment of the king's entrance, they were talking of the approaching execution. " Oh ! the vanity of worldly greatness !" exclaimed Bryan, lifting up his hands. " Only seven years ago, last Saint George's day, this lovely queen first entered the castle with the king, amid pomp, and splendour, and power, and with a long life, apparently, of happinecs before her. And now she is condemned to die !" " But if she has played the king false, she deserves her doom I" replied Shoreditch. " I would behead my own wife if she served, me the same trick — that is, if I could." " You do right to say ' it' you could,' " rejoined Paddington. "The beheading a wife is a royal privilege, and cannot be en- joyed by a subject." 312 WINDSOR CASTLE. *' Marry, I wonder how the king could prefer Mistress Jane Seymour, ifbr my part !" said Hector Cutbeard. " To my think- ing she is not to be compared with Queen Anne." " She has a lovely blue eye, and a figure as straight as an arrow," returned Shoreditch. " How say you, master ?" he added, turning to the king. *' What think you of Mistress Jane Seymour ?" " That she is passably fair, friend," replied Henry. " But how as compared with the late — that is, the present queen ; for, poor soui ! she has yet some hours to live I" rejoined Shoreditch. " How, as compared with her?" " Why, I think Jane Seymour the more lovely, undoubtedly," replied Henry. " But 1 may be prejudiced." " Not in the least, friend," said Cutbeard. " You but partake of your royal master's humour. Jane Seymour is beautiful, no doubt ; and so was Anne Boleyn. Marry ! we shall see many fair queens on the throne. The royal Henry has good taste and good management. He sets his subjects a rare example, and shews them how to get rid of troublesome wives. We shall all divorce, or hang our spouses, when we get tired of them. I almost wish I was married myself, that I might try the experi- ment — ha I ha!" •« Well, here's the king's health !" cried Shoreditch ; " and wishing him as many wives as he may desire. What say you, friend ?" he added, turning to Henry. " Will you not drink that toast?" " That will I," replied Henry ; " but I fancy the king will be content for the present with Mistress Jane Seymour." " For the present, no doubt," said Hector Cutbeard ; " but the time will come — and ere long — when Jane will be as irk- some to him as Anne is now." " Ah ! God's death, knave ! darest thou say so ?" cried Henry, furiously. "Why, I have said **othing treasonable, I hope," rejoined Cutbeard, turning pale " I only wish the king to be happy in his own way ; and, as he seems to delight in change of wives, I pray that he may have it to his heart's content." " A fair explanation," replied Henry, laughing. " Let me give a health, my masters !" cried a tall archer, whom no one had hitherto noticed, rising in one corner of the room. " It is — The headsman of Calais, and may he do his work featly to-morrow !" " Ha ! ha ! ha ! a good toast," cried Hector Cutbeard. " Seize him who has proposed it !" cried the king, rising ; " it is Heme the Hunter !" " I laugh at your threats here as elsewhere, Harry," crierl Heme. " We shall meet to-morrow." " And flingjing the kom-cup in the face of the man THE MORNING OP THE EXECUTION. 313 him, he sprang through an open window at the back, and dis- appeared. Both Cutbeard and Shoreditch were much alarmed lest the freedom of their expressions should be taken in umbrage hy the king ; but he calmed their fears by bestowing a good-humoured buffet on the cheek of the latter of them, and quitting the hot*el, returned to the castle by the same way he had left it. On the following morning, about ten o'clock, he rode into the Great Park, attended by a numerous train. His demeanour was moody and stern, and a general gloom pervaded the company. Keeping on the western side of the park, the party crossed Oan- bourne Chase ; but though they encountered several fine herds of deer, the king gave no orders to uncouple the hounds. At last, they arrived at that part of the park where Sand-pit Gate is now situated, and pursuing a path bordered by noble TIKW IN THK QR«AT PARK, NKAJt BAND-PIT OAT« trees, a fine buck was suddenly unharboured, upon which Henry gave orders to the huntsmen and others to follow him, adding that he himself should proceed to Snow Hill, where they would find him an hour hence. All understood why the king wished to be alone, and for what purpose he was about to rey)air to rhe eminence in question. ?14 WINDSOR CASTLE. and therefore, without a" word, the whole company started off* in the chase. Meanwhile, the king rode slowly through the woods, ofteri pausing to listen to the distant sounds of the hunters, and no ticing the shadows on the greensward as they grew shorter, i\zr proclaimed the approach of noon. At length, he arrived at Snow Hill, and stationed himself beneath the trees on its summit. From this spot a magnificent view of the castle, towering Dver its pomp of woods, now covered with foliage of the most vivid green, was commanded. The morning was bright and beautiiiil ; the sky cloudless ; and a gentle rain had fallen overnight, w:::^h had tempered the air, and freshened the leaves and the green- sward. The birds were singing blithely in the trees, and at tne foot of the hill couched a herd of deer. All was genial and de- lightful, breathing of tenderness and peace, and calculated to soften the most obdurate heart. The scene was not without its effect upon Henry ; but a fierce lamult raged within his breast. He fixed his eyes on the Round Tower, which was distinctly visible, and from which he expected the signal, and then tried to peer into the far horizon. But he could discern nothing. A cloud passed over the sun, and cast a momentary gloom over the smiling landscape. At the same time, Henry's fancy was so powerfully excited, that he fancied he could behold the terrible tragedy enacting at the Tower. " She is now issuing forth into the green in the front of Saint Peter's Chapel," said Henry to himself. " I can see her as dis- tinctly^ as if I were there. Ah ! how beautiful she looks — and how she moves all hearts to pity. Suffolk, Richmond, Cromwell, and the Lord Mayor, are there to meet her. She takes leave of her weeping attendants — she mounts the steps of the scaffold firmly — she looks around, and addresses the spectators. How silent they are, and how clearly and musically her voice sounds. She blesses me ! I hear it — I feel it here. Now she disrobes herself, and prepares for the fatal axe. It is wielded by the skilful exe- cutioner of Calais, and he is now feeling its edge. Now she takes leave of her dames, and bestows a parting gift on each. Again she kneels and prays. She rises. The fatal moment is at hand. Even now she retains her courage — she approaches the block, and places her head upon it. The axe is raised — ha !" The exclamation was occasioned by a flash of fire from the battlements of the Round Tower, followed by a volume of smoke, and, in another second, the deep boom of a gun was heard. At the very moment that the flash was seen, a wild figure, mounted on a coal-black steed, galloped from out the wood, and dashed towards Henry, whose horse reared and plunged as he "There spoke the death-kneil of Anne Boleyn !" cried Heme» LONCL.URION. 315 r^arding Henry, sterriiy, and pointing to the Round Tower '^The bloody deed is done, and thou art free to wed once more Away to Wolff Hall, and bring thy new consort to Windsor Castle!'' 9rt)\xe tntjfi tf)c Sixtt) ana last ISoofe tf tt)e Chronicle ot 5l2Bin"bp!or Castle. INDEX Axms-Knights, military, 4, 6, 19, 29, 37, 140, 143 ; the Governor's Tower, 294. Anne (Stuart), Queen, embellishes the parks, 161, 162. Architects of Windsor Castle, 138, 146, 150, 151, 153, 161, 162, 214. Arthur, King, his fortress, hall, and Round Table, 135, 143. Arthur, Prince, 11. Bachelor's Acre, manly sports in the, 18. Bagshot Heath, 204, 207. Barons, the, their contest with King John, 137, 138 ; and with Henry III., and Prince Edward, 142 ; Simon de Mont- ford, 142. Beaufort, Jane of, daughter of the Duke of Somerset, and wife of James I. of Scotland, 148, 247. Bee, Mat, is deceived by Heme with the royal signet, 230 ; his fright, 232. Bell, the curfew, and bellringer, 14, 16,232. Boleyn, Anne, preparations for her recep- tion at Windsor Castle, 3 ; how her health was drank at the Garter hostel, and what dispute arose, 10 ; the royal procession, 17, 29 ; her beauty, costume, and jewels, 21 ; her coquetry and accom- plishments, 21,35 ; Lady Anne's kerchief and Sir Thomas Wyat, 22, 24 ; she is met at the lower gateway of the castle by the king and cardinals, 27, 29 ; her comport- ment in the presence-chamber, 33 ; is created Marchioness of Pembroke, 35 ; her interview with the king, 38 ; her appearance on St. George's day, 38 ; she is guilty of coquetry and cruelty in send- ing to summon Sir Thomas Wyat to her presence, 51 ; Anne awards an em- broidered scarf to the king for his display in the lists, 56 ; she shoots the buck in the great hunt, in the forest, 65 ; her sudden jealousy of Mabel, 66 ; she is in danger from the hart-royal, and is rescued by Wyat, 68 ; Jealousy of the king, 68 ; her alanm, on Wyat refusing to quit her chamber, 69, 71 ; how she regains her power over Henry, 74 ; she implores the king to disgrace Wolsey, 74 ; how Heme boasts of his power over this am- bitious lady, 104 ; her religion, 175 ; dangers of her ambition, 179, 182 ; she quaUs before the resentful Catherine, 181; her tender appeal to Henry, 183; she sets Wolsey at defiance, 219 ; hei letters found on the person of Wyat ex- cite the king's resentment, 227 ; her father's counsels to her, 228 ; she regains Henry's favour, 234 ; her speech to Wolsey at the moment of his disgrace, 238, 239 ; he warns her by the emblem of the shadow of the axe then at her feet, 241 ; her arrogant behaviour, when queen, on the death of Catherine, 284 ; gives birth to Queen Elizabeth, 284 ; her jealousy of Jane Seymour, 285 ; she gives her portrait to Sir Henry Norris, 286 : her fear of Jane, 286 ; her fatal passion for Norris, 287 ; her interview with Norris at the masqued fete at Windsor Castle, 288 ; she reproves Henry and Jane Seymour at the masquerade, 291 ; she listens to the declarations of love made her by Norris, 292 ; her alarm as to the monk, 294 ; her secret interview with Norris, 296, et seq. ; her interview with her father, 295 ; she is severely re- buked by the king, 297, 298 ; her im- prudent behaviour at the jousts on Saint George's day, 301, 302 ; she is arrested by Suffolk, 303 ; her last interview with Norris, 303 ; her accusation of King Henry and Jane Seymour, 304 ; recol- lection of Queen Catherine's wrongs, 305 ; the charges, and impeachment, 306; she implores Suffolk's compassion, 307, 309 , and resists the proffer of liberty from the fiend Heme, 307, 308 ; her ar- raignment and condemnation, 310; com- miseration for her, 311; her execution, 314. Boleyn, Sir Thomas, father of Queen Anne, 21, 239 ; is created Viscount Rochford, 35 ; he reproves Anne Boleyn for care- lessness regarding Wyat at the chase, 68 ; his fears for his daughter, 228 ; now created Earl of Wiltshire, he cautions the queen to be circumspect, 295. Bourchier, Captain, his costume, and inter- view with the Earl of Surrey, 3, 6 ; he gives orders for the holding a grand feast of the Order of the Garter, 4, 1 1 ; he 318 I^'DKX. conveys Mark Fytton to the dungeon of the Curfew Tower, 13, 16 ; is placed with arquebusiers at night to watch the tree up which Heme had climbed, 121 ; his exertions, how far successful, 128, 132 ; informs the king of Heme's re-ap- pearance, 176 ; he pursues Fenwolf, 188 ; he lodges Tristram Lyndwood in the Curfew prison, and receives the king's commands, 212 ; his courage put to the proof, 213, et seq.; he falters in the attack of Heme in the Curfew chamber, 233 ; he is charged to convey Sir Henry Ncrris to the Tower, 304. Braose, William de, cruel death of his wife and son, in the castle, 137. Bryan Bowntance, mine host of the Garter, 5, 10, 13 ; his interference in a dispute at his hostelry, 12 ; decorative arch he erected at his door, and the occasion of his so doing, 19 ; he indicates Fenwolf 's dwelling to Surrey and Richmond, 52 ? and relates the ill-rumours that regarded the keeper's excursions, 53. Campeggio, Cardinal, the Pope's legate, 3, 4, 28, 175; he declines to drink the health of Anne Boleyn, 42 ; he favours Queen Catherine, 194 ; he refers the decision of the divorce to Clement VII., 235 ; he repairs to Windsor, 235, 236 ; he cites King Henry to Rome, 239. Canons and petty canons of Windsor, 143 ; dwellings of the, 14, 52, 224; their cos- tume, 19 ; their religious ministry, 122. Catherine of Arragon, her divorce, 4, 11, 34, 68, 74, 175, 180, 220 ; her first hus- band, Prince Arthur, 11 ; her partisans, 31 ; Campeggio's support of, 42 ; her letter to the king, 74 ; her appeal to Henry in the Urswick chapel, 178 ; she warns him of Anne Boleyn's disposition, 179 ; their farewell, 180 ; the legate grants her time, 194; she gains a brief advantage, .222 ; she presents to the king letters of Anne Boleyn, 227 ; the king conducts Queen Catherine to the royal apartments, 228 ; she gains over Wolsey, 226 ; hearing of the cause, 234 ; Campeggio refers to Cle- ment VIL, 235 ; the queen's appeal, in court, 235 ; her divorce, retirement, letter to Henry, and death, 283, 284. Charles I., the Civil Wars, 141, 156, 159. Charles II., reign of, 153 ; his alterations in the upper ward, 158, 166 ; the times of the Restoration, 160; equestrian statue, 161; avenue, and Long Walk, 161—163. Chaucer, Geoffrey, clerk of the works, 147. Chertsey, monastery of, 95, 186, 221. Clamp, Nich., escorts Mabel, 187, 191,221. Clement VIL, 3, 28, 74, 235, 239. Cloister, the Dean's, and ambulatory, 1 39, 147, 224, 293 ; Cloisters, St. George's, 52, 58 ; the Horse-shoe, 123, 157. Cornwall, Chester, Clarence, and Bruns- wick, towers, described, 165. Cranmer, Archbishop, declares the marriage of Henry and Anne Boicvn to be nuli and void, 310. Cromwell, Oliver, the Protector, at Windsor, 159 ; plunder of Saint George'p College by parliamentarians, 156, 159. Curfew Tower, the, 10, 139, 168 ; its dun- geon, 13, 140 ; eastern aspect, 14 ; arched entrance, steps, and passage, 14 ; its oc- tangular vaulted chamber, 15, 16; inscrip- tions on the walls, 16 ; the butcher Fytton hanged from the battlements, 32, 52 ; oi the mysterious hammering in the tower, 212 — 215; piece of ordnance, 214; the upper chamber, 215, et seq.; view of Windsor town from, 288. Cutbeard, Hector, 192 ; he relates the legend of Heme the Hunter, 201 — 211 ; his converse with Shoreditch, 300, 311. Datchet-bridgc, and village, IS, 19, 20, 26, 166, 309. Dean and Canons of Windsor, 4, 143 ; th<4 deanery rebuilt by Doctor Urswick, 15? the Collegiate Library, 157. Devil Tower, or Edward the Third's, .4^, 161, 245 ; its renovation, 166. Edward the Confessor, 136, 143, 15] . Edward the First grants a charter to the town of Windsor, 142. Edward the Second and Isabella, 1'12. Edward the Third, called Edward of Wind- sor, 142, 167 ; rebuilt Saint George's Chapel, 143; instituted the Order of the- Garter, 143 ; built the Winchestei- Tower. 146. Edward the Fourth, structures rebuilt o^ adorned by, 146, 150 ; his tomb, 153 ; his queen, Elizabeth Woodville, 154. Edward the Sixth, at Windsor Castle, dis ■ misses the Protector Somerset, 158. Elizabeth, Queen, improvements of thr North Terrace, &c., by, 158 ; her passion for the chase and the drama, 158; her birth, 284 ; legitimacy, 309, 310. Eton College, 2, 54 ; view of the castle, from Eton play-fields, 166 ; the groves of, 214. Fenwolf, Morgan, a keeper of the forest, 8 ; aids in the capture of Mark Fytton, 13 : his feats in archery, 18 ; his mysterious hunting, 13, 48 ; Surrey endeavours to detect him, 52, 53 ; his skill, 62, 68, 93 ; he conducts Wolsey, 93 ; his jealousy excited by the king, 102 ; he strikes the tree as a summons to Heme, 107 ; his assurances to Wyat in the cave, 112 ; he betrays him, 114; he is overthrown by Suffolk, 119, 120 ; is carried bound to the castle, 121; declines confessing to the canon, 122 ; is visited by Heme as a monk, 125 — 127 ; he rejoins Hagthorne and Tristram Lyndwood, 1S6; he way- lays Mabel, but is defeated by Clamp, the falconer, and escapes, 188, 221 ; what directions he receives, 257 ; he has the boldness to assail his master, 257, 258 ; his t-vr.KX. 319 behaviour in the cave, 261, 265 ; he sleeps, and his prisoners escape, 269 ; he con- spires for the destruction of Heme by gunpowder, 271, 272. If'ox, Lady Mary, her drawinp:-room, 141. Fytton, Mark, the butcher, is driven out of the Garter Inn, for abuse of the king, 11 ; his vituperation of Anne Boleyn and Wolsey, 12 ; he drinks the health of Queen Catherine, 12 ; is seized, and conveyed to the Curfew donjon, 13 — 15 ; is carried before Henry, 30 ; is londemned summarily by the king, vho witnesses the execution, 31, 32 ; his Dody, pendent from the Curfew battle- ments, startles the Earl of Surrey, 52 ; where the vice-chamberlain and Rich- mond next saw Mark's body suspended, and -what scroll was empinned on his breast, 55 ; he becomes one of the demon Heme's band, 76, 87 ; his coffin in the Curfew Tower, 223 ; the mysterious scroll attached to it, 234 ; Henry orders the body to be burnt, 234. Garter, order of the, grand feasts held by Henry the Eighth in Saint George's Hall, 4, 288 ; garter king-at-arms, the prelate of the order, and black-rod, their cos- tume, 19 ; barge of the prelate, and dean, 20, 27 ; election, by King Henry, of Sir Thomas Boleyn, Viscount Rochford, costume of the king and knights, 35 ; the collar, 35 ; a chapter held, 36 ; the cere- mony, and the tine imposed on Sir Tho- mas Cheney, 37 ; the admonition to the new knight, 37 ; the chain, and the garter, 37 ; the first installation of knights by Edward the Third, 143, 144; the insignia and motto, 143, 144 ; the officers of the order, 145, 150 ; the most illus- trious of the knights, 145, 151, 157; chapels and tombs, 154, 155 ; Urswick Chapel, and cenotaph of her royal high- ness the Princess Charlotte of Wales, 155. Garter Inn, at Windsor, 9, 10, 11, 19 ; what passed there, after the condemnation of Queen Anne, 311, 312. Garter Tower, the, 31, 127, 139 ; release of Morgan Fenwolf from the guard- chamber of this tower, 122 — 127 ; the ancient lower chamber, 124 ; the in- terior in ruins, 125, 140. George the Fourth, his tower, 88 ; his gate- way, 164 ; additions to the splendour of this royal residence in his reign, 165 — 169. George, Saint, of Cappadocia, Chapel of, Windsor Castle, 4, 33, 143, 150,168; the cloisters, tortuous passages, and ca- nons' houses, 52, 58, 123, 157 ; the old College Church built by Henry the Third, 139; style of the new chapel, built by Edward the Fourth, 146, 150; the groined ceiling, and arms of the knights, 151 ; interior, looking towards the choir, 152 ; painted window over the altar, and in- ternal decorations, 153 ; tHe west end, 154; Legend of, 152. George's Day, Saint, 4, 144, 287 ; scutcheon of Saint George, 19 ; collar of, 35 ; cele- bration of the Saint's festival, 38. 157 ; silver box containing his heart, 39, 149. George's Hall, Saint, 147, 166; arras, re- presenting the Legend of Saint George^ architecture, &c., 41. Geraldine, the Fair, her family, 25 ; suit of the Earl of Surrey to the Lady Eliza beth Fitzgerald, 4 ; her beauty, dres^ and situation as a lady to Anne Boleyn 25 ; she is beloved by Surrey, 25, 50 ; the gold cross by her given to Surrey, 50, 105 ; Surrey asks her to meet him in the Cloisters, which is reported by Will Som- mers to Richmond, the rival of the earl, 67 ; a duel with swords, the result of her granting this favour to Surrey, 59 ; shft is ordered to withdraw from the court, 72, 103, 282 ; she plights her troth to Surrey, 85 ; vision of his mistress shewn to Surrey in prison by the demon Heme, 102 — 105 ; her meeting with Surrey in the moat of the Round Tower, 245, et seq.; the royal mandate prevents their marriage, 284, 285. Hagthome, Valentine, his grotesque ard frightful equipment, 64 ; he advises old Lyndwood, 64, 97 ; conducts Fenwolf tv the haunted dell, 65 ; search for, 177, 186. Hampton Court, 4 ; George the First and Second at, 162 ; wine in the cardinal's cellars, 194, 218 ; the palace is made a gift, by Wolsey to Henry, 218. Henry the First holds his court in the palace of Windsor, and causes homage to be done by his barons to the Empress Maud, 136 ; the keep built by, 146. Henry the Second, allegorical picture in the castle, of the ingratitude of his sons, 137. Henry the Third, his architectural em- bellishments of the castle and palace, 138 ; he built the Curfew, Garter, Salisbury, and Henry the Third's, towers, 139, 140, 147, 236 ; the high chamber, near the chapel, and other edifices, by this monarch, 141 ; his daughter, Margaret of Scotland, 142. Henry the Fourth, the appeal of arms, and his exile, when Duke of Lancaster, 147 ; conspiracy of Aumerle, and confinement at Windsor of the children of Mortimer, Earl of March, 147. Henry the Fifth, 149. Henry the Sixth, reign of, 148, 149, 151 his tomb in Saint George's Chapel, 154. Henry the Seventh, the architectural wprk. of, 139, 151, 154, 157, 190. Henry the Eighth, King, the twentietX year of his reign, 1 ; sentiments of respect and of disrespect towards the bluff kin^* by certain men of Windsor, 10 — 13, 175*, his jealousy well understood, and by whom, 24 ; his public meeting with 320 i:\:jr.: Anne Boleyn, on the arrival of the state procession near the castle, 27 ; his figure, features, and costume, 28, 35 ; his ■welcome to the Lady Anne, 29, 33 ; his arbitrary condemnation of Fytton, the butcher of Windsor, 31 ; his speech in the presence-chamber regarding his in- tended divorce, whan he creates Anne Boleyn Marchioness of Pembroke, 34, 35 ; presides at a Chapter of the Garter, 36 ; menaces Wolsey, 37 ; his conversa- tion with Anne Boleyn until supper, 38 ; he pledges the health of his intended queen at a banquet, 42 ; the royal lists, and how Henry distinguished his skill in the tourney, 56 ; the royal hunt in the forest, 61 — 68; his skill with the bow, 65 ; he casts an eye on Mabel Lyndwood, the for*>ster's grand-daughter, 66 ; his displeasure excited by Anne Boleyn's conduct at the royal hunt, 68 ; he nearly detects Wyat in the apartment of Anne, 71 ; his apologies to his mistress for his suspicion, 73 ; his confidence in Wolsey gives place to anger against the cardinal, by the persuasions of Anne Boleyn, 74 ; his commission to Wyat for Francis the First, 73, 81 ; his life menaced by Wyat, 82 ; dalliance with Lady Anne, 88 ; is in- flamed by Wolsey 's report of the forester's grandchild, and resolves to visit her in disguise, with Suffolk only in his com- pany, 96, 97 ; his reception by Tristram ftnd Mabel Lyndwood, 99 ; pretends to be a belated merchant from Guildford, 99 ; how he speaks tenderly to the beautiful cottager, 100 ; his customary oaths, 100, 176, 179 ; his merchandise consists of a parcel of kisses, 101 ; his exclamation to Suffolk, 102 ; diabolical conspiracy against his royal person, 114; he is lavish in commendation of Mabel's charms, 115; he meets Mabel in the forest, who warns him of the design of Heme's band, 116; his resolve to punish them on the morrow, 117, 121 ; his wish to see Heme face to face responded to. 118; fearful combat, evidencing Henry's personal valour, 118 ; he is about to be murdered, when Wyat saves Henry's life, 119 ; his address to Wyat, palpably convicted of treason, 119 ; he generously pardons Sir Thomas Wyat, and dismisses him, 120 ; his threat to Heme in the tree, 121 ; he places Captain Bouchier, with a guard, to watch the spot till the morrow, 121 ; with his train of nobles and arquebusiers, he destroys the demon's band, but Heme escapes, 128 — 132 ; his interview with Queen Catherine in the Urswick Chapel, 177 ; what ill-presaged promise he makes her, 179 ; he avows to Anne the sad con- dition regarding her constancy, 182 ; his encounter with Heme in a storm, on the North Terrace, 183—185; fearful prophecy of his death uttered by the fiend, 185; he enters the royal kitchen during a violent quarrel of the two jesters, 195 { he listens to Will Sommers as to the cardinal's hidden treasures, 198 ; he orders the two jesters to decide their quarrel, and see which is the better man, 198 ; his vacillations between Wolsey and Anne, Marchioness of Pembroke, 216; endeavour of Wolsey to propitiate the king by treasure and the gift of Hampton Court, 217; what princesses are proposed by Wolsey to Henry ta espouse, 219 ; his arbitrary threats to the Lyndwoods, 222 ; his signet, 222 ; his loss of it, 230 ; his anger at the Lady Anne, on reading her letters to Wyat, and his suavity towards his queen, 227, 228, 229 ; his courageous attack on Heme in the Curfew Tower, 233; solemn manner of his dismissal of Cardinal Wolsey, 234, 240, 241 ; he is cited to Rome by the cardinals, under penalty, 239 ; Henry alleges in council the mal- versations of Wolsey, who departs humbled from Windsor, 240, 241 ; his fearful adventure, as Hugh Dacre, in the forest, and his commiseration for Mabel Lyndwood's fate, 275—278; birth of Elizabeth, 284 ; his passion for Jane Seymour, 285 ; his portrait occasions dis- sension between the queen and this lady, 286 ; his jealousy excited, and he broods over his discontent, 287 ; his courtship of Jane Seymour, witnessed by Queen Anne, 289, 291 ; he consults Suffolk and Norfolk as to the queen's conduct, 295 ; he reproaches her, 297 ; he is foiled at the jousts by Sir Henry Norris, 302 ; his anger on witnessing the queen's con- descension to the victor, 302, 303 ; he stops the tourney, and rides off, 303 ; he orders Anne to be arrested and sent to the Tower, 303, 307 ; the king is inexorable, 306, 309 ; prison chamber of Henry the Eighth's Gateway, 13, 60, 157, 189, 305 ; what warning against crime is given him by Heme the Hunter, 309 v he orders a signal gun to be fired, and the royal standard to be lowered on the keep, on the announcement of the queen's execution, 310 ; his disguised visit to the Garter hostelry, and what converse he participates in, 312; he quits the hunt, and repairs alone to Snow Hill, where he contemplates, in imagination, the fall of his queen under the axe, 314; what speech Heme the Hunter makes to him at this fatal moment, 315 ; Henry's in- tended tomb in Saint George's Chapel never completed, 155. Heralds, kings-of-arms, and their costume, &c.. Garter, 19, 41 ; Clarenceux and Norroy, 35, 39. Heme the Hunter, and the scathed oak, in Windsor Park, his chief haunt, 5, 6, 8^ 43, 202 ; he appears to the Earl of Surrey, 7; his confederate band, 13, 53, 110, 114, 119, 209; his former reputation as a INDEX. 321 marksman with the arrow, i8 ; his appa- rition in the park and castle related by various personages, 25 ; vague reports as to the origin of his mysterious voca- tion, 26; the ghostly chase. Heme and his steed and charmed companions beheld by Lords Richmond and Surrey, 44 ; his black hounds, and various accompani- ments, 44, 47, 48 ; Morgan Fenwolf and Heme in the chase, 48, 52 ; th** youthful lords revisit the mysterious oak in quest of Fenwolf, 54 ; guided by the winding of Heme's horn, they pursue the spectral hunter, 55 ; who were the spectral band, 55 ; his frequent apparitions, 62, 86, 89, 90 ; pursuit of him in the forest, 76 ; he plunges into the lake, 77 ; compact of Sir Thomas Wyat with this fiend, 89, 91, 106, 107 ; how Heme shews the Earl of Surrey the fair Geraldine in a vision, 102 — 105 ; he obtains Surrey's talisman, 1 05 ; his boast of his power over Wyat and Anne Boleyn, 104 ; he exhibits the shadowy form of Lady Anne to Wyat in the cave, 106 ; what wine he gives Wyat to quaff, 107 ; he renews his reckless chase of a noble hart, 108, 111 ; its dismemberment, 110; he breaks up a second stag after killing it in the great lake. 111; he promises to Wyat that he will deliver King Henry into his hands, 114; he plans to take the king in the forest, and how the design was carried out, 116 ; he defies the king in the forest, 118 ; the fiend urges Wyat to strike the king, 120 ; he derides the angry monarch, 121 ; those who had sold themselves to him had no hope of God's mercy, 122 ; his disguise as a monk of Chertsey Abbey, 124 ; he releases Fenwolf from his dun- geon, 125, 127 ; how Heme the Hunter was himself hunted, 128, 132 ; his con- federates are hanged on the trees, 129 ; their removal by the fiend, 129 ; Heme's personal escape, 130 ; he again haunts the forest, 177 ; what passes on the castle terrace at night betwixt the fiend and the king, 183, 185 ; " The Legend of Heme the Hunter," his loss of skill with the bow, 202—211; his return from Philip Urswick's hut, wearing antlers, and a rusty chain, 207 ; he hanged him- self on the oak, and re-appeared, mounted his black horse, and hunted in the forest, 207, 208, 210; the "curse of Heme's blood " falls on Osmond Crooke, 207 ; his first spell-bound band, 208 ; he causes Richard the Second to hang this envious band, who were his previous enemies, 211 ; his abduction of a nun, 211 ; his account of his former love, 263; his hammering in the upper chamber of the Curfew Tower, 213, 215 ; he wrests the signet from Henry, 223, 230 ; it enables him to enter the prison of the Lynd- woods and effect their escape, 230, 231 ; le informs Wolsey of Mabel's parentage. and has commission to go to Esher for rich caskets for the maiden, 237, 238 ; his assistance to the Earl of Surrey, 249, 253 ; his love- suit to Mabel, how en- forced, 257, 261, et seq. ; he overpowers Fenwolf, 257 ; he hints to Mabel that Wolsey is her father, 264 ; plot to destroy Heme by gunpowder, 271 ; how the train was fired, 274 ; he captures Mabel in the king's presence, 276 ; he dashes with her into the burning wood, 277 ; how he participated in guise of a monk at the masqued fete in the castle, 289, 300 ; what converse he holds with Sir Henry Norris, 291, 293, 297; his ad- vice to Norris at the jousts, 302 ; he offers the queen to set her and Norris free on certain conditions, which she re- jects for her soul's sake, 307, 308 ; he warns the king against shedding the blood of Anne Boleyn, 309 ; his last address to Henry, 315. Howard, Lady Mary, maid of honour to Anne Boleyn, her partiality for the young Duke of Richmond, 25 ; her alarm on hearing of the fiend-like hunter, 60 ; her remarks respecting her brother Surrey, 51 ; the Duke of Richmond courts her, 252 ; their nuptials, 285. Hundred steps, the, 52, 127, 261 ; improve- ments near them to be effected, 168 ; the bastion, and the ancient steps, 216, 309. James, Prince, (James the First of Scot- land,) his captivity at Windsor, his love of Jane of Beaufort, his poem, the " King's Quair," and his bower in the dry moat of the Round Tower, 148, 247. James the First of England, 159. James the Second, reign of, 156, 161. John, reign of the usurper, 137 ; his wan and death, 138 ; his tower, 166. John, King of France, 145. Joungevello, Giovanni, 192. Jousts and tournaments, lists, &c.. regno Edward the Third, 143 ; by Henry the Eighth, 51, 56, 299, et aeq. Kitchen, the royal, cooks and turnspits, 191 ; the feast, by Whom partaken, 192 j battle of the fools, 198. Lamelyn, Domingo, 192, 195. Lapp, Gabriel, verderer, 63, 66, 13L Lyndwood, Mabel, her exceeding beauty, 63 ; her forest lover, 63, 64, 97 ; she is desirous of seeing the king, 64 ; views of Wolsey, with regard to her, 91, 94, 96; her account of her family, and of Sister Anastasia, 95, 96 ; her admiration of Henry the Eighth, 95, 97, 98, 116; a stranger accompanies Fenwolf to her cottage, 98 ; the next visitors, 100 ; she warns Henry and Suffolk of danger in the forest, from evil spirits, 101 ; how the monarch salutes her, 101, 102, 200 her mysterious parentage, 115; she ad* 322 iNDax. vises the king in the forest, 116, 117; she intercedes for Wyat, 119, 120; her prayers during a storm, 185 ; she sets out, under care of Nicholas Clamp, 187 ; an adventure on the -way, 188 ; her recep- tion by Simon Quanden and his wife, 191, 193 ; her discourse with King Henry, 199 ; her resemblance to the nun who had dwelt with Heme, 211, 212; her chamber 212 ; is introduced to her grand- father's prison, 221 ; the escape, 231 ; how Heme warns Wolsey of his interest in this maiden, his daughter, 237, 238, 264 ; she is sought by her admirer, Wyat, 259 ; in what manner Heme declared his passion for Mabel, 261, 265 ; she listens to his historj-, 263 ; she escapes with Wyat, 269, 270, 273 ; pity excited by the distressed damsel, 276 ; she is seized by Heme, 276 ; he carries her into the burning wood, 277 ; found drowned in the lake, 278. Lyndwood, Tristram, the old forester, 62 ; he takes his grand-daughter Mabel to his solitary cottage, 95 ; his vexation at "VVolsey's visit, 97 ; the lake near his fcottage, 94, 98 ; his dog, 99 ; he returns to supper, 98 ; entertains Henry in dis- guise, 99, 101 ; his hut struck by lightning, 185 ; is carried prisoner to the castle, 177, 199, 200—231 ; what befel him in the Curfew dungeon, 212 ; how he was interrogated, 220 ; by whom liberated, 228, 260, 262, 269 ; his com- pact with Fenwolf, 271, 273.* his grief for Mabel, 278. Mary the First, 158, 159, 253. Masqued fete, on Saint George's Day, 286. Norfolk, Duke of, 20, 71, 128, 251; he presides at the trial of Queen Anne in the White Tower of London, 310. Norman Tower, and the garden, 30, 141; its gateway, 83, 102, 157, 165. Norris, Sir Henry, 236 ; is possessed of a miniature of Queen Anne, 286 ; what passed betwixt him and the monk, 289, 291 ; his desperate love for Queen Anne, 292, 296, 304 ; he refuses to league with Heme, 297 ; he discomfits the king at the jousts, 301, 302 ; results of his im- prudence, 303—305. Osmond Crooke, keeper, 204 — 211. xford, Earl of (regno Richard the Second), 208. Oxford, Earl of (regno Henry the Eighth), 38, 40 ; his daughter, 295. Patch, jester to Wolsey, 91, 92, 193 ; his anger at the speeches of Will Sommers, 194 j mutual invectives, 195, 198 ; he meets the king in the cloisters, 223, Philip of Castile, and his queen, 157 QuandMa. 6imon and Deborah. 193 198. Richard Cceur de Lion, 137. Richard the Second, reign of, appeal ol arms made by Henry of Lancaster against Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, 147; the king and young keeper of the forest, Heme— a Legend, 292 — 211. Richard the Third, reign of, 157. Richmond, Duke of, 9 ; his personal ap- pearance, and costume, 24, 26, 35 ; is ad- mired ' y Mary Howard, 25, 50 ; his love of the Fair Geraldine, 42, 200 ; he ac- companies Surrey to Heme's Oak, 43, 48, 49 ; seeds of dissensions, 50 ; reconcilia- tion, 51 ; he accompanies the earl, 52— 54 ; his conduct in the cloisters, 59 ; he intercedes with the king for Surrey, 72 ; his expedition into the forest, 75 ; he de- parts from the castle, 103 ; a vision of the duke kneeling to Geraldine, 105 ; his generous behaviour in King James's Bower, 252 ; he turns his thoughts to the Lady Mary Howard, 252 ; he rides out with Surrey, and what companions join them, 255—278 ; his marriage, 285. Rochford, the Lord, brother of Anne Boleyn, 301, 309. Round Tower of Windsor Castle, the, 72, 83, 149, 238 ; built by Henry the First and Third, description, 141; re-edified by Edward the Fourth, 147; the bower of James of Scotland in the dry moat, 103, 148, 245, 247 ; distant perspective views of the keep, 166 ; twelve counties enumerated from its battlements, 168; its height, 168 ; the staircase, 248. 254 • the standard, 315. ^ Salisbury Tower, 139, 140. Sand-stone cave of the lake Leax Tristram Lyndwood's hut, 91, 106,255, et seq. Scotland, Queens of, at Windsor, 142, 145, 148; Alexander III, King of, 142; David, King of, 144; James I, when prince, a prisoner at Windsor, 148, 247 ; James VL, 159. Seymour, Jane, daughter of Sir John Seymour, maid of honour to Queen Anne, 285 ; affair of the portraits, 286 ; her tete-a-tete with the king at the masqued fete, 289, 290; the king's re- mark on the terms required by the lady, 280 ; the king's salutation to her at the jousts at Windsor, 301 ; the queen de- nounces her in vain, being herself a prisoner, 304 ; Henry's resolve to make her his queen, 309, 310. Shoreditch, Duke of, (Barlow the archer,}' and his comrades, the Marquises oi* Clerkenwell, Islington, Hogsden, Pan- eras, and Paddington, 11, 12, 18, 30, 75, 131, 193,232,274, 300, 311. Snow Hill, Windsor Forest, £ ""'^,161 236, 255, 313, 314. Sommers, Will, the king's jester, 22 j his costume and temper, 23 ; his spite against Wolsey, 23, 29 ; his pleasantries t^x • hp admonishes W^at, 23, 42, 51, 7 INDEX. 323 he banters the Duke of Richmond, 42 ; he excites the jealousy of Richmond against Surrey, 67, 58; he espies the white owl in the oak, 132; his speech to Mabel, 192 ; he taunts Patch, 194 ; he denounces him to the king, 195, 197 ; his contest with flower-bags, and vic- tory over Patch, 198 ; his insolent tri- umph on the fall of Wolsey, 237, 240. Spring Hill, 91, 163,275. Suffolk, Charles Brandon, Duke of, 21, 42, 56; he attends Henry the Eighth, 97; their visit to Mabel, and Tristram Lyndwood, 99 ; his advice, 115; his valour in defence of the king, 118, 119 ; he reminds Henry that Wyat had just Baved his life, 120 ; he warns Fenwolf of his impending death, 122 ; is commanded to discover the fugitive, 128; his per- suasions to the monarch, 229, 233 ; his reproach to Wolsey on his downfall, 241 ; he accompanies (as Tony Cry spy n) the king (under the name of Hugh Dacre), and what fearful things they witness, 275, 276 ; officiates as judge of the lists, 300 — 303; arrests Queen Anne, 303, 306; conveys her, by water, to London, 307 ; he sees the queen executed, 310; his tomb, 155. Surrey, the youthful earl of, 3, 38, 51 ; his admiration of Geraldine, 4, 51 ; is warned by Bouchier, 5 ; he sees Heme in the haunted dell, 7 ; scene witnessed by him at the Garter hostelry, 11, 13, 16; visits the Curfew Tower, 16 ; attends at Wind- sor, 24 ; his suit and poetry addressed to Geraldine, 25, 42, 85 , he leads Rich- mond to the haunted dell, where they witness the demon hunting, 43, 52, 54 ; Geraldine gives him a relic of power against spirits, 50, 54 ; how he bore away the ring, 57 ; his meeting with Elizabeth Fitzgerald, 57, 58; he is arrested, 59, 60, 200; how he saves Wyat, 71; is immured in the Round Tower, 72, 75, 246 ; is visited by Wyat, 83, 85, 86 ; is visited by Heme, and beholds Geraldine and Richmond in a vision, 102, 105, 249 ; his loss of the talisman, 105 ; how he met Geraldine in King James's bower, and was surprised by Richmond, 245, et teq. ; the fiend Heme assists the earl, 249, 253 ; his vows interchanged with the Lady Fitzgerald, 250, 253; he regains his prison, 254 ; his release, and expedi- tion with Richmond, 255 ; their agree- ment with Sir Thomas Wyat, 266 ; who became their companions, 274 ; his tra- vels and constancy, 282 ; his disappoint- ment in his first love, and his marriage with Lady Frances Vere, 293 ; he enters the lists at the jousts at Windsor, 301. Tomb-House, Wolsey's, 66, 58, 139, 155 ; its catacombs and internal construction, 156 ; royal personages therein entombed, 167. Urswick, Philip (or Arnold Sheafe, out- lawed for deer-stealing), 204 — 209. Victoria, her Majesty, Queen, 169, 174. Victoria Tower, described, 165, 174; beauty of, 165 ; garden beneath it, 165. Virginia Water, 46, 94, 98, 164. William the Conqueror, his fortress anu royal chase, 136. William Rufus, 136. William IIL, reign of, 162. William IV., reign of, 168. Winchester, Bishop of, 19, 144. Winchester Tower, the, 146, 168 ; line of walls to it from the Powder Tower, 165. Windsor Castle, the north terrace wall, and Home Park described, 2 ; St. George's Chapel, 4, 143 ; drawbridge and moat, 5, 141 ; the ramparts and numerous towers, 6, 52, 83, 139, 147, 150, 159, 165, 166, 184 ; processions of Henry VHI. and Anne Boleyn, the two cardinals and others, to the castle, 17—29; the Alms-Knights' houses and Lieutenant's Tower, 29, 140 ; St. George's Hall, 38, 138 ; the keep, or Round Tower, 72, 141 ; covered way from it to the Norman Tower, 84 ; prison of the Norman Tower, 141, 159; moat of the Round Tower, 103, 245 ; north ter- race, Elizabeth's gallery, and gardei 158 ; distant prospects of the castle, 9^ 109, 115, 135, 166; the Garter Tower, 31, 122, 139 ; history of the construction of this superb royal castle: — the first two epochs, 135 — 142 ; the third great epoch, 143 — 149; the fourth epoch, and St. George's Chapel rebuilt by Edward IV., 150 — 159 ; history of the castle from the days of Charles II. to the reign of George III., 160—164 ; the last great epoch in the history of the castle, 164 ; House of Brunswick and Hanover, 162 — 168; her Majesty Queen Victoria, 169, 174; the royal library, 158; the Star Front, or Stuart Buildings, by Wren, 156, 161 ; improvements, 162—168 ; th«» slopes from the terrace, 162 ; George th€ Fourth's gateway, 164— 169 ; the State entrance Tower, 166; the upper quad- rangle delineated, 167; its south side, 196 ; circumference of the castle, and prospects from its towers, 168 ; the roya, kitchen, 191 ; entrance to the New Corn- commons, 222, 223 ; prison-chamber in Henry VIII. 's gateway, 305 ; damage by a storm and by fire, 142. Windsor Park and Forest, the Little Park, or Home Park, and beech-tree, 5, 160, 162 ; haunted dell, conducting to the Thames side at Datchet, 6 — 8, 130; Heme's oak, and its fearful spectral huntsmen, 6—9, 43—48, 55, 202; the Great Park, Long Walk, and old beech- tree, on the road to Virginia Water, 46 — 47 ; oak-trees and haunted pool on the Froamore side, 44 ; the beeches and pool A^4 iiJDEii:. iH'ir the Long Walk, 45,46; old beech and other timber, 47, 67, 187, 209 ; glade betwixt Spring Hill and Cooke's Hill wood. 91, 92, 163; Black Nest and marsh, 92 ; adventures on the great lake, 94, 96, 164; the boat on the lake, 94, 98, 1 1 2, 1 86 ; Bray Wood, 98 ; Sand-stone cave of the lake, 106—114; view of the castle from the Adelaide Peep, 115 ; Heme the ieclared lord of the forest, 118, 209 ; and ■will haunt the forest so long as it endures, 211 ; the oaks between Lachester Lodge and Hardiman's Gate, 128 ; Queen Anne's Ride, 128; the oak in the glade destroyed, branch and root, 130, 131 ; cavity at its roots, the retreat of the fiend, 130; it is earthed up, 132 ; William the Conqueror exchanges lands in Essex with Abbot Edwin for the forest and Windsor, 136 ; King John signs the Charta de Foresta, 137 ; the Long Walk planned by Charles the Second, and his avenue, 161, 163. *^ indsor, town of, described, 2, 17 ; Garter inn, Thames-street, 9 — 12 ; the Curfew Tower, 10 — 16 ; influx of visitors, 18 ; mayor and burgesses of, 19, 20, 27 ; the ancient Wyndleshore, 136; the castle hill, 158 ; proposed improvements, 169. Windsor, Old, and vicinity, 44. '^olsey, Cardinal, consults at Hampton Court with Henry on the subject of his divorce, 4 ; derision of him as a butcher's son, 12, 23, 37 ; he presents a letter from Catherine to the king, and inter- rupts Henry's interview with Anne Boleyn, 73 ; he desires the death of Anne, 82 ; he raises up a rival to her in Mabel Lyndwood, 91, 96 ; some rumour of his early amours, 115; his jester Patch reports the cardinals having granted time to Queen Catherine, whereupon the secrets i>f Wolsey's cellars at Hampton are di- vulged by Will Sommers, 194 ; the car- dinal, sensible of danger, offers Henry this vast treasure and the palace of Hampton, 217, 218 ; his momentary tri- umph over Anne Boleyn, 222 — 228 ; he receives an important despatch from the legate, 225 ; he espouses the cause of Queen Catherine, 226 ; his influence nearly regained, 228 ; the cardinal pub- Mcly disgraced by the king, 234 ; his journey from Esher to Windsor, 235, 236 ; his ill reception, 236, 237 ; he is subjected to the impertinence of Will Sommers, 237 ; is disgraced by Henry in the presence-chamber, 240 ; what awfu\ warning he gives to Anne Boleyn, 241 ; he departs from Henry's presence, 241 , Heme declares to Mabel that Wolsey is her father, 264 ; he dies in despair in the Abbey of Leicester, 283. Wyat, Sir Thomas, 3 ; he attends Anne Boleyn in the procession, 22 ; he is ad- monished by the jester. Will Sommers, 23, 42 ; his regard for the Earl of Surrey, 51 ; is sent for by Anne Boleyn, 51 ; how he is foiled in running a course at the ring, 56; he saves Anne Boleyn, when attacked by a stag, 66, 68 ; his visit to her in her apartment, 69, 82 ; how Surrey befriends the knight, 71 ; Wyat is commanded on a mission to Francis the First, 73, 81 ; his treasonable interview with Cardinal Wolsey, 82 ; he visits Surrey in the Round Tower, 83 ; their converse, 85 ; he beholds Anne Boleyn with the king, which inflames his jealousy, 29, 84 — 89 ; his compact with Heme, 89, 106, 112; he calls the mys- terious hunter to appear, 90 ; what befel him in the Sand-stone cave, at the Great Lake, 91 ; he there beholds Anne Boleyn's shadowy resemblance, 106 ; the fiend promises her to Wyat, 107 ; he drinks a maddening potion, and mount- ing one of the demon's black hunters, emerges through the pool with Heme, 107, 108; he joins the wild hunt, 107, 108, 109, et seq. ; he again drains the fiend's wine-gourd, and is conveyed to the Sand-stone cave. 111 ; his converse with Fenwolf, 112, 113; how the king is to be surrendered to Wyat, 114; he slays the intended regicide, 119; the king pardons Wyat, 120, 201, 256 ; he inspires Mabel Lyndwood with tender sentiments, 201 ; his adventures in the Sand-stone cave, 254 — 261, 268; he meets Surrey in the forest, 256 ; Heme's menace to Wyat, 263; he resists the temptation of the fiend, 267 ; escapes, 270 ; his conduct at the jousts, 301. Wyat, Mr. James, architect, 162. Wyatville, Sir Jeffry, architect, 146; his splendid improvements, 165 — 169. Wykeham, William of. Bishop of Win- chester, edifices built by, 146, 166, 167. York and Lancaster Towers, 166. York, Archbishop of, see Wolsey. THE END. roiTDON : WHIIXHO AKB CO., 30 & 82, SABDINIA BTBBBT, U»C0I.ir'BnrKBIBIJ>5.