"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 thunder, and the dance of the blithe lightning.""Avaunt, fiend!" cried Henry."I will hold no converse with thee.Back to thy native hell!""You have no power over me, Harry," rejoined the demon, his 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 he three days before your end--ha! ha!""Darest thou say this to me!" cried Henry furiously.
"I laugh at thy menaces," rejoined Herne, amid another peal of thunder--" but I have not yet done.Harry of England! your career shall be stained in blood.Your wrath shall descend 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 kin--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 shown, 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.
III.How Mabel Lyndwood was taken to the Castle by 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, though evidently much alarmed, uttered not a single supplication, but remained sitting in his chair with a sullen, scared look.As the thunder died away, he recovered his composure, and addressed himself to soothe the fears of his granddaughter.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, succeeded, 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 thunderstorm.Why do you not pray, grandfather?""Do not trouble me.I have no fear."
"But your cheeks and lips are blanched," rejoined Mabel; "and Iobserved 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 sulphureous smell."The cottage is struck!""It is--it is!" cried Tristram, springing to his feet and rushing forth.
For a few minutes Mabel continued in a state of stupefaction.She then staggered to the door, and beheld her grandfather 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 afterwards the plash of oars was heard en 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 Hagthorne 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 banished from them during the greater part of the night, now fell upon her lovely eyelids.
