ing of this Fenwolf?" asked Surrey, as they proceeded
on their way.

"Nothing particular," replied Bryan, with some hesitation. "There are
some strange reports about him, but I don't believe 'em."

"What reports are they, friend?" asked the Duke of Richmond.

"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 Herne 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 nothing--but then, to
be sure, I never go there. The keepers used to talk of Herne 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 dwelling.

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
show 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 lighted 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. "Show us his
chamber, dame."

The old crone sullenly complied, and, throwing 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 of fishing-nets, a
hu