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," replied 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 proverb," 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 intention 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 himself were vain, and a wild, demoniacal laugh, echoed by a
chorus of voices, proclaimed him in the power of Herne 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 Wyatt," 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, nevertheless. You are mine, and nothing can redeem you!"

"Woe is me that it should be so!" groaned Wyat.

"Lamentation is useless and unworthy of you," rejoined Herne scornfully.
"Your wish will be speedily accomplished. This very night your 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 Herne.
"His life will be at your disposal."

"Do you promise this?" cried Wyat.

"Ay," replied Herne. "Put yourself under the conduct of Fenwolf, and 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
fantastica