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 staircase 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 restoration of the structure.

Conducted to a low vaulted chamber in this tower, the prisoner was cast
upon its floor-for he was still hound 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 Herne 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?" demanded the friar, as soon as they were alone.

"Certes, I repent having put faith in a treacherous fiend, 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 deliverance?" 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 tone
from that previously adopted by the speaker, and raised himself as far
as his bonds would permit him. The friar had thrown hack his cowl, and
disclosed features of appalling hideousness, lighted up by a diabolical
grin.

"You here!" cried Fenwolf.

"You doubted me," rejoined Herne, "but I never desert a follower.
Besides, I wish to show 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 Herne; "but your escape is
attended with more difficulty. You remember h