Of the Visit of the
Two Guildford Merchants to the
Forester’s Hut.
Tristam 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 sorry we went to the hunting
party,” he observed. “Valentine Hagthorne
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 than on you,” rejoined Tristram.
“But I warrant me you told the cardinal your
history all you know of it, at least.”
“I did so,” she replied;
“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 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 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 splendour, 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 occupation, the door suddenly opened,
and Morgan Fenwolf 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 produced on the stranger,
for he scarcely bestowed a look upon her.
Morgan Fenwolf hastily asked whether
her grandsire was at home, or near at hand, and being
answered in the negative, appeared much disappointed.
He then said that he must borrow the skiff 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 boathouse, 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 express the least astonishment
at Fenwolf’s prolonged absence, but said that
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 dinner 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 daresay I shall see
him anon,” said Tristram. “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 by which he was attended.
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 granddaughter,
and having washed them down with a jug of mead, declared
he had supped famously. While taking care of
himself, 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 platterful 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 concern, and was singing a lulling
melody to her grandfather, in a voice of exquisite
sweetness, 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 Morgan Fenwolf,”
he added. “He would never knock thus.
Come in, friend, whoever thou art.”
At this invitation two persons darkened
the doorway. The foremost was a man of bulky
frame and burly demeanour. He was attired in a
buff jerkin, over which he wore a loose great 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 we 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 Tristram, “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,
regarding Mabel, “you have a comely daughter.”
“She is my granddaughter, sir,” replied
Tristram.
“Well, your granddaughter, then,”
said the other; “by the mass, a lovely wench.
We 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 La Roy,” replied Brandon, laughing,
“for they say the king visits with the halter
all those who disparage the charms of the Lady Anne
Boleyn. But, comparisons apart, this damsel is
very fair.”
“You will discompose her, my
masters, if you praise her thus to her face,”
said Tristram somewhat testily. “Here, Mab,
bring forth all my scanty larder affords, and put
some rashers of bacon 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 fireplace. “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 bluffly.
“I have seen some one very like
you, master,” replied Tristram, “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.”
“You are vain of the likeness,
I see, master,” replied Tristram, joining in
the laugh. “How say you, Mab?” he
added to his granddaughter, 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 Henry, rounding his arm and placing his hand
on his lusty thigh in true royal fashion.
“Were you the royal Henry, I
should not care for your preference,” 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.
“Heaven help us! you swear the
king’s oaths,” said Mabel. “And
wherefore not, sweetheart?” said Harry, checking
himself. “It is enough to make one swear,
and in a royal fashion too, 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 constancy 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 grand-sire
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 much occupied 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 had received
the cup from Mabel, and drained it to her health.
He then drew back, closed the door softly, and joined
a dark and mysterious figure, with hideous linéaments
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
park.”
“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 from 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,” replied Harry, laughing. “I
am on the look-out for a wife, and I know not but
I may take your granddaughter 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, sweet-heart! 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.”