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 I observed
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.
When she awoke, the day was far advanced,
but still old Tristram had not returned; and with
a heavy heart she set about her household concerns.
The thought, however, of her anticipated visit to the
castle speedily dispelled her anxiety, and she began
to make preparations for setting out, attiring herself
with unusual care. Bouchier had not experienced
much difficulty in persuading her to obey the king’s
behest, and by his artful representations he had likewise
induced her grandfather to give his consent to the
visit the old forester only stipulating
that she should be escorted there and back by a falconer,
named Nicholas Clamp, in whom he could put trust;
to which proposition Bouchier readily assented.
At length five o’clock, the
appointed hour, arrived, and with it came Nicholas
Clamp. He was a tall, middle-aged man, with yellow
hair, clipped closely over his brows, and a beard
and moustaches to match. His attire resembled
that of a keeper of the forest, and consisted of a
doublet and hose of green cloth; but he did not carry
a bugle or hunting-knife. His sole weapon was
a stout quarter-staff. After some little hesitation
Mabel consented to accompany the falconer, and they
set forth together.
The evening was delightful, and their
way through the woods was marked by numberless points
of beauty. Mabel said little, for her thoughts
were running upon her grandfather, and upon his prolonged
and mysterious absence; but the falconer talked of
the damage done by the thunderstorm, which he declared
was the most awful he had ever witnessed; and he pointed
out to her several trees struck by the lightning.
Proceeding in this way, they gained a road leading
from Blacknest, when, from behind a large oak, the
trunk of which had concealed him from view, Morgan
Fenwolf started forth, and planted himself in their
path. The gear of the proscribed keeper was wild
and ragged, his locks matted and disordered, his demeanour
savage, and his whole appearance forbidding and alarming.
“I have been waiting for you
for some time, Mabel Lyndwood,” he said.
“You must go with me to your grandfather.”
“My grandfather would never
send you for me,” replied Mabel; “but if
he did, I will not trust myself with you.”
“The saints preserve us!”
cried Nicholas Clamp. “Can I believe my
eyes! do I behold Morgan Fenwolf!”
“Come with me, Mabel,” cried Fenwolf,
disregarding him.
But she returned a peremptory refusal.
“She shall not stir an inch!”
cried the falconer. “It is thou, Morgan
Fenwolf, who must go with me. Thou art a proscribed
felon, and thy life is forfeit to the king. Yield
thee, dog, as my prisoner!”
“Thy prisoner!” echoed
Fenwolf scornfully. “It would take three
such as thou art to make me captive! Mabel Lyndwood,
in your grandfather’s name, I command you to
come with me, and let Nick Clamp look to himself if
he dares to hinder you.”
“Nick will do something more
than hinder her,” rejoined the falconer, brandishing
his staff, and rushing upon the other. “Felon
hound! I command thee to yield!”
Before the falconer could reach him,
Morgan Fenwolf plucked a long hunting-knife from his
girdle, and made a desperate stab at his assailant.
But Clamp avoided the blow, and striking Fenwolf on
the shins, immediately afterwards closed with him.
The result was still doubtful, when
the struggle was suddenly interrupted by the trampling
of horse approaching from the side of Windsor; and
at the sound Morgan Fenwolf disengaged himself from
his antagonist and plunged into the adjoining wood.
The next moment Captain Bouchier rode up, followed
by a small band of halberdiers, and receiving information
from the falconer of what had occurred, darted with
his men into the wood in search of the fugitive.
Nicholas Clamp and his companion did not await the
issue of the search, but proceeded on their way.
As they walked at a brisk pace, they
reached the long avenue in about half-an-hour, and
took their way down it. When within a mile of
the castle they were overtaken by Bouchier and his
followers, and the falconer was much disappointed
to learn that they had failed in tracking Morgan Fenwolf
to his lair. After addressing a few complimentary
words to the maiden, Bouchier rode on.
Soon after this the pair quitted the
great park, and passing through a row of straggling
houses, divided by gardens and closes, which skirted
the foot of Castle Hill, presently reached the lower
gate. They were admitted without difficulty;
but just as they entered the lower ward the falconer
was hailed by Shoreditch and Paddington, who at the
moment issued from the doorway of the guard-room.
Clamp obeyed the call and went towards
them, and it was evident, from the gestures of the
archers, that they were making inquiries about Mabel,
whose appearance seemed to interest them greatly.
After a brief conversation with the falconer they
approached her, and, respectfully addressing her,
begged leave to attend her to the royal lodgings,
whither they understood she was going. No objection
being made to the proposal by Mabel, the party directed
their course towards the middle ward.
Passing through the gateway of the
Norman Tower, they stopped before a low portal in
a picturesque Gothic wing of the castle, with projecting
walls and bay-windows, which had been erected in the
preceding reign of Henry the Seventh, and was consequently
still in all its freshness and beauty.