How Tristram Lyndwood
was interrogated by the King.
Anne Boleyn remained with her royal
lover for a few minutes to pour forth her gratitude
for the attachment he had displayed to her, and to
confirm the advantage she had gained over Wolsey.
As soon as she was gone, Henry summoned an usher,
and giving him some instructions respecting Mabel
Lyndwood, proceeded to the Curfew Tower.
Nothing was said to him of the strange
noise that had been heard in the upper chamber, for
the arquebusiers were fearful of exciting his
displeasure by a confession of their alarm, and he
descended at once to the dungeon.
“Well, fellow,” he cried,
sternly regarding the captive, who arose at his entrance,
“you have now had ample time for reflection,
and I trust are in a better frame of mind than when
I last spoke with you. I command you to declare
all you know concerning Herne the Hunter, and to give
me such information respecting the proscribed felon,
Morgan Fenwolf, as will enable me to accomplish his
capture.”
“I have already told your highness
that my mouth is sealed by an oath of secrecy,”
replied Tristram, humbly, but firmly.
“Obstinate dog! thou shalt either
speak, or I will hang thee from the top of this tower,
as I hanged Mark Fytton the butcher,” roared
Henry.
“You will execute your sovereign
pleasure, my liege,” said the old man.
“My life is in your hands. It is little
matter whether it is closed now or a year hence.
I have well nigh run out my term.”
“If thou carest not for thyself,
thou mayest not be equally indifferent to another,”
cried the king. “What ho! bring in his granddaughter.”
The old man started at the command,
and trembled violently. The next moment, Mabel
was led into the dungeon by Shoreditch and Paddington.
Behind her came Nicholas Clamp. On seeing her
grandsire, she uttered a loud cry and would have rushed
towards him, but she was held back by her companions.
“Oh grandfather!” she
cried, “what have you done?-why do I find you
here?”
Tristram groaned, and averted his head.
“He is charged with felony and
sorcery,” said the king sternly, “and you,
maiden, come under the same suspicion.”
“Believe it not, sire,”
cried the old man, flinging himself at Henry’s
feet; “oh, believe it not. Whatever you
may judge of me, believe her innocent. She was
brought up most devoutly, by a lay sister of the monastery
at Chertsey; and she knows nothing, save by report,
of what passes in the forest.”
“Yet she has seen and conversed
with Morgan Fenwolf,” the king.
“Not since he was outlawed,” said Tristram.
“I saw him to day,
as I was brought to the castle,” cried Mabel,
“and ” but recollecting that
she might implicate her grandfather, she suddenly
stopped.
“What said he? ha!” demanded
the king.
“I will tell your majesty what
passed,” interposed Nicholas Clamp, stepping
forward, “for I was with the damsel at the time.
He came upon us suddenly from behind a great tree,
and ordered her to accompany him to her grandsire.”
“Ha!” exclaimed the king.
“But he had no authority for
what he said, I am well convinced,” pursued
Clamp. “Mabel disbelieved him and refused
to go, and I should have captured him if the fiend
he serves had not lent him a helping hand.”
“What says the prisoner himself
to this?” observed the king. “Didst
thou send Fenwolf on the errand?”
“I did,” replied Tristram.
“I sent him to prevent her from going to the
castle.”
Mabel sobbed audibly.
“Thou art condemned by thy own
confession, caitiff,” said the king, “and
thou knowest upon what terms alone thou canst save
thyself from the hangman, and thy grand-daughter from
the stake.”
“Oh, mercy, sire, mercy!” shrieked Mabel.
“Your fate rests with your grandsire,”
said the king sternly. “If he chooses to
be your executioner he will remain silent.”
“Oh, speak, grandsire, speak!”
cried Mabel. “What matters the violation
of an unholy vow?”
“Give me till to-morrow for
consideration, sire,” said the old man.
“Thou shalt have till midnight,”
replied the king; “and till then Mabel shall
remain with thee.”
“I would rather be left alone,” said Tristram.
“I doubt it not,” replied
the king; “but it shall not be.” And
without bestowing a look at Mabel, whose supplications
he feared might shake his purpose, he quitted the
vault with his attendants, leaving her alone with
her grandsire.
“I shall return at midnight,”
he said to the arquebusier stationed at the door;
“and meanwhile let no one enter the dungeon not
even the Duke of Suffolk unless,”
he added, holding forth his hand to display a ring,
“he shall bring this signet.”