How Sir Thomas Wyat
was visited by Herne in the Cell.
Made aware by the clangour of the
lock, and Fenwolf’s exulting laughter, of the
snare in which he had been caught, Sir Thomas Wyat
instantly sprang from his hiding-place, and rushed
to the door; but being framed of the stoutest oak,
and strengthened with plates of iron, it defied all
his efforts, nerved as they were by rage and despair,
to burst it open. Mabel’s shrieks, as she
was dragged away, reached his ears, and increased
his anguish; and he called out loudly to her companions
to return, but his vociférations were only treated
with derision.
Finding it useless to struggle further,
Wyat threw himself upon the bench, and endeavoured
to discover some means of deliverance from his present
hazardous position. He glanced round the cell
to see whether there was any other outlet than the
doorway, but he could discern none, except a narrow
grated loophole opening upon the passage, and contrived,
doubtless, for the admission of air to the chamber.
No dungeon could be more secure.
Raising the lamp, he examined every
crevice, but all seemed solid stone. The recess
in which he had taken shelter proved to be a mere hollow
in the wall. In one corner lay a small straw
pallet, which, no doubt, had formed the couch of Mabel;
and this, together with the stone bench and rude table
of the same material, constituted the sole furniture
of the place.
Having taken this careful survey of
the cell, Wyat again sat down upon the bench with
the conviction that escape was out of the question;
and he therefore endeavoured to prepare himself for
the worst, for it was more than probable he would
be allowed to perish of starvation. To a fiery
nature like his, the dreadful uncertainty in which
he was placed was more difficult of endurance than
bodily torture. And he was destined to endure
it long. Many hours flew by, during which nothing
occurred to relieve the terrible monotony of his situation.
At length, in spite of his anxiety, slumber stole
upon him unawares; but it was filled with frightful
visions.
How long he slept he knew not, but
when he awoke, he found that the cell must have been
visited in the interval, for there was a manchet of
bread, part of a cold neck of venison, and a flask
of wine on the table. It was evident, therefore,
that his captors did not mean to starve him, and yielding
to the promptings of appetite, he attacked the provisions,
determined to keep strict watch when his gaoler should
next visit him.
The repast finished, he again examined
the cell, but with no better success than before;
and he felt almost certain, from the position in which
the bench was placed, that the visitor had not found
entrance through the door.
After another long and dreary interval,
finding that sleep was stealing upon him fast, he
placed the bench near the door, and leaned his back
against the latter, certain that in this position he
should be awakened if any one attempted to gain admittance
in that way. His slumber was again disturbed
by fearful dreams; and he was at length aroused by
a touch upon the shoulder, while a deep voice shouted
his own name in her ears.
Starting to his feet, and scarcely
able to separate the reality from the hideous phantasms
that had troubled him, he found that the door was
still fastened, and the bench unremoved, while before
him stood Herne the Hunter.
“Welcome again to my cave, Sir
Thomas Wyat!” cried the demon, with a mocking
laugh. “I told you, on the night of the
attempt upon the king, that though you escaped him,
you would not escape me. And so it has come to
pass. You are now wholly in my power, body and
soul ha! ha!”
“I defy you, false fiend,”
replied Wyat. “I was mad enough to proffer
you my soul on certain conditions; but they have never
been fulfilled.”
“They may yet be so,” rejoined Herne.
“No,” replied Wyat, “I
have purged my heart from the fierce and unhallowed
passion that swayed it. I desire no assistance
from you.”
“If you have changed your mind,
that is nought to me,” rejoined the demon derisively “I
shall hold you to your compact.”
“Again I say I renounce you,
infernal spirit!” cried Wyat; “you may
destroy my body but you can work no mischief
to my soul.”
“You alarm yourself without
reason, good Sir Thomas,” replied Herne, in
a slightly sneering tone. “I am not the
malignant being you suppose me; neither am I bent
upon fighting the battles of the enemy of mankind
against Heaven. I may be leagued with the powers
of darkness, but I have no wish to aid them; and I
therefore leave you to take care of your soul in your
own way. What I desire from you is your service
while living. Now listen to the conditions I
have to propose. You must bind yourself by a
terrible oath, the slightest infraction of which shall
involve the perdition of the soul you are so solicitous
to preserve, not to disclose aught you may see, or
that may be imparted to you here. You must also
swear implicit obedience to me in all things to
execute any secret commissions, of whatever nature,
I may give you to bring associates to my
band and to join me in any enterprise I
may propose. This oath taken, you are free.
Refuse it, and I leave you to perish.”
“I do refuse it,” replied
Wyat boldly. “I would die a thousand deaths
rather than so bind myself. Neither do I fear
being left to perish here. You shall not quit
this cell without me.”
“You are a stout soldier, Sir
Thomas Wyat,” rejoined the demon, with a scornful
laugh; “but you are scarcely a match for Herne
the Hunter, as you will find, if you are rash enough
to make the experiment. Beware!” he exclaimed,
in a voice of thunder, observing the knight lay his
hand upon his sword, “I am invulnerable, and
you will, therefore, vainly strike at me. Do
not compel me to use the dread means, which I could
instantly employ, to subject you to my will. I
mean you well, and would rather serve than injure
you. But I will not let you go, unless you league
yourself with me. Swear, therefore, obedience
to me, and depart hence to your friends, Surrey and
Richmond, and tell them you have failed to find me.”
“You know, then, of our meeting?” exclaimed
Wyat.
“Perfectly well,” laughed
Herne. “It is now eventide, and at midnight
the meeting will take place in the forester’s
hut. If you attend it not, I will. They
will be my prisoners as well as you. To preserve
yourself and save them, you must join me.”
“Before I return an answer,”
said Wyat, “I must know what has become of Mabel
Lyndwood.”
“Mabel Lyndwood is nought to
you, Sir Thomas,” rejoined Herne coldly.
“She is so much to me that I
will run a risk for her which I would not run for
myself,” replied Wyat. “If I promise
obedience to you, will you liberate her? will you
let her depart with me?”
“No,” said Herne peremptorily.
“Banish all thoughts of her from your breast.
You will never behold her again. I will give you
time for reflection on my proposal. An hour before
midnight I shall return, and if I find you in the
same mind, I abandon you to your fate.”
And with these words he stepped back
towards the lower end of the cell. Wyat instantly
sprang after him, but before he could reach him a flash
of fire caused him to recoil, and to his horror and
amazement, he beheld the rock open, and yield a passage
to the retreating figure.
When the sulphureous smoke, with which
the little cell was filled, had in some degree cleared
off, Wyat examined the sides of the rock, but could
not find the slightest trace of a secret outlet, and
therefore concluded that the disappearance of the
demon had been effected by magic.