Again the process of breaking up the stag was gone through; and when Herne had concluded his task, he once more offered his gourd to Sir Thomas Wyat. Reckless of the consequences, the knight placed the flask to his lips, and draining it to the last drop, fell from his horse insensible.
VII.
How Wyat beheld Mabel Lyndwood—And how he was rowed by
Morgan Fenwolf upon the Lake.
When perfect consciousness returned to him, Wyat found himself lying upon a pallet in what he first took to be the cell of an anchorite; but as the recollection of recent events arose more distinctly before him, he guessed it to be a chamber connected with the sandstone cave. A small lamp, placed in a recess, lighted the cell; and upon a footstool by his bed stood a jug of water, and a cup containing some drink in which herbs had evidently been infused. Well-nigh emptying the jug, for he felt parched with thirst, Wyat attired himself, took up the lamp, and walked into the main cavern. No one was there, nor could he obtain any answer to his calls. Evidences, however, were not wanting to prove that a feast had recently been held there. On one side were the scarcely extinguished embers of a large wood fire; and in the midst of the chamber was a rude table, covered with drinking-horns and wooden platters, as well as with the remains of three or four haunches of venison. While contemplating this scene Wyat heard footsteps in one of the lateral passages, and presently afterwards Morgan Fenwolf made his appearance.
“So you are come round at last, Sir Thomas,” observed the keeper, in a slightly sarcastic tone.
“What has ailed me?” asked Wyat, in surprise.
“You have had a fever for three days,” returned Fenwolf, “and have been raving like a madman.”
“Three days!” muttered Wyat. “The false juggling fiend promised her to me on the third day.”
“Fear not; Herne will be as good as his word,” said Fenwolf. “But will you go forth with me? I am about to visit my nets. It is a fine day, and a row on the lake will do you good.”