Wyat acquiesced, and followed Fenwolf, who returned along the passage. It grew narrower at the sides and lower in the roof as they advanced, until at last they were compelled to move forward on their hands and knees. For some space the passage, or rather hole (for it was nothing more) ran on a level. A steep and tortuous ascent then commenced, which brought them to an outlet concealed by a large stone.
Pushing it aside, Fenwolf crept forth, and immediately afterwards Wyat emerged into a grove, through which, on one side, the gleaming waters of the lake were discernible. The keeper's first business was to replace the stone, which was so screened by brambles and bushes that it could not, unless careful search were made, be detected.
Making his way through the trees to the side of the lake, Fenwolf marched along the greensward in the direction of Tristram Lyndwood's cottage. Wyat mechanically followed him; but he was so pre-occupied that he scarcely heeded the fair Mabel, nor was it till after his embarkation in the skiff with the keeper, when she came forth to look at them, that he was at all struck with her beauty. He then inquired her name from Fenwolf.
“She is called Mabel Lyndwood, and is an old forester's granddaughter,” replied the other somewhat gruffly.
“And do you seek her love?” asked Wyat.
“Ay, and wherefore not?” asked Fenwolf, with a look of displeasure.
“Nay, I know not, friend,” rejoined Wyat. “She is a comely damsel.”
“What!—comelier than the Lady Anne?” demanded Fenwolf spitefully.
“I said not so,” replied Wyat; “but she is very fair, and looks true-hearted.”
Fenwolf glanced at him from under his brows; and plunging his oars into the water, soon carried him out of sight of the maiden.