bringing an innocent man into trouble," returned the host. "But if the
truth must be spoken, people do say that Morgan Fenwolf is in league
with the devil--or with Herne the Hunter, which is the same thing."

Richmond exchanged a look with his friend.

"Folks say strange sights have been seen in the forest of late," pursued
Bryan--" and it may be so. But I myself have seen nothing--but then, to
be sure, I never go there. The keepers used to talk of Herne the Hunter
when I was a lad, but I believe it was only a tale to frighten deer-
stealers; and I fancy it's much the same thing now."

Neither Surrey nor Richmond made any remark, and they presently
reached the keeper's dwelling.

It was a small wooden tenement standing, as the host had stated, on
the bank of the river, about a bow-shot from the bridge. The door was
opened by Bryan, and the party entered without further ceremony.
They found no one within except an old woman, with harsh, wrinkled
features, and a glance as ill-omened as that of a witch, whom Bryan
Bowntance told them was Fenwolf's mother. This old crone regarded
the intruders uneasily.

"Where is your son, dame?" demanded the duke.

"On his walk in the forest," replied the old crone bluntly.

"What time did he go forth?" inquired Surrey.

"An hour before daybreak, as is his custom," returned the woman, in the