towards it: "the demon is sure to revisit his favourite tree before cock-
crowing."

"What is that?" cried the Earl of Surrey, pointing to a strange and
ghastly-looking object depending from the tree. "Some one has hanged
himself! It may be the caitiff, Morgan Fenwolf."

With one accord they dashed forward, and as they drew nearer the tree,
they perceived that the object that had attracted their attention was
the body of Mark Fytton, the butcher, which they had so recently seen
swinging from the summit of the Curfew Tower. It was now suspended
from an arm of the wizard oak.

A small scroll was stuck upon the breast of the corpse, and, taking it
off, Surrey read these words, traced in uncouth characters--"Mark
Fytton is now one of the band of Herne the Hunter."

"By my fay, this passes all comprehension," said Richmond, after a few
moments' silence. "This castle and forest seem under the sway of the
powers of darkness. Let us return. I have had enough of adventure for
to-night."

And he rode towards the castle, followed more slowly by the earl.



VII. How the Earl of Surrey and the Fair Geraldine plighted their troth in
the Cloisters of Saint George's Chapel.