"I see no one," replied the old forester.

"Neither do I," added Morgan Fenwolf, with a shudder. "You are wilfully
blind," rejoined Mabel. "But see, the person I mentioned stalks forth.
Now, perhaps, he is visible to you both."

And as she spoke, a tall wild-looking figure, armed with a hunting-spear,
emerged from the trees and advanced towards them. The garb of the
newcomer somewhat resembled that of a forester; but his arms and
lower limbs were destitute of covering, and appeared singularly
muscular, while his skin was swarthy as that of a gipsy. His jet-black
hair hung in elf-locks over his savage-looking features.

In another moment he was beside them, and fixed his dark piercing
eyes on Mabel in such a manner as to compel her to avert her gaze.

"What brings you here this morning, Tristram Lyndwood?" he
demanded, in a hoarse imperious tone.

"The same motive that brought you, Valentine Hagthorne, replied the
old forester--" to see the royal chase."

"This, I suppose, is your granddaughter?" pursued Hagthorne.

"Ay," replied Tristram bluntly.

"Strange I should never have seen her before," rejoined the other. "She
is very fair. Be ruled by me, friend Tristram--take her home again. If she
sees the king, ill will come of it. You know, or should know, his
character."