ey were tracking a glade on the farther side of the hill, the
spectral huntsmen again swept past them, and so closely that they could
almost touch their horses. To the duke's horror, he perceived among
them the body of the butcher, Mark Fytton, sitting erect upon a powerful
black steed.

By this time, Shoreditch, having somewhat regained his courage,
discharged another shaft at the troop. The arrow struck the body of the
butcher, and completely transfixed it, but did not check his career;
while wild and derisive laughter broke from the rest of the cavalcade.

The Duke of Richmond hurried after the band, trying to keep them in
sight; and Shoreditch, flinging down his bow, which he found useless,
and grasping his staff, endeavoured to keep up with him. But though they
ran swiftly down the glade, and tried to peer through the darkness, they
could see nothing more of the ghostly company.

After a while they arrived at a hillside, at the foot of which lay the
lake, whose darkling waters were just distinguishable through an opening
in the trees. As the duke was debating with himself whether to go on or
retrace his course, the trampling of a horse was heard behind them, and
looking in the direction of the sound, they beheld Herne the Hunter,
mounted on his swarthy steed and accompanied only by his two black
hounds, galloping furiously down the declivity. Before him flew the owl,
whooping as it sailed along the air.

The demon hunter was so close to them that they could perfectly discern
his horrible lineaments, the chain depending from his neck, and his
antlered helm. Richmond shouted to him, but the rider continued his
headlong course towards the lake, heedless of the call.

The two beholders rushed forward, but by this time the huntsman had
gained the edge of the lake. One of his sable hounds plunged into it,
and the owl skimmed over its surface. Even in the hasty view which the
duke caught of the flying figure, he fancied he perceived that it was
attended by a fantastic shadow, whether cast by itself or arising from
some supernatural cause he could not determine.

But what followed was equally marvellous and incomprehensible. As the
wild huntsman reached the brink of the lake, he placed a horn to his
mouth, and blew from it a bright blue flame, which illumined his own
dusky and hideous features, and shed a wild and unearthly glimmer over
the surrounding objects.

While enveloped in this flame, the demon plunged into