shooting at the butts. But these sights, instead of affording
pleasure to Surrey, only sharpened the anguish of his feelings by the
contrast they offered to his present position.

To distract his thoughts, he quitted the near view, and let his eye run
along the edge of the horizon, until it rested upon a small speck,
which he knew to be the lofty spire of Saint Paul's Cathedral. If, as he
supposed, the Fair Geraldine was in attendance upon Anne Boleyn, at the
palace at Bridewell, she must be under the shadow of this very spire;
and the supposition, whether correct or not, produced such quick and
stifling emotions, that the tears rushed to his eyes.

Ashamed of his weakness, he turned to the other side of the tower, and
bent his gaze upon the woody heights of the great park. These recalled
Herne the Hunter; and burning with resentment at the tricks practised
upon him by the demon, he determined that the first use he would make of
his liberty should be to seek out, and, if possible, effect the capture
of this mysterious being. Some of the strange encounters between Herne
and the king had been related to him by the officer on guard at the
Norman Tower but these only served as stimulants to the adventure. After
a couple of hours thus passed on the keep, he descended refreshed and
invigorated. The next day he was there again, and the day after that;
when, feeling that his restoration was well nigh complete, he requested
permission to pass the following evening in the dry moat of the donjon.
And this was readily accorded him.

Covered with green sod, and shaded by many tall trees growing out of
the side of the artificial mound on which the keep was built, the fosse
offered all the advantages of a garden to the prisoners who were allowed
to take exercise within it. Here, as has been mentioned, King James the
First of Scotland first beheld, from the battlements above, the lovely
Jane Beaufort take her solitary walk, and by his looks and gestures
contrived to make her sensible of the passion with which she inspired
him; and here at last, in an arbour which, for the sake of the old and
delightful legend connected with it, was kept up at the time of this
chronicle, and then bore the name of the royal poet, they had secretly
met, and interchanged their vows of affection.

Familiar with the story, familiar also with the poetic strains to which
the monarch's passion gave birth, Surrey could not help comparing his
own fate with tha