Morgan Fenwolf scouted these remarks; and he was supported by some
others among the keepers, who declared that it required no
supernatural aid to accomplish what he had done--that he was nothing
more than a good huntsman, who could ride fast and boldly--that he
was skilled in all the exercises of the chase, and possessed a stanch
and well-trained hound.
The party then sat down to breakfast beneath the trees, and the talk
fell upon Herne the Hunter, and his frequent appearance of late in the
forest (for most of the keepers had heard of or encountered the
spectral huntsman); and while they were discussing this topic, and a
plentiful allowance of cold meat, bread, ale, and mead at the same
time, two persons were seen approaching along a vista on the right,
who specially attracted their attention and caused Morgan Fenwolf to
drop the hunting-knife with which he was carving his viands, and start
to his feet.
The new-comers were an old man and a comely young damsel. The
former, though nearer seventy than sixty, was still hale and athletic,
with fresh complexion, somewhat tanned by the sun, and a keen grey
eye, which had lost nothing of its fire. He was habited in a stout
leathern doublet, hose of the same material, and boots rudely fashioned
out of untanned ox-hide, and drawn above the knee.
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