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 behoIders 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.
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