The next instant a dozen forked flashes shot from the sky, while
fiery coruscations blazed athwart it; and at the same moment a bolt
struck the Wykeham Tower, beside which he had been recently
standing. Startled by the appalling sound, he turned and beheld upon
the battlemented parapet on his left a tall ghostly figure, whose
antlered helm told him it was Herne the Hunter. Dilated against the
flaming sky, the proportions of the demon seemed gigantic. His right
hand was stretched forth towards the king, and in his left he held a
rusty chain. Henry grasped the handle of his sword, and partly drew it,
keeping his gaze fixed upon the figure.
"You thought you had got rid of me, Harry of England," cried Herne, "but
were you to lay the weight of this vast fabric upon me, I would break
from under it--ho! ho!"
"What wouldst thou, infernal spirit?" cried Henry.
"I am come to keep company with you, Harry," replied the demon; "this
is a night when only you and I should be abroad. We know how to enjoy
it. We like the music of the loud thunder, and the dance of the blithe
lightning."
"Avaunt, fiend!" cried Henry. "I will hold no converse with thee. Back to
thy native hell!"
"You have no power over me, Harry," rejoined the demon, his words
mingling with the rolling of the thunder, "for your thoughts are evil, and
you are about to do an accursed deed.
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