"Gazing with the utmost concern at his unfortunate deliverer, King
Richard demanded what he could do for him.
"'Nothing, sire--nothing,' replied Herne, with a groan. I shall require
nothing but a grave from you, for I have received a wound that will
speedily bring me to it.'
"'Not so, I trust, good fellow,' replied the king, in a tone meant to be
encouraging, though his looks showed that his heart misgave him; 'my
best leech shall attend you.'
"'No skill will avail me now,' replied Herne sadly. 'A hurt from hart's horn
bringeth to the bier.'
"'I hope the proverb will not be justified in thy case,' rejoined the king;
'and I promise thee, if thou dost recover, thou shalt have the post of
head keeper of the forest, with twenty nobles a year for wages. If,
unhappily, thy forebodings are realised, I will give the same sum to be
laid out in masses for thy soul.'
"'I humbly thank your highness,' replied the young man, 'and I accept
the latter offer, seeing it is the only one likely to profit me.'
"With this he put his horn to his lips, and winding the dead mot feebly,
fell back senseless. Much moved, the king rode off for succour; and
blowing a lusty call on his bugle, was presently joined by the Earl of
Oxford and some of his followers, among whom were the keepers.
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