"What is the matter, child?" cried Tristram..
"He is here!--he is come!" cried Mabel, in a tone of the deepest terror.
"Who--the king?" cried Tristram, looking up. "Ah! I see! Herne is come
to deliver me."
"Do not go with him, grandsire," cried Mabel. "In the name of all the
saints, I implore you, do not."
"Silence her! "said Herne in a harsh, imperious voice," or I leave you."
The old man looked imploringly at his granddaughter.
"You know the conditions of your liberation? "said Herne.
"I do--I do," replied Tristram hastily, and with a shudder.
"Oh, grandfather!" cried Mabel, falling at his feet, "do not, I conjure you,
make any conditions with this dreaded being, or it will be at the
expense of your salvation. Better I should perish at the stake--better
you should suffer the most ignominious death, than this should be."
"Do you accept them?" cried Herne, disregarding her supplications.
Tristram answered in the affirmative.
"Recall your words, grandfather--recall your words!" cried Mabel. "I will
implore pardon for you on my knees from the king, and he will not
refuse me."
"The pledge cannot be recalled, damsel," said Herne; " and it is to save
you from the king, as much as to accomplish his own preservation, that
your grandsire consents.
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