He made
towards the litter, over-turning Sir Thomas Wyat, and before any
opposition could be offered him, seized the inanimate form of Mabel,
and placing her before him on his steed, dashed off as swiftly as he
came, and with a burst of loud, exulting laughter.
"It is Herne! it is Herne!" burst from every lip. And they all started in
pursuit, urging the horses to their utmost speed. Sir Thomas Wyat had
instantly remounted his steed, and he came up with the others.
Herne's triumphant and demoniacal laugh was heard as he scoured
with the swiftness of the wind down the long glade. But the fiercest
determination animated his pursuers, who, being all admirably
mounted, managed to keep him fully in view.
Away! away! he speeded in the direction of the lake; and after him they
thundered, straining every sinew in the desperate chase. It was a wild
and extraordinary sight, and partook of the fantastical character of a
dream.
At length Herne reached the acclivity, at the foot of which lay the
waters of the lake glimmering in the starlight; and by the time he had
descended to its foot, his pursuers had gained its brow.
The exertions made by Sir Thomas Wyat had brought him a little in
advance of the others.
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