flight of steps communicating with the Norman Tower, they descended them in silence. Just as they reached the

foot of this long staircase, the earl chanced to cast back his eyes, and, to his inexpressible astonishment, perceived on the landing at the head of the steps, and just before the piece of ordnance.commanding the ascent, the figure of Herne the hunter.

Before he could utter an exclamation, the figure retreated through the adjoining archway. Telling the officer what he had seen, Surrey would fain have gone in quest of the fiendish spy; but the other would not permit him; and affecting to treat the matter as a mere creation of fancy, he hurried the earl to his chamber in the Curfew Tower.

The next day, Surrey was removed betimes to the Round Tower, and the cause of the transfer was soon explained by the discharge of ordnance, the braying of trumpets, and the rolling of drums, announcing the arrival of the king. From the mystery observed towards him, Surrey was led to the conclusion that the fair Geraldine accompanied the royal party; but he in vain sought to satisfy himself of the truth of the surmise by examining through the deep embrasure of his window, the cavalcade that soon afterwards entered the upper quadrangle. Amid the throng of beautiful dames surrounding Anne Boleyn he could not be certain that he detected the fair Geraldine; but he readily distinguished the Duke of Richmond among the nobles, and the sight awakened a pang of bitter jealousy in his breast.

The day wore away slowly, for he could not fix his attention upon his books, neither was he allowed to go forth upon the battlements of the tower. In the evening, however, the officer

informed him he might take exercise within the dry moat if he was so inclined, and he gladly availed himself of the permission.

After pacing to and fro along the walk for a short time, he entered the arbour, and was about to throw himself upon the bench, when he observed a slip of paper lying upon it. He took it up, and found a few lines traced upon it in hurried characters. They ran thus:

"The fair Geraldine arrived this morning in the castle. If the Earl of Surrey desires to meet her, he will find her within this arbour at midnight."

This billet was read and re-read by the young earl with feelings of indescribable transport; but a little reflection damped his ardour, and made him fear it might be a device to ensnare him. There was no certainty that the note proceeded in any way from the fair Geraldine, nor could he even be sure that she was in the castle. Still, despite these misgivings, the attraction was too powerful to be resisted, and he turned over the means of getting out of his chamber, but the scheme seemed wholly impracticable. The window was at a considerable height above the ramparts of the keep, and even if he could reach them, and escape the notice of the sentinels, he should have to make a second descent into the fosse. And supposing all this accomplished, how was he to return? The impossibility of answering this latter mental interrogation compelled him to give up all idea of the attempt.

On returning to his prison-chamber, he stationed himself at the embrasure overlooking the ramparts, and listened to the regular tread of the sentinel below, half resolved, be the consequences what they might, to descend. As the appointed time approached, his anxiety became almost intolerable, and quitting the window, he began to pace hurriedly to and fro within the chamber, which, as has been previously observed, partook of the circular form of the keep, and was supported in certain places by great wooden pillars and cross beams. But instead of dissipating his agitation, his rapid movements seemed rather to increase it, and at last, wrought to a pitch of uncontrollable excitement, he cried aloud-"If the fiend were to present himself now, and to offer to lead me to her, I would follow him."

Scarcely were the words uttered than a hollow laugh broke from the further end of the chamber, and a deep voice exclaimed-"I am ready to take you to her."

"I need not ask who addresses me," said Surrey, after a pause, and straining his eyes to distinguish the figure of the speaker in the gloom.

"I will tell you who I am," rejoined the other. "I am he who visited you once before-who shewed you a vision of the fair Geraldine,-and carried off your vaunted relic,-ho! ho!" "Avoid thee, false fiend!" rejoined Surrey, "thou temptest me now in vain.”

"You have summoned me," returned Herne; "and I will not be dismissed. I am ready to convey you to your mistress, who awaits you in King James's bower, and marvels at your tardiness." "And with what design dost thou offer me this service?" demanded Surrey.

"It will be time enough to put that question when I make any condition," replied Herne. "Enough, I am willing to aid you. Will you go?"

"Lead on!" replied Surrey, marching towards him.

Suddenly, Herne drew a lantern from beneath the cloak in which he was wrapped, and threw its light on a trap-door lying open at his feet.

"Descend!" he cried.

Surrey hesitated a moment, and then plunged down the steps. In another instant, the demon followed. Some hidden machinery was then set in motion, and the trap-door returned to its place. At length, Surrey arrived at a narrow passage, which appeared to correspond in form with the bulwarks of the keep. Here Herne passed him, and taking the lead, hurried along the gallery and descended another flight of steps, which brought them to a large vault, apparently built in the foundation of the tower. Before the earl had time to gaze round this chamber, the demon masked the lantern, and taking his hand, drew him through a narrow passage terminated by a small iron door, which flew open at a touch, and they emerged among the bushes clothing the side of the mound.

"You can now proceed without my aid," said Herne; "but take care not to expose yourself to the sentinels.”

Keeping under the shade of the trees, for the moon was shining brightly, Surrey hastened towards the arbour, and as he entered it, to his inexpressible delight found that he had not been deceived, but that the fair Geraldine was indeed there.

"How did you contrive this meeting?" she cried, after their first greetings had passed. "And how did you learn I was in the castle, for the strictest instructions were given that the tidings should not reach you."

The only response made by Surrey was to press her lily hand devotedly to his lips.

"I should not have ventured hither," pursued the fair Geraldine, "unless you had sent me the relic as a token. I knew you would never part with it, and I therefore felt sure there was no deception."

"But how did you get here?" inquired Surrey.

"Your messenger provided a rope-ladder, by which I descended in the moat," she replied.

Surrey was stupified.

"You seem astonished at my resolution," she continued; "and, indeed, I am surprised at it myself; but I could not overcome my desire to see you, especially as this meeting may be our last. The king, through the Lady Anne Boleyn, has

positively enjoined me to think no more of you, and has given your father, the Duke of Norfolk, to understand that your marriage without the royal assent will be attended by the loss of all the favour he now enjoys."

"And think you I will submit to such tyranny?" cried Surrey. "Alas!" replied the fair Geraldine, in a mournful tone, "I feel we shall never be united. This conviction, which has lately forced itself upon my mind, has not made me love you less, though it has in some degree altered my feelings towards

you." "But I may be able to move the king," cried Surrey. "I have some claim besides that of kindred on the Lady Anne Boleyn -and she will obtain his consent."

"Do not trust to her," replied the fair Geraldine. "You may have rendered her an important service, but be not too sure of a return. No, Surrey, I here release you from the troth you plighted to me in the cloisters."

"I will not be released from it!" cried the earl, hastily; "neither will I release you. I hold the pledge as sacred and as binding as if we had been affianced together before Heaven."

"For your own sake, do not say so, my dear lord," rejoined the fair Geraldine; "beseech you, do not. That your heart is bound to me now, I well believe-and that you could become inconstant I will not permit myself to suppose. But your youth forbids an union between us for many years-and if during that time you should behold some fairer face than mine-or should meet some heart you may conceive more loving,-though that can hardly be,-I would not have a hasty vow restrain you. Be free, then-free at least for three years-and if at the end of that time your affections are still unchanged, I am willing you should bind yourself to me for ever."

"I cannot act with equal generosity to you," rejoined Surrey, in a tone of deep disappointment. "I would sooner part with life than relinquish the pledge I have received from you. But I am content that my constancy should be put to the test you propose. During the long term of my probation, I will shrink from no trial of faith. Throughout Europe I will proclaim your beauty in the lists, and will maintain its supremacy against all comers. But, oh! sweet Geraldine, since we have met in this spot, hallowed by the loves of James of Scotland and Jane Beaufort, let us here renew our vows of eternal constancy, and agree to meet again at the time you have appointed, with hearts as warm and loving as those we bring together now."

And as he spoke he drew her towards him and imprinted a passionate kiss on her lips.

"Let that ratify the pledge," he said.

"Ho! ho! ho!" laughed a deep voice, without.

"What was that?" demanded the fair Geraldine, in a tone of alarm.

"You have the relic, have you not?" inquired the earl, in a low tone.

"No," she replied, "your messenger merely shewed it to me. But why do you ask? Ah! I understand. The fiendish laughter that just now sounded in my ears proceeded from

"Herne the Hunter," replied Surrey, in a whisper. "But fear nothing. I will defend you with my life. Ah! accursed chance! I have no weapon.

"

"None would avail against him," murmured the fair Geraldine. "Lead me forth, I shall die if I stay here."

Supporting her in his arms, Surrey complied, but they had scarcely gained the entrance of the arbour, when a tall figure stood before them. It was the Duke of Richmond. A gleam of moonlight penetrating through the leaves, fell upon the group, and rendered them distinctly visible to each other.

You have

"Soh!" exclaimed the duke, after regarding the pair in silence for a moment, " I have not been misinformed. contrived a meeting here."

"Richmond!" said Surrey, sternly, "we once were dear and loving friends, and we are still honourable foes. I know that I am safe with you. I know you will breathe no word about this meeting, either to the fair Geraldine's prejudice or mine."

"You judge me rightly, my lord," replied the duke, in a tone of equal sternness. "I have no thought of betraying you; though, by a word to my royal father, I could prevent all chance of future rivalry on your part. I shall, however, demand a strict account from you on your liberation."

"Your grace acts as beseems a loyal gentleman,” replied Surrey. "Hereafter I will not fail to account to you for my conduct in any way you please."

"Oh! let me interpose between you, my lords," cried the fair Geraldine, "to prevent the disastrous consequences of this quarrel. I have already told your grace I cannot love you-and that my heart is devoted to the Earl of Surrey. Let me appeal to your noble nature-to your generosity-not to persist in a hopeless suit."

"You have conquered, madam," said the duke, after a pause. "I have been to blame in this matter. But I will make amends for my error. Surrey, I relinquish her to you."

My friend!" exclaimed the earl, casting himself into the duke's arms.

"I will now endeavour to heal the wounds I have unwittingly occasioned," said the fair Geraldine. "I am surprised your grace should be insensible to attractions so far superior to mine as those of the Lady Mary Howard."

"The Lady Mary is very beautiful, I confess," said the duke; "and if you had not been in the way, I should assuredly have been her captive."

"I ought not to betray the secret, perhaps," hesitated the fair Geraldine, "but gratitude prompts me to do so. The lady is not so blind to your grace's merits as I have been."