On that same night, at a late hour, a horseman, mounted on a powerful steed, entered the eastern side of the home park, and stationed himself beneath the trees. He had not been there long, when the castle clock tolled forth the hour of midnight, and ere the deep strokes died away, a second horseman was seen galloping across the moonlit glade towards him.

“Has all been done as I directed, Suffolk?” he demanded, as the newcomer approached him.

“It has, my liege,” replied the duke. “The queen is imprisoned within her chamber, and will be removed, at early dawn, to the Tower.”

“You had better start in an hour from this time,” said the king. “It is a long passage by water, and I am anxious to avoid all chance of attempt at rescue.”

“Your wishes shall be obeyed,” replied the duke. “Poor soul! her grief was most agonizing, and I had much ado to maintain my composure. She implored, in the most passionate manner, to be allowed to see your highness before her removal. I told her it was impossible; and that even if you were at the castle, you would not listen to her supplications.”

“You did right,” rejoined Henry; “I will never see her more—not that I fear being moved by her prayers, but that, knowing how deceitful and faithless she is, I loathe to look upon her. What is expressed upon the matter by the household? Speak frankly.”

“Frankly then,” replied the duke, “your highness's proceedings are regarded as harsh and unjustifiable. The general opinion is, that you only desire to remove Anne to make way for Mistress Jane Seymour.”

“Ha! they talk thus, do they?” cried the king. “I will silence their saucy prating ere long. Tell all who venture to speak to you on the subject that I have long suspected the queen of a secret liking for Norris, but that I determined to conceal my suspicions till I found I had good warrant for them. That occurred, as you know, some weeks ago. However, I awaited a pretext for proceeding against them, and it was furnished by their own imprudence to-day. Convinced that something would occur, I had made my preparations; nor was I deceived. You may add, also, that not until my marriage is invalidated, Anne's offspring illegitimatised, and herself beheaded, shall I consider the foul blot upon my name removed.”

“Has your majesty any further commands?” said Suffolk. “I saw Norris in his prison before I rode forth to you.”

“Let him be taken to the Tower, under a strong escort, at once,” said Henry. “Lord Rochford, I suppose, has already been removed there?”

“He has,” replied the duke. “Shall I attend your majesty to your followers?”

“It is needless,” replied the king. “They are waiting for me, close at hand, at the foot of Datchet Bridge. Fare well, my good brother; look well to your prisoners. I shall feel more easy when Anne is safely lodged within the Tower.”

So saying he wheeled round, and striking spurs into his steed, dashed through the trees, while the duke rode back to the castle.

Henry had not proceeded far, when a horseman, mounted on a sable steed, emerged from the thicket, and galloped up to him. The wild attire and antlered helm of this personage proclaimed the forest fiend.

“Ah! thou here, demon!” cried the king, his lion nature overmastered by superstitious fear for a moment. “What wouldst thou?”

“You are on the eve of committing a great crime,” replied Herne; “and I told you that at such times I would always appear to you.”

“To administer justice is not to commit crime,” rejoined the king. “Anne Boleyn deserves her fate.”

“Think not to impose on me as you have imposed on Suffolk!” cried Herne, with a derisive laugh. “I know your motives better; I know you have no proof of her guilt, and that in your heart of hearts you believe her innocent. But you destroy her because you would wed Jane Seymour! We shall meet again ere long—ho! ho! ho!”

And giving the rein to his steed, he disappeared among the trees.