The cavalcade was rapidly approaching the glade at the lower end of the chase, when the lively notes of a horn were heard from the adjoining wood, followed by the deep baying of a bloodhound.

“Aha! they have roused him,” cried the King, joyfully placing his own bugle to his lips, and sounding an answer.  Upon this the whole company halted in anxious expectation, the hounds baying loudly.  The next moment, a noble hart burst from the wood, whence he had been driven by the shouts of Nicholas and the chief huntsman, both of whom appeared immediately afterwards.

“By my faith! a great hart as ever was hunted,” exclaimed the King.  “There boys, there! to him! to him!”

Dashing after the flying hart, the hounds made the welkin ring with their cries.  Many lovely damsels were there, but none thought of the cruelty of the sport—­none sympathised with the noble animal they were running to death.  The cries of the hounds—­now loud and ringing—­now deep and doling, accompanied by the whooping of the huntsmen, formed a stirring concert, which found a response in many a gentle bosom.  The whole cavalcade was spread widely about, for none were allowed to ride near the King.  Over the plain they scoured, fleet as the wind, and the hart seemed making for a fell, forming part of the hill near the mansion.  But ere he reached it, the relays stationed within a covert burst forth, and, turning him aside, he once more dashed fleetly across the broad expanse, as if about to return to his old lair.  Now he was seen plunging into some bosky dell; and, after being lost to view for a moment, bounding up the opposite bank, and stretching across a tract thickly covered with fern.  Here he gained upon the hounds, who were lost in the green wilderness, and their cries were hushed for a brief space—­but anon they burst forth anew, and the pack were soon again in full cry, and speeding over the open ground.

At first the cavalcade had kept pretty well together, but on the return the case was very different; and many of the dames, being unable to keep up with the hounds, fell off, and, as a natural consequence, many of the gallants lingered behind, too.  Thus only the keenest huntsmen held on.  Amongst these, and about fifty yards behind the King, were Richard and Nicholas.  The squire was right when he predicted that the hart would show them good sport.  Plunging into the wood, the hard-pressed beast knocked up another stag, and took possession of his lair, but was speedily roused again by Nicholas and the chief huntsman.  Once more he is crossing the wide plain, with hounds and huntsmen after him—­once more he is turned by a new relay; but this time he shapes his course towards the woods skirting the Darwen.  It is a piteous sight to see him now; his coat black and glistening with sweat, his mouth embossed with foam, his eyes dull, big tears coursing down his cheeks, and his noble head carried low.  His end seems nigh—­for the hounds, though weary too, redouble their energies, and the monarch cheers them on.  Again the poor beast erects his head—­if he can only reach yon coppice he is safe.  Despair nerves him, and with gigantic bounds he clears the intervening space, and disappears beneath the branches.  Quickly as the hounds come after him, they are at fault.