The Lancashire Witches (Historical Novel). William Harrison Ainsworth

distress applied to Paslew.

      “Ha yo onny weepun abowt yo, lort abbut,” he cried, “wi’ which ey con free mysel fro’ this accussed hound?”

      “Alas! no, my son,” replied Paslew, “and I fear no weapon will prevail against it, for I recognise in the animal the hound of the wizard, Demdike.”

      “Ey thowt t’ dule wur in it,” rejoined Hal; “boh leave me to fight it owt, and do you gain t’ bonk, an mey t’ best o’ your way to t’ Wiswall. Ey’n join ye os soon os ey con scrush this varment’s heaod agen a stoan. Ha!” he added, joyfully, “Ey’n found t’ thwittle. Go—go. Ey’n soon be efter ye.”

      Feeling he should sink if he remained where he was, and wholly unable to offer any effectual assistance to his companion, the abbot turned to the left, where a large oak overhung the stream, and he was climbing the bank, aided by the roots of the tree, when a man suddenly came from behind it, seized his hand, and dragged him up forcibly. At the same moment his captor placed a bugle to his lips, and winding a few notes, he was instantly answered by shouts, and soon afterwards half a dozen armed men ran up, bearing torches. Not a word passed between the fugitive and his captor; but when the men came up, and the torchlight fell upon the features of the latter, the abbot’s worst fears were realised. It was Demdike.

      “False to your king!—false to your oath!—false to all men!” cried the wizard. “You seek to escape in vain!”

      “I merit all your reproaches,” replied the abbot; “but it may he some satisfaction, to you to learn, that I have endured far greater suffering than if I had patiently awaited my doom.”

      “I am glad of it,” rejoined Demdike, with a savage laugh; “but you have destroyed others beside yourself. Where is the fellow in the water? What, ho, Uriel!”

      But as no sound reached him, he snatched a torch from one of the arquebussiers and held it to the river’s brink. But he could see neither hound nor man.

      “Strange!” he cried. “He cannot have escaped. Uriel is more than a match for any man. Secure the prisoner while I examine the stream.”

      With this, he ran along the bank with great quickness, holding his torch far over the water, so as to reveal any thing floating within it, but nothing met his view until he came within a short distance of the mill, when he beheld a black object struggling in the current, and soon found that it was his dog making feeble efforts to gain the bank.

      “Ah recreant! thou hast let him go,” cried Demdike, furiously.

      Seeing his master the animal redoubled its efforts, crept ashore, and fell at his feet, with a last effort to lick his hands.

      Demdike held down the torch, and then perceived that the hound was quite dead. There was a deep gash in its side, and another in the throat, showing how it had perished.

      “Poor Uriel!” he exclaimed; “the only true friend I had. And thou art gone! The villain has killed thee, but he shall pay for it with his life.”

      And hurrying back he dispatched four of the men in quest of the fugitive, while accompanied by the two others he conveyed Paslew back to the abbey, where he was placed in a strong cell, from which there was no possibility of escape, and a guard set over him.

      Half an hour after this, two of the arquebussiers returned with Hal o’ Nabs, whom they had succeeded in capturing after a desperate resistance, about a mile from the abbey, on the road to Wiswall. He was taken to the guard-room, which had been appointed in one of the lower chambers of the chapter-house, and Demdike was immediately apprised of his arrival. Satisfied by an inspection of the prisoner, whose demeanour was sullen and resolved, Demdike proceeded to the great hall, where the Earl of Derby, who had returned thither after the midnight mass, was still sitting with his retainers. An audience was readily obtained by the wizard, and, apparently well pleased with the result, he returned to the guard-room. The prisoner was seated by himself in one corner of the chamber, with his hands tied behind his back with a leathern thong, and Demdike approaching him, told him that, for having aided the escape of a condemned rebel and traitor, and violently assaulting the king’s lieges in the execution of their duty, he would be hanged on the morrow, the Earl of Derby, who had power of life or death in such cases, having so decreed it. And he exhibited the warrant.

      “Soh, yo mean to hong me, eh, wizard?” cried Hal o’ Nabs, kicking his heels with great apparent indifference.

      “I do,” replied Demdike; “if for nothing else, for slaying my hound.”

      “Ey dunna think it,” replied Hal. “Yo’n alter your moind. Do, mon. Ey’m nah prepared to dee just yet.”

      “Then perish in your sins,” cried Demdike, “I will not give you an hour’s respite.”

      “Yo’n be sorry when it’s too late,” said Hal.

      “Tush!” cried Demdike, “my only regret will be that Uriel’s slaughter is paid for by such a worthless life as thine.”

      “Then whoy tak it?” demanded Hal. “‘Specially whon yo’n lose your chilt by doing so.”

      “My child!” exclaimed Demdike, surprised. “How mean you, sirrah?”

      “Ey mean this,” replied Hal, coolly; “that if ey dee to-morrow mornin’ your chilt dees too. Whon ey ondertook this job ey calkilated mey chances, an’ tuk precautions eforehond. Your chilt’s a hostage fo mey safety.”

      “Curses on thee and thy cunning,” cried Demdike; “but I will not be outwitted by a hind like thee. I will have the child, and yet not be baulked of my revenge.”

      “Yo’n never ha’ it, except os a breathless corpse, ‘bowt mey consent,” rejoined Hal.

      “We shall see,” cried Demdike, rushing forth, and bidding the guards look well to the prisoner.

      But ere long he returned with a gloomy and disappointed expression of countenance, and again approaching the prisoner said, “Thou hast spoken the truth. The infant is in the hands of some innocent being over whom I have no power.”

      “Ey towdee so, wizard,” replied Hal, laughing. “Hoind os ey be, ey’m a match fo’ thee,—ha! ha! Neaw, mey life agen t’ chilt’s. Win yo set me free?”

      Demdike deliberated.

      “Harkee, wizard,” cried Hal, “if yo’re hatching treason ey’n dun. T’ sartunty o’ revenge win sweeten mey last moments.”

      “Will you swear to deliver the child to me unharmed, if I set you free?” asked Demdike.

      “It’s a bargain, wizard,” rejoined Hal o’ Nabs; “ey swear. Boh yo mun set me free furst, fo’ ey winnaw tak your word.”

      Demdike turned away disdainfully, and addressing the arquebussiers, said, “You behold this warrant, guard. The prisoner is committed to my custody. I will produce him on the morrow, or account for his absence to the Earl of Derby.”

      One of the arquebussiers examined the order, and vouching for its correctness, the others signified their assent to the arrangement, upon which Demdike motioned the prisoner to follow him, and quitted the chamber. No interruption was offered to Hal’s egress, but he stopped within the court-yard, where Demdike awaited him, and unfastened the leathern thong that bound together his hands.

      “Now go and bring the child to me,” said the wizard.

      “Nah, ey’st neaw bring it ye myself,” rejoined Hal. “Ey knoas better nor that. Be at t’ church porch i’ half an hour, an t’ bantlin shan be delivered to ye safe an sound.”

      And without waiting for a reply, he ran off with great swiftness.

      At the appointed time Demdike sought the church, and as he drew near it there issued from the porch a female, who hastily placing the child, wrapped in a mantle, in his arms, tarried for no speech from him, but instantly disappeared. Demdike, however, recognised in her the miller’s daughter, Dorothy Croft.