The Lancashire Witches (Historical Novel). William Harrison Ainsworth

this assertion to divert him from his purpose.

      “Ha! say yo so, feythur abbut?” cried Hal. “Then ey’n reach him wi’ summot sacred.” And he disappeared.

      At this moment, word was given to return, and in half an hour the cavalcade arrived at the abbey in the same order it had left it.

      Though the rain had ceased, heavy clouds still hung overhead, threatening another deluge, and the aspect of the abbey remained gloomy as ever. The bell continued to toll; drums were beaten; and trumpets sounded from the outer and inner gateway, and from the three quadrangles. The cavalcade drew up in front of the great northern entrance; and its return being announced within, the two other captives were brought forth, each fastened upon a hurdle, harnessed to a stout horse. They looked dead already, so ghastly was the hue of their cheeks.

      The abbot’s turn came next. Another hurdle was brought forward, and Demdike advanced to the tumbrel. But Paslew recoiled from his touch, and sprang to the ground unaided. He was then laid on his back upon the hurdle, and his hands and feet were bound fast with ropes to the twisted timbers. While this painful task was roughly performed by the wizard’s two ill-favoured assistants, the crowd of rustics who looked on, murmured and exhibited such strong tokens of displeasure, that the guard thought it prudent to keep them off with their halberts. But when all was done, Demdike motioned to a man standing behind him to advance, and the person who was wrapped in a russet cloak complied, drew forth an infant, and held it in such way that the abbot could see it. Paslew understood what was meant, but he uttered not a word. Demdike then knelt down beside him, as if ascertaining the security of the cords, and whispered in his ear:—

      “Recall thy malediction, and my dagger shall save thee from the last indignity.”

      “Never,” replied Paslew; “the curse is irrevocable. But I would not recall it if I could. As I have said, thy child shall be a witch, and the mother of witches—but all shall be swept off—all!”

      “Hell’s torments seize thee!” cried the wizard, furiously.

      “Nay, thou hast done thy worst to me,” rejoined Paslew, meekly, “thou canst not harm me beyond the grave. Look to thyself, for even as thou speakest, thy child is taken from thee.”

      And so it was. While Demdike knelt beside Paslew, a hand was put forth, and, before the man who had custody of the infant could prevent it, his little charge was snatched from him. Thus the abbot saw, though the wizard perceived it not. The latter instantly sprang to his feet.

      “Where is the child?” he demanded of the fellow in the russet cloak.

      “It was taken from me by yon tall man who is disappearing through the gateway,” replied the other, in great trepidation.

      “Ha! he here!” exclaimed Demdike, regarding the dark figure with a look of despair. “It is gone from me for ever!”

      “Ay, for ever!” echoed the abbot, solemnly.

      “But revenge is still left me—revenge!” cried Demdike, with an infuriated gesture.

      “Then glut thyself with it speedily,” replied the abbot; “for thy time here is short.”

      “I care not if it be,” replied Demdike; “I shall live long enough if I survive thee.”

      Chapter 10.

       The Holehouses

       Table of Contents

      At this moment the blast of a trumpet resounded from the gateway, and the Earl of Derby, with the sheriff on his right hand, and Assheton on the left, and mounted on a richly caparisoned charger, rode forth. He was preceded by four javelin-men, and followed by two heralds in their tabards.

      To doleful tolling of bells—to solemn music—to plaintive hymn chanted by monks—to roll of muffled drum at intervals—the sad cortège set forth. Loud cries from the bystanders marked its departure, and some of them followed it, but many turned away, unable to endure the sight of horror about to ensue. Amongst those who went on was Hal o’ Nabs, but he took care to keep out of the way of the guard, though he was little likely to be recognised, owing to his disguise.

      Despite the miserable state of the weather, a great multitude was assembled at the place of execution, and they watched the approaching cavalcade with moody curiosity. To prevent disturbance, arquebussiers were stationed in parties here and there, and a clear course for the cortège was preserved by two lines of halberdiers with crossed pikes. But notwithstanding this, much difficulty was experienced in mounting the hill. Rendered slippery by the wet, and yet more so by the trampling of the crowd, the road was so bad in places that the horses could scarcely drag the hurdles up it, and more than one delay occurred. The stoppages were always denounced by groans, yells, and hootings from the mob, and these neither the menaces of the Earl of Derby, nor the active measures of the guard, could repress.

      At length, however, the cavalcade reached its destination. Then the crowd struggled forward, and settled into a dense compact ring, round the circular railing enclosing the place of execution, within which were drawn up the Earl of Derby, the sheriff, Assheton, and the principal gentlemen, together with Demdike and his assistants; the guard forming a circle three deep round them.

      Paslew was first unloosed, and when he stood up, he found Father Smith, the late prior, beside him, and tenderly embraced him.

      “Be of good courage, Father Abbot,” said the prior; “a few moments, and you will be numbered with the just.”

      “My hope is in the infinite mercy of Heaven, father,” replied Paslew, sighing deeply. “Pray for me at the last.”

      “Doubt it not,” returned the prior, fervently. “I will pray for you now and ever.”

      Meanwhile, the bonds of the two other captives were unfastened, but they were found wholly unable to stand without support. A lofty ladder had been placed against the central scaffold, and up this Demdike, having cast off his houppeland, mounted and adjusted the rope. His tall gaunt figure, fully displayed in his tight-fitting red garb, made him look like a hideous scarecrow. His appearance was greeted by the mob with a perfect hurricane of indignant outcries and yells. But he heeded them not, but calmly pursued his task. Above him wheeled the two ravens, who had never quitted the place since daybreak, uttering their discordant cries. When all was done, he descended a few steps, and, taking a black hood from his girdle to place over the head of his victim, called out in a voice which had little human in its tone, “I wait for you, John Paslew.”

      “Are you ready, Paslew?” demanded the Earl of Derby.

      “I am, my lord,” replied the abbot. And embracing the prior for the last time, he added, ”Vale, carissime frater, in æternum vale! et Dominus tecum sit in ultionem inimicorum nostrorum!”

      “It is the king’s pleasure that you say not a word in your justification to the mob, Paslew,” observed the earl.

      “I had no such intention, my lord,” replied the abbot.

      “Then tarry no longer,” said the earl; “if you need aid you shall have it.”

      “I require none,” replied Paslew, resolutely.

      With this he mounted the ladder, with as much firmness and dignity as if ascending the steps of a tribune.

      Hitherto nothing but yells and angry outcries had stunned the ears of the lookers-on, and several missiles had been hurled at Demdike, some of which took effect, though without occasioning discomfiture; but when the abbot appeared above the heads of the guard, the tumult instantly subsided, and profound silence ensued. Not a breath was drawn by the spectators. The ravens alone continued their ominous croaking.

      Hal o’ Nabs, who stood on the outskirts of the ring, saw thus far but he could bear it no longer, and rushed down the hill. Just as he reached the level ground, a culverin was fired from the gateway, and the next moment a loud