The Lancashire Witches | Page 8

infant daughter, and I am content. I would not ask thee for
this service, slight though it be, but the poor soul hath set her mind
upon it. Wilt thou do it?"
"No," replied the abbot, shuddering; "I will not baptise a daughter of
Satan. I will not sell my soul to the powers of darkness. I adjure thee to
depart from me, and tempt me no longer."
"Vainly thou seekest to cast me off," rejoined Demdike. "What if I
deliver thine adversaries into thine hands, and revenge thee upon them?
Even now there are a party of armed men waiting at the foot of the hill
to seize thee and thy brethren. Shall I show thee how to destroy them?"
"Who are they?" demanded the abbot, surprised.
"Their leaders are John Braddyll and Richard Assheton, who shall
divide Whalley Abbey between them, if thou stayest them not," replied
Demdike.
"Hell consume them!" cried the abbot.
"Thy speech shows consent," rejoined Demdike. "Come this way."
And, without awaiting the abbot's reply, he dragged his horse towards

the but-end of the mountain. As they went on, the two monks, who had
been filled with surprise at the interview, though they did not dare to
interrupt it, advanced towards their superior, and looked earnestly and
inquiringly at him, but he remained silent; while to the men-at-arms
and the herdsmen, who demanded whether their own beacon-fire
should be extinguished as the others had been, he answered moodily in
the negative.
"Where are the foes you spoke of?" he asked with some uneasiness, as
Demdike led his horse slowly and carefully down the hill-side.
"You shall see anon," replied the other.
"You are taking me to the spot where you traced the magic circle,"
cried Paslew in alarm. "I know it from its unnaturally green hue. I will
not go thither."
"I do not mean you should, lord abbot," replied Demdike, halting.
"Remain on this firm ground. Nay, be not alarmed; you are in no
danger. Now bid your men advance, and prepare their weapons."
The abbot would have demanded wherefore, but at a glance from
Demdike he complied, and the two men-at-arms, and the herdsmen,
arranged themselves beside him, while Fathers Eastgate and Haydocke,
who had gotten upon their mules, took up a position behind.
Scarcely were they thus placed, when a loud shout was raised below,
and a band of armed men, to the number of thirty or forty, leapt the
stone wall, and began to scale the hill with great rapidity. They came
up a deep dry channel, apparently worn in the hill-side by some former
torrent, and which led directly to the spot where Demdike and the abbot
stood. The beacon-fire still blazed brightly, and illuminated the whole
proceeding, showing that these men, from their accoutrements, were
royalist soldiers.
"Stir not, as you value your life," said the wizard to Paslew; "but
observe what shall follow."

CHAPTER II.
--THE ERUPTION.
Demdike went a little further down the hill, stopping when he came to
the green patch. He then plunged his staff into the sod at the first point
where he had cast a tuft of heather, and with such force that it sank
more than three feet. The next moment he plucked it forth, as if with a
great effort, and a jet of black water spouted into the air; but, heedless
of this, he went to the next marked spot, and again plunged the sharp
point of the implement into the ground. Again it sank to the same depth,
and, on being drawn out, a second black jet sprung forth.
Meanwhile the hostile party continued to advance up the dry channel
before mentioned, and shouted on beholding these strange preparations,
but they did not relax their speed. Once more the staff sank into the
ground, and a third black fountain followed its extraction. By this time,
the royalist soldiers were close at hand, and the features of their two
leaders, John Braddyll and Richard Assheton, could be plainly
distinguished, and their voices heard.
"'Tis he! 'tis the rebel abbot!" vociferated Braddyll, pressing forward.
"We were not misinformed. He has been watching by the beacon. The
devil has delivered him into our hands."
"Ho! ho!" laughed Demdike.
"Abbot no longer--'tis the Earl of Poverty you mean," responded
Assheton. "The villain shall be gibbeted on the spot where he has fired
the beacon, as a warning to all traitors."
"Ha, heretics!--ha, blasphemers!--I can at least avenge myself upon
you," cried Paslew, striking spurs into his charger. But ere he could
execute his purpose, Demdike had sprung backward, and, catching the
bridle, restrained the animal by a powerful effort.
"Hold!" he cried, in a voice of thunder, "or you will share their fate."

As the words were uttered, a dull, booming, subterranean sound was
heard,