"Ey han failed i' mey scheme, feyther abbut, boh rest assured ey'n
avenge you. Demdike shan ha' mey Sheffield thwittle i' his heart 'efore
he's a day older."

"The wizard has a charm against steel, my son, and indeed is proof
against all weapons forged by men," replied Paslew, who recognised the
voice of Hal o' Nabs, and hoped by 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,