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.