"I tell thee thou liest, false knave!" cried the abbot, striking him on
the hand with his scourge. "Quit thy hold, and let me go."

"Not till I have done," replied Demdike, maintaining his grasp. "Well
hast thou styled thyself Earl of Poverty, for thou art poor and
miserable enough. Abbot of Whalley thou art no longer. Thy possessions
will be taken from thee, and if thou returnest thy life also will be
taken. If thou fleest, a price will be set upon thy head. I alone can
save thee, and I will do so on one condition."

"Condition! make conditions with thee, bond-slave of Satan!" cried the
abbot, gnashing his teeth. "I reproach myself that I have listened to
thee so long. Stand aside, or I will strike thee dead."

"You are wholly in my power," cried Demdike with a disdainful laugh. And
as he spoke he pressed the large sharp bit against the charger's mouth,
and backed him quickly to the very edge of the hill, the sides of which
here sloped precipitously down. The abbot would have uttered a cry, but
surprise and terror kept him silent.

"Were it my desire to injure you, I could cast you down the
mountain-side to certain death," pursued Demdike. "But I have no such
wish. On the contrary, I will serve you, as I have said, on one
condition."

"Thy condition would imperil my soul," said the abbot, full of wrath and
alarm. "Thou seekest in vain to terrify me into compliance. _Vade retro,
Sathanas_. I defy thee and all thy works."

Demdike laughed scornfully.