After this had endured for some time, though still the black torrent
rushed on impetuously as ever, Demdike turned to the abbot and said,--

"Your vengeance has been fully gratified. You will now baptise my
child?"

"Never, never, accursed being!" shrieked the abbot. "Thou mayst
sacrifice her at thine own impious rites. But see, there is one poor
wretch yet struggling with the foaming torrent. I may save him."

"That is John Braddyll, thy worst enemy," replied Demdike. "If he lives
he shall possess half Whalley Abbey. Thou hadst best also save Richard
Assheton, who yet clings to the great stone below, as if he escapes he
shall have the other half. Mark him, and make haste, for in five minutes
both shall be gone."

"I will save them if I can, be the consequence to myself what it may,"
replied the abbot.

And, regardless of the derisive laughter of the other, who yelled in his
ears as he went, "Bess shall see thee hanged at thy own door!" he dashed
down the hill to the spot where a small object, distinguishable above
the stream, showed that some one still kept his head above water, his
tall stature having preserved him.

"Is it you, John Braddyll?" cried the abbot, as he rode up.

"Ay," replied the head. "Forgive me for the wrong I intended you, and
deliver me from this great peril."