the crook to Assheton; but when the latter caught it, the stream swung
him round with such force that the abbot must either abandon him or
advance further into the water. Bent on Assheton's preservation, he
adopted the latter expedient, and instantly lost his feet; while the
herdsman, unable longer to hold him, let go the crook, and the abbot and
Assheton were swept down the stream together.

Down--down they went, destruction apparently awaiting them; but the
abbot, though sometimes quite under the water, and bruised by the rough
stones and gravel with which he came in contact, still retained his
self-possession, and encouraged his companion to hope for succour. In
this way they were borne down to the foot of the hill, the monks, the
herdsmen, and the men-at-arms having given them up as lost. But they yet
lived--yet floated--though greatly injured, and almost senseless, when
they were cast into a pool formed by the eddying waters at the foot of
the hill. Here, wholly unable to assist himself, Assheton was seized by
a black hound belonging to a tall man who stood on the bank, and who
shouted to Paslew, as he helped the animal to bring the drowning man
ashore, "The other half of the abbey is gone from thee. Wilt thou
baptise my child if I send my dog to save thee?"

"Never!" replied the other, sinking as he spoke.

Flashes of fire glanced in the abbot's eyes, and stunning sounds seemed
to burst his ears. A few more struggles, and he became senseless.

But he was not destined to die thus. What happened afterwards he knew
not; but when he recovered full consciousness, he found himself
stretched, with aching limbs and throbbing head, upon a couch in a
monastic room, with a richly-painted and gilded ceiling, with shields at