destined to die by water. As I have said, thou shalt be hanged at thy
own door, and my wife shall witness thy end."

"Who art thou? I have heard thy voice before," cried the abbot. "It is
like the voice of one whom I knew years ago, and thy features are like
his--though changed--greatly changed. Who art thou?"

"Thou shalt know before thou diest," replied the other, with a look of
gratified vengeance. "Farewell, and reflect upon thy fate."

So saying, he strode towards the door, while the miserable abbot arose,
and marching with uncertain steps to a little oratory adjoining, which
he himself had built, knelt down before the altar, and strove to pray.




CHAPTER III.--WHALLEY ABBEY.


A sad, sad change hath come over the fair Abbey of Whalley. It knoweth
its old masters no longer. For upwards of two centuries and a half hath
the "Blessed Place"[2] grown in beauty and riches. Seventeen abbots have
exercised unbounded hospitality within it, but now they are all gone,
save one!--and he is attainted of felony and treason. The grave monk
walketh no more in the cloisters, nor seeketh his pallet in the
dormitory. Vesper or matin-song resound not as of old within the fine
conventual church. Stripped are the altars of their silver crosses, and
the shrines of their votive offerings and saintly relics. Pyx and
chalice, thuribule and vial, golden-headed pastoral staff, and mitre