brethren--the familiar aspect of the sacred edifice--all these filled
him with emotions too painful almost for endurance. It was the last time
he should visit this holy place--the last time he should hear those
solemn sounds--the last time he should behold those familiar
objects--ay, the last! Death could have no pang like this! And with
heart wellnigh bursting, and limbs scarcely serving their office, he
tottered on.

Another trial awaited him, and one for which he was wholly unprepared.
As he drew near the chancel, he looked down an opening on the right,
which seemed purposely preserved by the guard. Why were those tapers
burning in the side chapel? What was within it? He looked again, and
beheld two uncovered biers. On one lay the body of a woman. He started.
In the beautiful, but fierce features of the dead, he beheld the witch,
Bess Demdike. She was gone to her account before him. The malediction he
had pronounced upon her child had killed her.

Appalled, he turned to the other bier, and recognised Cuthbert Ashbead.
He shuddered, but comforted himself that he was at least guiltless of
his death; though he had a strange feeling that the poor forester had in
some way perished for him.

But his attention was diverted towards a tall monk in the Cistertian
habit, standing between the bodies, with the cowl drawn over his face.
As Paslew gazed at him, the monk slowly raised his hood, and partially
disclosed features that smote the abbot as if he had beheld a spectre.
Could it be? Could fancy cheat him thus? He looked again. The monk was
still standing there, but the cowl had dropped over his face. Striving
to shake off the horror that possessed him, the abbot staggered forward,
and reaching the presbytery, sank upon his knees.