"Forbear to urge me further, my good Hal," rejoined Paslew. "I fully
appreciate your devotion; and I only regret that you and Abel Croft have
exposed yourselves to so much peril on my account. Poor Cuthbert
Ashbead! when I beheld his body on the bier, I had a sad feeling that he
had died in my behalf."

"Cuthbert meant to rescue yo, lort abbut," replied Hal, "and deed
resisting Nick Demdike's attempt to arrest him. Boh, be aw t' devils!"
he added, brandishing his knife fiercely, "t' warlock shall ha' three
inches o' cowd steel betwixt his ribs, t' furst time ey cum across him."

"Peace, my son," rejoined the abbot, "and forego your bloody design.
Leave the wretched man to the chastisement of Heaven. And now, farewell!
All your kindly efforts to induce me to fly are vain."

"Yo winnaw go?" cried Hal o'Nabs, scratching his head.

"I cannot," replied the abbot.

"Cum wi' meh to t' windaw, then," pursued Hal, "and tell Ebil so. He'll
think ey'n failed else."

"Willingly," replied the abbot.

And with noiseless footsteps he followed the other across the chamber.
The window was open, and outside it was reared a ladder.

"Yo mun go down a few steps," said Hal o' Nabs, "or else he'll nah hear
yo."