still maintained his hold, he searched for his knife to slay him. But he
could not find it, and in his distress applied to Paslew.

"Ha yo onny weepun abowt yo, lort abbut," he cried, "wi' which ey con
free mysel fro' this accussed hound?"

"Alas! no, my son," replied Paslew, "and I fear no weapon will prevail
against it, for I recognise in the animal the hound of the wizard,
Demdike."

"Ey thowt t' dule wur in it," rejoined Hal; "boh leave me to fight it
owt, and do you gain t' bonk, an mey t' best o' your way to t' Wiswall.
Ey'n join ye os soon os ey con scrush this varment's heaod agen a stoan.
Ha!" he added, joyfully, "Ey'n found t' thwittle. Go--go. Ey'n soon be
efter ye."

Feeling he should sink if he remained where he was, and wholly unable to
offer any effectual assistance to his companion, the abbot turned to the
left, where a large oak overhung the stream, and he was climbing the
bank, aided by the roots of the tree, when a man suddenly came from
behind it, seized his hand, and dragged him up forcibly. At the same
moment his captor placed a bugle to his lips, and winding a few notes,
he was instantly answered by shouts, and soon afterwards half a dozen
armed men ran up, bearing torches. Not a word passed between the
fugitive and his captor; but when the men came up, and the torchlight
fell upon the features of the latter, the abbot's worst fears were
realised. It was Demdike.

"False to your king!--false to your oath!--false to all men!" cried the
wizard. "You seek to escape in vain!"