"I merit all your reproaches," replied the abbot; "but it may he some
satisfaction, to you to learn, that I have endured far greater suffering
than if I had patiently awaited my doom."

"I am glad of it," rejoined Demdike, with a savage laugh; "but you have
destroyed others beside yourself. Where is the fellow in the water?
What, ho, Uriel!"

But as no sound reached him, he snatched a torch from one of the
arquebussiers and held it to the river's brink. But he could see neither
hound nor man.

"Strange!" he cried. "He cannot have escaped. Uriel is more than a match
for any man. Secure the prisoner while I examine the stream."

With this, he ran along the bank with great quickness, holding his torch
far over the water, so as to reveal any thing floating within it, but
nothing met his view until he came within a short distance of the mill,
when he beheld a black object struggling in the current, and soon found
that it was his dog making feeble efforts to gain the bank.

"Ah recreant! thou hast let him go," cried Demdike, furiously.

Seeing his master the animal redoubled its efforts, crept ashore, and
fell at his feet, with a last effort to lick his hands.

Demdike held down the torch, and then perceived that the hound was
quite dead. There was a deep gash in its side, and another in the
throat, showing how it had perished.