“Mause Helston,” said the lover, “if thou wilt help me at this bout, I will not draw back.  I dare wed her though she were twice the thing thou fearest.  Tell me how her spell works,—­I will countervail it,—–­ I will break that accursed charm, and she shall be my bride!”

For a while there was no reply; but he heard a muttering as though some consultation were going on.

“Listen, Lord William,” she spoke aloud.  “Ay, thou wilt listen to thine own jeopardy!  Once in the year—­’tis on the night of All-Hallows—­she may be overcome.  But it is a perilous attempt!”

“I care not.  Point out the way, and I will ride it rough-shod!”

The beldame arose from her couch, and struck a light.  Ere they separated the morning dawned high above the grey hills.  Many rites and incantations were performed, of which we forbear the disgusting recital.  The instructions he received were never divulged; the secrets of that night were never known; but an altered man was Lord William when he came back to Hapton Tower.

On All-Hallows’ day, with a numerous train, he went forth a-hunting.  His hounds were the fleetest from Calder to Calder; and his horns the shrillest through the wide forests of Accrington and Rossendale.  But on that morning a strange hound joined the pack that outstripped them all.

“Blow,” cried Lord William, “till the loud echoes ring, and the fleet hounds o’ertake yon grizzled mongrel.”

Both horses and dogs were driven to their utmost speed, but the strange hound still kept ahead.  Over moor and fell they still rushed on, the hounds in full cry, though as yet guided only by the scent, the object of their pursuit not being visible.  Suddenly a white doe was seen, distant a few yards only, and bounding away from them at full speed.  She might have risen out of the ground, so immediate was her appearance.  On they went in full view, but the deer was swift, and she seemed to wind and double with great dexterity.  Her bearing was evidently towards the steep crags on the east.  They passed the Tower of Bernshaw, and were fast approaching the verge of that tremendous precipice, the “Eagle Crag.”  Horse and rider must inevitably perish if they follow.  But Lord William slackened not in the pursuit; and the deer flew straight as an arrow to its mark,—­the very point where the crag jutted out over the gulf below.  The huntsmen drew back in terror; the dogs were still in chase, though at some distance behind;—­Lord William only and the strange hound were close upon her track.  Beyond the crag nothing was visible but cloud and sky, showing the fearful height and abruptness of the descent.  One moment, and the gulf must be shot:—­his brain felt dizzy, but his heart was resolute.

“Mause, my wench,” said he, “my neck or thine!—­Hie thee; if she’s over, we are lost!”