On goes the current, madly, furiously, as if rejoicing in the work of destruction, while the white foam of its eddies presents a fearful contrast to the prevailing blackness of the surface.  Over the last declivity it leaps, hissing, foaming, crashing like an avalanche.  The stone wall for a moment opposes its force, but falls the next, with a mighty splash, carrying the spray far and wide, while its own fragments roll onwards with the stream.  The trees of the orchard are uprooted in an instant, and an old elm falls prostrate.  The outbuildings of a cottage are invaded, and the porkers and cattle, divining their danger, squeal and bellow in affright.  But they are quickly silenced.  The resistless foe has broken down wall and door, and buried the poor creatures in mud and rubbish.

The stream next invades the cottage, breaks in through door and window, and filling all the lower part of the tenement, in a few minutes converts it into a heap of ruin.  On goes the destroyer, tearing up more trees, levelling more houses, and filling up a small pool, till the latter bursts its banks, and, with an accession to its force, pours itself into a mill-dam.  Here its waters are stayed until they find a vent underneath, and the action of the stream, as it rushes downwards through this exit, forms a great eddy above, in which swim some living things, cattle and sheep from the fold not yet drowned, mixed with furniture from the cottages, and amidst them the bodies of some of the unfortunate men-at-arms which have been washed hither.

But, ha! another thundering crash.  The dam has burst.  The torrent roars and rushes on furiously as before, joins its forces with Pendle Water, swells up the river, and devastates the country far and wide.[1]

The abbot and his companions beheld this work of destruction with amazement and dread.  Blanched terror sat in their cheeks, and the blood was frozen in Paslew’s veins; for he thought it the work of the powers of darkness, and that he was leagued with them.  He tried to mutter a prayer, but his lips refused their office.  He would have moved, but his limbs were stiffened and paralysed, and he could only gaze aghast at the terrible spectacle.

Amidst it all he heard a wild burst of unearthly laughter, proceeding, he thought, from Demdike, and it filled him with new dread.  But he could not check the sound, neither could he stop his ears, though he would fain have done so.  Like him, his companions were petrified and speechless with fear.

After this had endured for some time, though still the black torrent rushed on impetuously as ever, Demdike turned to the abbot and said,—­

“Your vengeance has been fully gratified.  You will now baptise my child?”

“Never, never, accursed being!” shrieked the abbot.  “Thou mayst sacrifice her at thine own impious rites.  But see, there is one poor wretch yet struggling with the foaming torrent.  I may save him.”