Demdike required no further provocation.  With almost supernatural force and quickness he sprung upon the forester, and seized him by the throat.  But the active young man freed himself from the gripe, and closed with his assailant.  But though of Herculean build, it soon became evident that Ashbead would have the worst of it; when Hal o’ Nabs, who had watched the struggle with intense interest, could not help coming to his friend’s assistance, and made a push at Demdike with the halbert.

Could it be that the wrestlers shifted their position, or that the wizard was indeed aided by the powers of darkness?  None could tell, but so it was that the pike pierced the side of Ashbead, who instantly fell to the ground, with his adversary upon him.  The next instant his hold relaxed, and the wizard sprang to his feet unharmed, but deluged in blood.  Hal o’ Nabs uttered a cry of keenest anguish, and, flinging himself upon the body of the forester, tried to staunch the wound; but he was quickly seized by the arquebussiers, and his hands tied behind his back with a thong, while Ashbead was lifted up and borne towards the abbey, the monks and rustics following slowly after; but the latter were not permitted to enter the gate.

As the unfortunate keeper, who by this time had become insensible from loss of blood, was carried along the walled enclosure leading to the abbot’s lodging, a female with a child in her arms was seen advancing from the opposite side.  She was tall, finely formed, with features of remarkable beauty, though of a masculine and somewhat savage character, and with magnificent but fierce black eyes.  Her skin was dark, and her hair raven black, contrasting strongly with the red band wound around it.  Her kirtle was of murrey-coloured serge; simply, but becomingly fashioned.  A glance sufficed to show her how matters stood with poor Ashbead, and, uttering a sharp angry cry, she rushed towards him.

“What have you done?” she cried, fixing a keen reproachful look on Demdike, who walked beside the wounded man.

“Nothing,” replied Demdike with a bitter laugh; “the fool has been hurt with a pike.  Stand out of the way, Bess, and let the men pass.  They are about to carry him to the cell under the chapter-house.”

“You shall not take him there,” cried Bess Demdike, fiercely.  “He may recover if his wound be dressed.  Let him go to the infirmary—­ha, I forgot—­there is no one there now.”

“Father Bancroft is at the gate,” observed one of the arquebussiers; “he used to act as chirurgeon in the abbey.”

“No monk must enter the gate except the prisoners when they arrive,” observed Assheton; “such are the positive orders of the Earl of Derby.”

“It is not needed,” observed Demdike, “no human aid can save the man.”

“But can other aid save him?” said Bess, breathing the words in her husband’s ears.

“Go to!” cried Demdike, pushing her roughly aside; “wouldst have me save thy lover?”