“My duty,” replied the other, “is to range daily throughout all the purlieus, or pourallees, as Master Potts more properly terms them, and disafforested lands, and inquire into all trespasses and offences against vert or venison, and present them at the king’s next court of attachment or swainmote.  It is also my business to drive into the forest such wild beasts as have strayed from it; to attend to the lawing and expeditation of mastiffs; and to raise hue and cry against any malefactors or trespassers within the forest.”

“I will give you the exact words of the statute,” said Potts—­’Si quis viderit malefactores infra metas forestae, debet illos capere secundum posse suum, et si non possit; debet levare hutesium et clamorem.’  And the penalty for refusing to follow hue and cry is heavy fine.”

“I would that that part of your duty relating to the hock-sinewing, and lawing of mastiffs, could be discontinued,” said Richard.  “I grieve to see a noble animal so mutilated.”

“In Bowland Forest, as you are probably aware, sir,” rejoined the reeve, “only the larger mastiffs are lamed, a small stirrup or gauge being kept by the master forester, Squire Robert Parker of Browsholme, and the dog whose foot will pass through it escapes mutilation.”

“The practice is a cruel one, and I would it were abolished with some of our other barbarous forest laws,” observed Richard.

While this conversation had been going on, the party had proceeded well on their way.  For some time the road, which consisted of little more than tracts of wheels along the turf, led along a plain, thrown up into heathy hillocks, and then passing through a thicket, evidently part of the old forest, it brought them to the foot of a hill, which they mounted, and descended into another valley.  Here they came upon Pendle Water, and while skirting its banks, could see at a great depth below, the river rushing over its rocky bed like an Alpine torrent.  The scenery had now begun to assume a savage and sombre character.  The deep rift through which the river ran was evidently the result of some terrible convulsion of the earth, and the rocky strata were strangely and fantastically displayed.  On the further side the banks rose up precipitously, consisting for the most part of bare cliffs, though now and then a tree would root itself in some crevice.  Below this the stream sank over a wide shelf of rock, in a broad full cascade, and boiled and foamed in the stony basin that received it, after which, grown less impetuous, it ran tranquilly on for a couple of hundred yards, and was then artificially restrained by a dam, which, diverting it in part from its course, caused it to turn the wheels of a mill.  Here was the abode of the unfortunate Richard Baldwyn, and here had blossomed forth the fair flower so untimely gathered.  An air of gloom hung over this once cheerful spot:  its very beauty contributing to this saddening effect.  The mill-race flowed swiftly