“By the holy patriarchs and prophets; by the prelates and confessors; by the doctors of the church; by the holy abbots, monks, and eremites, who dwelt in solitudes, in mountains, and in caverns; by the holy saints and martyrs, who suffered torture and death for their faith, I curse thee, witch!” cried Paslew.  “May the malediction of Heaven and all its hosts alight on the head of thy infant—­”

“Oh! holy abbot,” shrieked Bess, breaking from her husband, and flinging herself at Paslew’s feet, “curse me, if thou wilt, but spare my innocent child.  Save it, and we will save thee.”

“Avoid thee, wretched and impious woman,” rejoined the abbot; “I have pronounced the dread anathema, and it cannot be recalled.  Look at the dripping garments of thy child.  In blood has it been baptised, and through blood-stained paths shall its course be taken.”

“Ha!” shrieked Bess, noticing for the first time the ensanguined condition of the infant’s attire.  “Cuthbert’s blood—­oh!”

“Listen to me, wicked woman,” pursued the abbot, as if filled with a prophetic spirit.  “Thy child’s life shall be long—­beyond the ordinary term of woman—­but it shall be a life of woe and ill.”

“Oh! stay him—­stay him; or I shall die!” cried Bess.

But the wizard could not speak.  A greater power than his own apparently overmastered him.

“Children shall she have,” continued the abbot, “and children’s children, but they shall be a race doomed and accursed—­a brood of adders, that the world shall flee from and crush.  A thing accursed, and shunned by her fellows, shall thy daughter be—­evil reputed and evil doing.  No hand to help her—­no lip to bless her—­life a burden; and death—­long, long in coming—­finding her in a dismal dungeon.  Now, depart from me, and trouble me no more.”

Bess made a motion as if she would go, and then turning, partly round, dropped heavily on the ground.  Demdike caught the child ere she fell.

“Thou hast killed her!” he cried to the abbot.

“A stronger voice than mine hath spoken, if it be so,” rejoined Paslew. “Fuge miserrime, fuge malefice, quia judex adest iratus.”

At this moment the trumpet again sounded, and the cavalcade being put in motion, the abbot and his fellow-captives passed through the gate.

Dismounting from their mules within the court, before the chapter-house, the captive ecclesiastics, preceded by the sheriff were led to the principal chamber of the structure, where the Earl of Derby awaited them, seated in the Gothic carved oak chair, formerly occupied by the Abbots of Whalley on the occasions of conferences or elections.  The earl was surrounded by his officers, and the chamber was filled with armed men.  The abbot slowly advanced towards the earl.  His deportment was dignified and firm, even majestic.  The exaltation of spirit, occasioned by the interview with Demdike and his wife, had passed away, and was succeeded by a profound calm.  The hue of his cheek was livid, but otherwise he seemed wholly unmoved.