On a sudden the gloom was dispersed, and a silvery light shed over the scene.  The moon had broken through a rack of clouds, and illumined the tall mysterious tower, and the dreary waste around it.  With the light a ghostly figure near him became visible to Richard, which under other circumstances would have excited terror in his breast, but which now only filled him with wonder.  It was that of a Cistertian monk; the vestments were old and faded, the visage white and corpse-like.  Richard at once recognised the phantom he had seen in the banquet-hall at the Abbey, and had afterwards so rashly followed to the conventual church.  It touched him with its icy fingers, and a dullness like death shot through his heart.

“Why dost thou trouble me thus, unhappy spirit?” said the young man.  “Leave me, I adjure thee, and let me die in peace!”

“Thou wilt not die yet, Richard Assheton,” returned the phantom; “and my intention is not to trouble thee, but to serve thee.  Without my aid thou wouldst perish where thou liest, but I will raise thee up, and set thee on thy way.”

“Wilt thou help me to liberate Alizon?” demanded Richard.

“Do not concern thyself further about her,” replied the phantom; “she must pass through an ordeal with which nothing human may interfere.  If she escape it you will meet again.  If not, it were better thou shouldst be in thy grave than see her.  Take this phial.  Drink thou the liquid it contains, and thy strength will return to thee.”

“How do I know thou art not sent hither by Mother Demdike to tempt me?” demanded Richard, doubtfully.  “I have already fallen into her snares,” he added, with a groan.

[Illustration:  THE PHANTOM MONK.]

“I am Mother Demdike’s enemy, and the appointed instrument of her punishment,” replied the monk, in a tone that did not admit of question.  “Drink, and fear nothing.”

Richard obeyed, and the next moment sprang to his feet.

“Thou hast indeed restored me!” he cried.  “I would fain reach the secret entrance to the tower.”

“Attempt it not, I charge thee!” cried the phantom; “but depart instantly for Pendle Hill.”

“Wherefore should I go thither?” demanded Richard.

“Thou wilt learn anon,” returned the monk.  “I cannot tell thee more now.  Dismount at the foot of the hill, and proceed to the beacon.  Thou know’st it?”

“I do,” replied Richard.  “There a fire was lighted which was meant to set all England in a blaze.”

“And which led many good men to destruction,” said the monk, in a tone of indescribable sadness.  “Alas! for him who kindled it.  The offence is not yet worked out.  But depart without more delay; and look not back.”

As Richard hastened towards the spot where he had left Merlin, he fancied he was followed by the phantom; but, obedient to the injunction he received, he did not turn his head.  As he mounted the horse, who neighed cheerily as he drew near, he found he was right in supposing the monk to be behind him, for he heard his voice calling out, “Linger not by the way.  To the beacon!—­to the beacon!”