“Whatever may betide, Alizon,” cried Richard, “my life shall be devoted to you; and, if you should not be mine, I will have no other bride.  With your permission, madam,” he added, to Mistress Nutter, “I will take your daughter to Middleton, where she will find companionship and solace, I trust, in the attentions of my sister, who has the strongest affection for her.”

“I could wish nothing better,” replied the lady, “and now to put an end to this harrowing scene.  Farewell, my child.  Take her, Richard, take her!” she cried, as she disengaged herself from the relaxing embrace of her daughter.  “Now, Master Nowell, I am ready.”

“It is well, madam,” he replied.  “You will join the other prisoners, and we will set forth.”

But at this juncture a terrific shriek was heard, which drew all eyes towards the beacon.

When Mother Demdike had been removed, in accordance with the squire’s directions, her conduct became more violent and outrageous than ever, and those who had charge of her threatened, if she did not desist, to carry out the full instructions they had received, and cast her into the flames.  The old hag defied and incensed them to such a degree by her violence and blasphemies, that they carried her to the very edge of the fire.

At this moment the figure of a monk, in mouldering white habiliments, came from behind the beacon, and stood beside the old hag.  He slowly raised his hood, and disclosed features that looked like those of the dead.

“Thy hour is come, accursed woman!” cried the phantom, in thrilling accents.  “Thy term on earth is ended, and thou shalt be delivered to unquenchable fire.  The curse of Paslew is fulfilled upon thee, and will be fulfilled upon all thy viperous brood.”

“Art thou the abbot’s shade?” demanded the hag.

“I am thy implacable enemy,” replied the phantom.  “Thy judgment and thy punishment are committed to me.  To the flames with her!”

Such was the awe inspired by the monk, and such the authority of his tones and gesture, that the command was unhesitatingly obeyed, and the witch was cast, shrieking, into the fire.

She was instantly swallowed up as in a gulf of flame, which raged, and roared, and shot up in a hundred lambent points, as if exulting in its prey.

The wretched creature was seen for a moment to rise up in it in extremity of anguish, with arms extended, and uttering a dreadful yell, but the flames wreathed round her, and she sank for ever.

When those who had assisted at this fearful execution looked around for the mysterious being who had commanded it, they could nowhere behold him.

Then was heard a laugh of gratified hate—­such a laugh as only a demon, or one bound to a demon, can utter—­and the appalled listeners looked around, and beheld Mother Chattox standing behind them.

“My rival is gone!” cried the hag.  “I have seen the last of her.  She is burnt—­ah! ah!”