“Your snares are not laid subtle enough to catch me,” replied Mistress Nutter.  “I will never part with this holy volume, which is my present safeguard, and on which I build my hopes of salvation—­hopes which your very proposals have revived in my breast; for I am well assured your master would not make them if he felt confident of his power over me.  No; I defy him and you, and I command you in Heaven’s name to get hence, and to tempt me no longer.”

As the words were uttered, with a howl of rage and mortification, like the roar of a wild beast, the dark horseman and his steed vanished.  Alarmed by the sound, Crouch stopped, and questioned the lady as to its cause; but receiving no satisfactory explanation from her, he bade her ride quickly on, affirming it must be the boggart of the clough.

Soon after this they again came upon Downham beck, and were about to cross it, when their purpose was arrested by a joyous barking, and the next moment Grip came up.  The dog, it appeared, had been shut up in the stable, his company not being desired on the expedition; but contriving in some way or other to get out, he had scented his master’s course, and in the end overtaken him.  Crouch did not know whether to be angry or pleased, and at first gave utterance to an oath, and raised his whip to chastise him, but almost instantly the latter feeling predominated, and he welcomed the faithful animal with a few kind words.

“Ey suppose theaw thowt ey couldna do without thee, Grip,” he said, “and mayhap theaw’rt reet.”

They are now across the beck, and speeding over the wide brown waste.  The huntsman warily shapes his course so as to avoid any limestone-quarries or turf-pits.  He points out a jack-o’-lantern dancing merrily on the surface of a dangerous morass, and tells a dismal tale of a traveller lured into it by the delusive light, and swallowed up.

Mistress Nutter pays little heed to him, but ever and anon looks back, as if in dread of some one behind her.  But no one is visible, and she only sees the great black cloud still hovering over Pendle Hill.

On—­on—­they go; their horses’ hoofs now splashing through the wet sod, now beating upon the firm but elastic turf.  A merry ride it would be if their errand were different, and their hearts free from care.  The air is fresh and reviving, and the rapid motion exhilarating.  The stars shine out, and the crescent moon is still glittering in the heavens, but the black cloud hangs motionless on Pendle Hill.

Now and then some bird of night flies past them, and they hear the whooping of the owl, and see him skimming like a ghost over the waste.  Then more fen fires arise, showing that other treacherous quagmires are at hand; but Crouch skirts them safely.  Now the bull-frog croaks in the marsh, and a deep booming tells of a bittern passing by.  They see the mighty bird above them, with his wide heavy wings and long neck.  Grip howls at him, but is instantly checked by his master, and they gallop on.