“What! you are afraid the devil may carry you off without it—­ho! ho!” roared Demdike.  “Well, that would not suit my purpose at present.  Here, take it—­and now off with her, lads, without more ado!”

And as he spoke, a trapdoor was opened by one of the robbers, disclosing a flight of steps leading to the subterranean chambers, down which the miserable lady was dragged.

Presently the two men re-appeared with a grim smile on their ruffianly countenances, and, as they closed the trapdoor, one of them observed to the captain that they had chained her to a pillar, by removing the band from the great skeleton, and passing it round her body.

“You have done well, lads,” replied Demdike, approvingly; “and now go all of you and scour the hill-top, and return in an hour, and we will decide upon what is to be done with this woman.”

The two men then joined the rest of their comrades outside, and the whole troop descended the steps, which were afterwards drawn up by Demdike.  This done, the robber captain returned to the circular chamber, and for some time paced to and fro, revolving his dark schemes.  He then paused, and placing his ear near the trapdoor, listened, but as no sound reached him, he sat down at the table, and soon grew so much absorbed as to be unconscious that a dark figure was creeping stealthily down the narrow staircase behind him.

“I cannot get rid of Nicholas Assheton,” he exclaimed at length.  “I somehow fancy we shall meet again; and yet all should be over with him by this time.”

“Look round!” thundered a voice behind him.  “Nicholas Assheton is not to be got rid of so easily.”

At this unexpected summons, Demdike started to his feet, and recoiled aghast, as he saw what he took to be the ghost of the murdered squire standing before him.  A second look, however, convinced him that it was no phantom he beheld, but a living man, armed for vengeance, and determined upon it.

“Get a weapon, villain,” cried Nicholas, in tones of concentrated fury.  “I do not wish to take unfair advantage, even of thee.”

Without a word of reply, Demdike snatched a sword from the wall, and the next moment was engaged in deadly strife with the squire.  They were well matched, for both were powerful men, both expert in the use of their weapons, and the combat might have been protracted and of doubtful issue but for the irresistible fury of Nicholas, who assaulted his adversary with such vigour and determination that he speedily drove him against the wall, where the latter made an attempt to seize a petronel hanging beside him, but his purpose being divined, he received a thrust through the arm, and, dropping his blade, lay at the squire’s mercy.

Nicholas shortened his sword, but forbore to strike.  Seizing his enemy by the throat, he hurled him to the ground, and, planting his knee on his chest, called out, “What, ho, Nance!”

“Nance!” exclaimed Demdike,—­“then it was that mischievous jade who brought you here.”