debating with himself whether he should now quit the river, he fancied he beheld a black object swimming towards him.  Taking it for an otter, with which voracious animal the Calder, a stream swarming with trout, abounded, and knowing the creature would not meddle with them unless first attacked, he paid little attention to it; but he was soon made sensible of his error.  His arm was suddenly seized by a large black hound, whose sharp fangs met in his flesh.  Unable to repress a cry of pain, Hal strove to disengage himself from his assailant, and, finding it impossible, flung himself into the water in the hope of drowning him, but, as the hound still maintained his hold, he searched for his knife to slay him.  But he could not find it, and in his distress applied to Paslew.

“Ha yo onny weepun abowt yo, lort abbut,” he cried, “wi’ which ey con free mysel fro’ this accussed hound?”

“Alas! no, my son,” replied Paslew, “and I fear no weapon will prevail against it, for I recognise in the animal the hound of the wizard, Demdike.”

“Ey thowt t’ dule wur in it,” rejoined Hal; “boh leave me to fight it owt, and do you gain t’ bonk, an mey t’ best o’ your way to t’ Wiswall.  Ey’n join ye os soon os ey con scrush this varment’s heaod agen a stoan.  Ha!” he added, joyfully, “Ey’n found t’ thwittle.  Go—­go.  Ey’n soon be efter ye.”

Feeling he should sink if he remained where he was, and wholly unable to offer any effectual assistance to his companion, the abbot turned to the left, where a large oak overhung the stream, and he was climbing the bank, aided by the roots of the tree, when a man suddenly came from behind it, seized his hand, and dragged him up forcibly.  At the same moment his captor placed a bugle to his lips, and winding a few notes, he was instantly answered by shouts, and soon afterwards half a dozen armed men ran up, bearing torches.  Not a word passed between the fugitive and his captor; but when the men came up, and the torchlight fell upon the features of the latter, the abbot’s worst fears were realised.  It was Demdike.

“False to your king!—­false to your oath!—­false to all men!” cried the wizard.  “You seek to escape in vain!”

“I merit all your reproaches,” replied the abbot; “but it may he some satisfaction, to you to learn, that I have endured far greater suffering than if I had patiently awaited my doom.”

“I am glad of it,” rejoined Demdike, with a savage laugh; “but you have destroyed others beside yourself.  Where is the fellow in the water?  What, ho, Uriel!”

But as no sound reached him, he snatched a torch from one of the arquebussiers and held it to the river’s brink.  But he could see neither hound nor man.

“Strange!” he cried.  “He cannot have escaped.  Uriel is more than a match for any man.  Secure the prisoner while I examine the stream.”

With this, he ran along the bank with great quickness, holding his torch far over the water, so as to reveal any thing floating within it, but nothing met his view until he came within a short distance of the mill, when he beheld a black object struggling in the current, and soon found that it was his dog making feeble efforts to gain the bank.