“Yet we have many and powerful enemies,” observed Father Eastgate; “and the king, it is said, hath sworn never to make terms with us.  Tidings were brought to the abbey this morning, that the Earl of Derby is assembling forces at Preston, to march upon us.”

“We will give him a warm reception if he comes,” replied Paslew, fiercely.  “He will find that our walls have not been kernelled and embattled by licence of good King Edward the Third for nothing; and that our brethren can fight as well as their predecessors fought in the time of Abbot Holden, when they took tithe by force from Sir Christopher Parsons of Slaydburn.  The abbey is strong, and right well defended, and we need not fear a surprise.  But it grows dark fast, and yet no signal comes.”

“Perchance the waters of the Don have again risen, so as to prevent the army from fording the stream,” observed Father Haydocke; “or it may be that some disaster hath befallen our leader.”

“Nay, I will not believe the latter,” said the abbot; “Robert Aske is chosen by Heaven to be our deliverer.  It has been prophesied that a ‘worm with one eye’ shall work the redemption of the fallen faith, and you know that Robert Aske hath been deprived of his left orb by an arrow.”

“Therefore it is,” observed Father Eastgate, “that the Pilgrims of Grace chant the following ditty:—­

          “’Forth shall come an Aske with one eye,
          He shall be chief of the company—­
          Chief of the northern chivalry.’”

“What more?” demanded the abbot, seeing that the monk appeared to hesitate.

“Nay, I know not whether the rest of the rhymes may please you, lord abbot,” replied Father Eastgate.

“Let me hear them, and I will judge,” said Paslew.  Thus urged, the monk went on:—­

          “’One shall sit at a solemn feast,
          Half warrior, half priest,
          The greatest there shall be the least.’”

“The last verse,” observed the monk, “has been added to the ditty by Nicholas Demdike.  I heard him sing it the other day at the abbey gate.”

“What, Nicholas Demdike of Worston?” cried the abbot; “he whose wife is a witch?”

“The same,” replied Eastgate.

“Hoo be so ceawnted, sure eno,” remarked the forester, who had been listening attentively to their discourse, and who now stepped forward; “boh dunna yo think it.  Beleemy, lort abbut, Bess Demdike’s too yunk an too protty for a witch.”

“Thou art bewitched by her thyself, Cuthbert,” said the abbot, angrily.  “I shall impose a penance upon thee, to free thee from the evil influence.  Thou must recite twenty paternosters daily, fasting, for one month; and afterwards perform a pilgrimage to the shrine of our Lady of Gilsland.  Bess Demdike is an approved and notorious witch, and hath been seen by credible witnesses attending a devil’s sabbath on this very hill—­Heaven shield us!  It is therefore that I have placed her and her husband under the ban of the Church; pronounced sentence of excommunication against them; and commanded all my clergy to refuse baptism to their infant daughter, newly born.”