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Updated: June 24, 2025
"Where are the foes you spoke of?" he asked with some uneasiness, as Demdike led his horse slowly and carefully down the hill-side. "You shall see anon," replied the other. "You are taking me to the spot where you traced the magic circle," cried Paslew in alarm. "I know it from its unnaturally green hue. I will not go thither." "I do not mean you should, lord abbot," replied Demdike, halting.
Behind them came a varlet with a paper mitre on his head, and a lathen crosier in his hand, covered with a surcoat, on which was emblazoned, but torn and reversed, the arms of Paslew; argent, a fess between three mullets, sable, pierced of the field, a crescent for difference.
Faded arras were hung against the walls, representing in one compartment the last banquet of Isole de Heton and her lover, Blackburn; in another, the Saxon Ughtred hanging from the summit of Malkin Tower; and in a third, the execution of Abbot Paslew. The subjects were as large as life, admirably depicted, and evidently worked at wondrous looms.
Richard continued silent and preoccupied, and neither ate nor drank; but Nicholas appearing to think his courage would be best sustained by an extra allowance of clary and sack, applied himself frequently to the goblet with that view, and erelong his spirits improved so wonderfully, and his natural boldness was so much increased, that he was ready to confront Abbot Paslew, or any other abbot of them all, wherever they might chance to cross him.
"Beware lest any harm come to him, or thou wilt rue it," cried Paslew. "But I have no time to waste on thee. Farewell, fathers. High mass will be said in the convent church before we set out on the expedition to-morrow morning. You will both attend it."
He would have averted his gaze, but an irresistible fascination withheld him. "Thou seest all is prepared," said Demdike, coming close up the mule on which Paslew was mounted, and pointing to the gigantic gallows, looming above the abbey walls; "wilt them now accede to my request?" And then he added, significantly "on the same terms as before." The abbot understood his meaning well.
"Well, be it as thou wilt," replied the earl, bending his brows, "though he ill deserves such grace. Now, John Paslew, what wouldst thou?" Thus addressed, the abbot looked up.
"Why should an enemy deposit a garland on the abbot's tomb, since it was by mere chance that it hath met my eyes?" "Mere chance!" cried Nicholas; "every thing is mere chance with you philosophers. There is more than chance in it. My mind misgives me strangely. That terrible old Abbot Paslew is as troublesome to us in death, as he was during life to our predecessor, Richard Assheton.
Paslew was first unloosed, and when he stood up, he found Father Smith, the late prior, beside him, and tenderly embraced him. "Be of good courage, Father Abbot," said the prior; "a few moments, and you will be numbered with the just." "My hope is in the infinite mercy of Heaven, father," replied Paslew, sighing deeply. "Pray for me at the last." "Doubt it not," returned the prior, fervently.
"Abbot no longer 'tis the Earl of Poverty you mean," responded Assheton. "The villain shall be gibbeted on the spot where he has fired the beacon, as a warning to all traitors." "Ha, heretics! ha, blasphemers! I can at least avenge myself upon you," cried Paslew, striking spurs into his charger.
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