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"An naw great matter, if it hasn't," returned the miller's wife. "Bess Demdike's neaw great loss." "Is this Bess Demdike's child?" cried Paslew, recoiling. "Yeigh," exclaimed the miller's wife. And mistaking the cause of Paslew's emotion, she added, triumphantly, to her daughter, "Ey towd te, wench, ot t' lort abbut would be of my way o' thinking. T' chilt has got the witch's mark plain upon her.
"Yo remember Feyther Moore, lads," cried Ashbead. "Yeigh, to be sure we done," replied the others; "a good mon, a reet good mon! He never sent away t' poor naw he!" "After Father Moore," said the monk, pleased with their warmth, "comes Father Forrest, the procurator, with Fathers Rede, Clough, and Bancroft, and the procession is closed by Father Smith, the late prior."
"She does not deserve your compassion, Dick," replied Nicholas; "she is only a few degrees better than the old hag who has escaped. Sparshot here tells me she is noted for her skill in modelling clay figures." "Yeigh, that hoo be," replied the broad-faced beadle; "hoo's unaccountable cliver ot that sort o' wark.
The other is their fleeting on the water. The water-ordeal will come presently, but the insensibility of the mark might be at once attested." "Yeigh, that con soon be tried," cried Jem, with a savage laugh. And taking a pin from his sleeve, the ruffian plunged it deeply into the poor creature's flesh.
"Yo are nah mortal, an nah good, to tawk i' this fashion." "Heed not who and what I am," replied the other; "I am known here as a reeve of the forest that is enough. Would you have vengeance on the murtheress of your child?" "Yeigh," rejoined Baldwyn. "And you are willing to pay for it at the price of your soul?" demanded the other, advancing towards him. Baldwyn reeled.
"Naw ey noather," cried Ruchot o' Roaph's, crossing himself, and spitting on the ground. "Owr Leady o' Whalley shielt us fro' t' warlock!" "Tawkin o' Nick Demdike," cried Hal o' Nabs, "yo'd a strawnge odventer wi' him t' neet o' t' great brast o' Pendle Hill, hadna yo, Cuthbert?" "Yeigh, t' firrups tak' him, ey hadn," replied Ashbead. "Theawst hear aw abowt it if t' will.
"Yeigh," replied Hal. "Whot han yo dun wi' t' steigh?" cried Ebil. "Never yo moind," returned Hal, "boh help t' abbut down." Paslew thought it vain to resist further, and with the help of Hal o' Nabs and the miller, and further aided by some irregularities in the wall, he was soon safely landed near the entrance of the passage. Abel fell on his knees, and pressed the abbot's hand to his lips.
"Yeigh, squoire!" responded Sparshot, who had seized hold of Nance "hoo be safe enough." "Nan Redferne is no witch," said Richard Assheton, authoritatively. "Neaw witch, Mester Ruchot!" cried the beadle in amazement. "No more than any of these lasses around us," said Richard. "Release her, Sparshot." "I forbid him to do so, till she has been examined," cried a sharp voice.
"Yeigh, that ey con," rejoined the miller, "an nowt good. Ey wish to see aw these mischeevous witches burnt; an that's why ey ha' ridden efter yo, Mester Nowell. Ey want your help os a magistrate agen Mother Demdike. Yo ha a constable wi' ye, and so can arrest her at wonst." "You have come most opportunely, Baldwyn," observed Potts. "We were just considering whether we should go to Malkin Tower."
"Yeigh, theere be one ot t'other soide," replied Sparshot, "boh it be locked, ey reckon, an maybe hoo'n getten out that way." "Quick, quick, and let's see," cried Potts; "justice must not be thwarted in this shameful manner."
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