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.
“Owr Blessed Leady be praised, yo are free,” he cried.
“Dunna stond tawking here, Ebil,” interposed Hal o’ Nabs, who by this time had reached the ground, and who was fearful of some new remonstrance on the abbot’s part. “Ey’m feerd o’ pursuit.”
“Yo’ needna be afeerd o’ that, Hal,” replied the miller. “T’ guard are safe enough. One o’ owr chaps has just tuk em up a big black jack fu’ o’ stout ele; an ey warrant me they winnaw stir yet awhoile. Win it please yo to cum wi’ me, lort abbut?”
With this, he marched along the passage, followed by the others, and presently arrived at a door, against which he tapped. A bolt being withdrawn, it was instantly opened to admit the party, after which it was as quickly shut, and secured. In answer to a call from the miller, a light appeared at the top of a steep, ladder-like flight of wooden steps, and up these Paslew, at the entreaty of Abel, mounted, and found himself in a large, low chamber, the roof of which was crossed by great beams, covered thickly with cobwebs, whitened by flour, while the floor was strewn with empty sacks and sieves.
The person who held the light proved to be the miller’s daughter, Dorothy, a blooming lass of eighteen, and at the other end of the chamber, seated on a bench before a turf fire, with an infant on her knees, was the miller’s wife. The latter instantly arose on beholding the abbot, and, placing the child on a corn bin, advanced towards him, and dropped on her knees, while her daughter imitated her example. The abbot extended his hands over them, and pronounced a solemn benediction.
“Bring your child also to me, that I may bless it,” he said, when he concluded.
“It’s nah my child, lort abbut,” replied the miller’s wife, taking up the infant and bringing it to him; “it wur brought to me this varry neet by Ebil. Ey wish it wur far enough, ey’m sure, for it’s a deformed little urchon. One o’ its een is lower set than t’ other; an t’ reet looks up, while t’ laft looks down.”
And as she spoke she pointed to the infant’s face, which was disfigured as she had stated, by a strange and unnatural disposition of the eyes, one of which was set much lower in the head than the other. Awakened from sleep, the child uttered a feeble cry, and stretched out its tiny arms to Dorothy.
“You ought to pity it for its deformity, poor little creature, rather than reproach it, mother,” observed the young damsel.
“Marry kem eawt!” cried her mother, sharply, “yo’n getten fine feelings wi’ your larning fro t’ good feythers, Dolly. Os ey said efore, ey wish t’ brat wur far enough.”
“You forget it has no mother,” suggested Dorothy, kindly.
“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. Look, lort abbut, look!”
But Paslew heeded her not, but murmured to himself:—
“Ever in my path, go where I will. It is vain to struggle with my fate. I will go back and surrender myself to the Earl of Derby.”
“Nah,—nah!—yo shanna do that,” replied Hal o’ Nabs, who, with the miller, was close beside him. “Sit down o’ that stoo’ be t’ fire, and take a cup o’ wine t’ cheer yo, and then we’n set out to Pendle Forest, where ey’st find yo a safe hiding-place. An t’ ony reward ey’n ever ask for t’ sarvice shan be, that yo’n perform a marriage sarvice fo’ me and Dolly one of these days.” And he nudged the damsel’s elbow, who turned away, covered with blushes.
The abbot moved mechanically to the fire, and sat down, while the miller’s wife, surrendering the child with a shrug of the shoulders and a grimace to her daughter, went in search of some viands and a flask of wine, which she set before Paslew. The miller then filled a drinking-horn, and presented it to his guest, who was about to raise it to his lips, when a loud knocking was heard at the door below.
The knocking continued with increased violence, and voices were heard calling upon the miller to open the door, or it would be broken down. On the first alarm Abel had flown to a small window whence he could reconnoitre those below, and he now returned with a face white with terror, to say that a party of arquebussiers, with the sheriff at their head, were without, and that some of the men were provided with torches.
“They have discovered my evasion, and are come in search of me,” observed the abbot rising, but without betraying any anxiety. “Do not concern yourselves further for me, my good friends, but open the door, and deliver me to them.”
“Nah, nah, that we winnaw,” cried Hal o’ Nabs, “yo’re neaw taen yet, feyther abbut, an’ ey knoa a way to baffle ’em. If y’on let him down into t’ river, Ebil, ey’n manage to get him off.”
“Weel thowt on, Nab,” cried the miller, “theawst nah been mey mon seven year fo nowt. Theaw knoas t’ ways o’ t’ pleck.”
“Os weel os onny rotten abowt it,” replied Hal o’ Nabs. “Go down to t’ grindin’-room, an ey’n follow i’ a troice.”
And as Abel snatched up the light, and hastily descended the steps with Paslew, Hal whispered in Dorothy’s ears—
“Tak care neaw one fonds that chilt, Dolly, if they break in. Hide it safely; an whon they’re gone, tak it to’t church, and place it near t’ altar, where no ill con cum to it or thee. Mey life may hong upon it.”
And as the poor girl, who, as well as her mother, was almost frightened out of her wits, promised compliance, he hurried down the steps after the others, muttering, as the clamour without was redoubled—
“Eigh, roar on till yo’re hoarse. Yo winnaw get in yet awhile, ey’n promise ye.”
Meantime, the abbot had been led to the chief room of the mill, where all the corn formerly consumed within the monastery had been prepared, and which the size of the chamber itself, together with the vastness of the stones used in the operation of grinding, and connected with the huge water-wheel outside, proved to be by no means inconsiderable. Strong shafts of timber supported the flooring above, and were crossed by other boards placed horizontally, from which various implements in use at the mill depended, giving the chamber, imperfectly lighted as it now was by the lamp borne by Abel, a strange and almost mysterious appearance. Three or four of the miller’s men, armed with pikes, had followed their master, and, though much alarmed, they vowed to die rather than give up the abbot.
By this time Hal o’ Nabs had joined the group, and proceeding towards a raised part of the chamber where the grinding-stones were set, he knelt down, and laying hold of a small ring, raised up a trapdoor. The fresh air which blew up through the aperture, combined with the rushing sound of water, showed that the Calder flowed immediately beneath; and, having made some slight preparation, Hal let himself down into the stream.
