the stage. In the midst of them was the "dendrological man," enclosed in
a framework of green boughs, like that borne by a modern
Jack-in-the-green. A ring was formed by the mummers, and the round
commenced to lively music.

While the mazy measure was proceeding, Nance Redferne, who had quitted
the stage with Nicholas, and now stood close to him among the
spectators, said in a low tone, "Look there!"

The squire glanced in the direction indicated, and to his surprise and
terror, distinguished, among the crowd at a little distance, the figure
of a Cistertian monk.

"He is invisible to every eye except our own," whispered Nance, "and is
come to tell me it is time."

"Time for what?" demanded Nicholas.

"Time for you to seize those two accursed Devices, Jem and his mother,"
replied Nance. "They are both on yon boards. Jem is the man in the tree,
and Elizabeth is the owd crone in the red kirtle and high-crowned hat.
Yo win knoa her feaw feace when yo pluck off her mask."

"The monk is gone," cried Nicholas; "I have kept my eyes steadily fixed
on him, and he has melted into air. What has he to do with the Devices?"

"He is their fate," returned Nance, "an ey ha' acted under his orders.
Boh mount, an seize them. Ey win ge wi' ye."

Forcing his way through the crowd, Nicholas ran up the steps, and,
followed by Nance, sprang upon the stage. His appearance occasioned
considerable surprise; but as he was recognised by the spectators as the
jolly Jem Tospot, who had so recently diverted them, and his companion
as one of the three Doll Wangos, in anticipation of some more fun they
received him with a round of applause. But without stopping to
acknowledge it, or being for a moment diverted from his purpose,
Nicholas seized the old crone, and, consigning her to Nance, caught
hold of the leafy frame in which the man was encased, and pulled him
from under it. But he began to think he had unkennelled the wrong fox,
for the man, though a tall fellow, bore no resemblance to Jem Device;
while, when the crone's mask was plucked off, she was found to be a
comely young woman. Meanwhile, all around was in an uproar, and amidst a
hurricane of hisses, yells, and other indications of displeasure from
the spectators, several of the mummers demanded the meaning of such a
strange and unwarrantable proceeding.

"They are a couple of witches," cried Nicholas; "this is Jem Device and
his mother Elizabeth."

"My name is nother Jem nor Device," cried the man.

"Nor mine Elizabeth," screamed the woman.

"We know the Devices," cried two or three voices, "and these are none of
'em."

Nicholas was perplexed. The storm increased; threats accompanied the
hisses; when luckily he espied a ring on the man's finger. He instantly
seized his hand, and held it up to the general gaze.

"A proof!--a proof!" he cried. "This sapphire ring was given by the King
to my cousin, Richard Assheton, this morning, and stolen from him by Jem
Device."

"Examine their features again," said Nance Redferne, waving her hands
over them. "Yo win aw knoa them now."

The woman's face instantly altered. Many years being added to it in a
breath. The man changed equally. The utmost astonishment was evinced by
all at the transformation, and the bystanders who had spoken before, now
cried out loudly--"We know them perfectly now. They are the two
Devices."

By this time an officer, attended by a party of halberdiers, had mounted
the boards, and the two prisoners were delivered to their custody by
Nicholas.

"Howd!" cried the man; "Ey win no longer deny my name. Ey am Jem Device,
an this is my mother, Elizabeth. Boh a warse offender than either on us
stonds afore yo. This woman is Nance Redferne, grandowter of the owd
hag, Mother Chattox. Ey charge her wi' makin' wax images, an' stickin'
pins in 'em, wi' intent to kill folk. Hoo wad ha' kilt me mysel', wi'
her devilry, if ey hadna bin too strong for her--an' that's why hoo
bears me malice, an' has betrayed me to Squoire Nicholas Assheton. Seize
her, an' ca' me as a witness agen her."

And as Nance was secured, he laughed malignantly.

"Ey care not," replied Nance. "Ey am now revenged on you both."

While this impromptu performance took place, as much to the surprise of
James as of any one else, and while he was desiring Sir Richard Hoghton
to ascertain what it all meant--at the very moment that the two Devices
and Nance removed from the stage, an usher approached the monarch, and
said that Master Potts entreated a moment's audience of his majesty.

"Potts!" exclaimed James, somewhat confused. "Wha is he?--ah, yes! I
recollect--a witch-finder. Weel, let him approach."

Accordingly, the next moment the little attorney, whose face was
evidently charged with some tremendous intelligence, was ushered into
the king's presence.

After a profound reverence, he said, "May it please your Majesty, I have
something for your private ear."

"Aweel, then," replied James, "approach us mair closely. What hae ye got
to say, sir? Aught mair anent these witches?"

"A great deal, sire," said Potts, in an impressive tone. "Something
dreadful has happened--something terrible."

"Eh! what?" exclaimed James, looking alarmed. "What is it, man? Speak!"

"Murder? sire,--murder has been done," said Potts, in low thrilling
accents.

"Murder!" exclaimed James, horror-stricken. "Tell us a' about it, and
without more ado."

But Potts was still circumspect. With an air of deepest mystery, he
approached his head as near as he dared to that of the monarch, and
whispered in his ear.

"Can this be true?" cried James. "If sae--it's very shocking--very
sad."

"It is too true, as your Majesty will find on investigation," replied
Potts. "The little girl I told you of, Jennet Device, saw it done."

"Weel, weel, there is nae accounting for human frailty and wickedness,"
said James. "Let a' necessary steps be taken at once. We will consider
what to do. But--d'ye hear, sir?--dinna let the bairn Jennet go. Haud
her fast. D'ye mind that? Now go, and cause the guilty party to be put
under arrest."

And on receiving this command Master Potts departed.

Scarcely was he gone than Nicholas Assheton came up to the railing of
the platform, and, imploring his Majesty's forgiveness for the
disturbance he had occasioned, explained that it had been owing to the
seizure of the two Devices, who, for some wicked but unexplained
purpose, had contrived to introduce themselves, under various disguises,
into the Tower.

"Ye did right to arrest the miscreants, sir," said James. "But hae ye
heard what has happened?"

"No, my liege," replied Nicholas, alarmed by the King's manner; "what is
it?"

"Come nearer, and ye shall learn," replied James; "for we wadna hae it
bruited abroad, though if true, as we canna doubt, it will be known soon
enough."

And as the squire bent forward, he imparted some intelligence to him,
which instantly changed the expression of the latter to one of mingled
horror and rage.

"It is false, sire!" he cried. "I will answer for her innocence with my
life. She could not do it. Your Majesty's patience is abused. It is
Jennet who has done it--not she. But I will unravel the terrible
mystery. You have the other two wretches prisoners, and can enforce the
truth from them."

"We will essay to do so," replied James; "but we have also another
prisoner."

"Christopher Demdike?" said Nicholas.

"Ay, Christopher Demdike," rejoined James. "But another besides
him--Mistress Nutter. You stare, sir; but it is true. She is in yonder
pavilion. We ken fu' weel wha assisted her flight, and wha concealed
her. Maister Potts has told us a'. It is weel for you that your puir
kinsman, Richard Assheton, did us sic gude service at the boar-hunt
to-day. We shall not now be unmindful of it, even though he cannot send
us the ring we gave him."

"It is here, sire," replied Nicholas. "It was stolen from him by the
villain, Jem Device. The poor youth meant to use it for Alizon. I now
deliver it to your Majesty as coming from him in her behalf."

"And we sae receive it," replied the monarch, brushing away the moisture
that gathered thickly in his eyes.

At this moment a tall personage, wrapped in a cloak, who appeared to be
an officer of the guard, approached the railing.

"I am come to inform your Majesty that Christopher Demdike has just died
of his wounds," said this personage.

"And sae he has had a strae death, after a'!" rejoined James. "Weel, we
are sorry for it."

"His portion will be eternal bale," observed the officer.

"How know you that, sir?" demanded the King, sharply. "You are not his
judge."

"I witnessed his end, sire," replied the officer; "and no man who died
as he died can be saved. The Fiend was beside him at the death-throes."

"Save us!" exclaimed James. "Ye dinna say so? God's santie! man, but
this is grewsome, and gars the flesh creep on one's banes. Let his foul
carcase be taen awa', and hangit on a gibbet on the hill where Malkin
Tower aince stood, as a warning to a' sic heinous offenders."

As the King ceased speaking, Master Potts appeared out of breath, and
greatly excited.

"She has escaped, sire!" he cried.

"Wha! Jennet!" exclaimed James. "If sae, we will tang you in her stead."

"No, sire--Alizon," replied Potts. "I can nowhere find her; nor--" and
he hesitated.

"Weel--weel--it is nae great matter," replied James, as if relieved,
and with a glance of satisfaction at Nicholas.

"I know where Alizon is, sire," said the officer.

"Indeed!" exclaimed James. "This fellow is strangely officious," he
muttered to himself. "And where may she be, sir?" he added, aloud.

"I will produce her within a quarter of an hour in yonder pavilion,"
replied the officer, "and all that Master Potts has been unable to
find."

"Your Majesty may trust him," observed Nicholas, who had attentively
regarded the officer. "Depend upon it he will make good his words."

"You think so?" cried the King. "Then we will put him to the test. You
will engage to confront Alizon with her mother?" he added, to the
officer.

"I will, sire," replied the other. "But I shall require the assistance
of a dozen men."

"Tak twenty, if you will," replied the King,--"I am impatient to see
what you can do."

"In a quarter of a minute all shall be ready within the pavilion, sire,"
replied the officer. "You have seen one masque to-night;--but you shall
now behold a different one--the masque of death."

And he disappeared.

Nicholas felt sure he would accomplish his task, for he had recognised
in him the Cistertian monk.

"Where is Sir Richard Assheton of Middleton?" inquired the King.

"He left the Tower with his daughter Dorothy, immediately after the
banquet," replied Nicholas.

"I am glad of it--right glad," replied the monarch; "the terrible
intelligence can be the better broken to them. If it had come upon them
suddenly, it might have been fatal--especially to the puir lassie. Let
Sir Ralph Assheton of Whalley come to me--and Master Roger Nowell of
Read."

"Your Majesty shall be obeyed," replied Sir Richard Hoghton.

The King then gave some instructions respecting the prisoners, and bade
Master Potts have Jennet in readiness.

And now to see what terrible thing had happened.

CHAPTER XI.--FATALITY.

Along the eastern terrace a youth and maiden were pacing slowly. They
had stolen forth unperceived from the revel, and, passing through a door
standing invitingly open, had entered the garden. Though overjoyed in
each other's presence, the solemn beauty of the night, so powerful in
its contrast to the riotous scene they had just quitted, profoundly
impressed them. Above, were the deep serene heavens, lighted up by the
starry host and their radiant queen--below, the immemorial woods,
steeped in silvery mists arising from the stream flowing past them. All
nature was hushed in holy rest. In opposition to the flood of soft light
emanating from the lovely planet overhead, and which turned all it fell
on, whether tree, or tower, or stream, to beauty, was the artificial
glare caused by the torches near the pavilion; while the discordant
sounds occasioned by the minstrels tuning their instruments, disturbed
the repose. As they went on, however, these sounds were lost in the
distance, and the glare of the torches was excluded by intervening
trees. Then the moon looked down lovingly upon them, and the only music
that reached their ears arose from the nightingales. After a pause, they
walked on again, hand-in-hand, gazing at each other, at the glorious
heavens, and drinking in the thrilling melody of the songsters of the
grove.

At the angle of the terrace was a small arbour placed in the midst of a
bosquet, and they sat down within it. Then, and not till then, did their
thoughts find vent in words. Forgetting the sorrows they had endured,
and the perils by which they were environed, they found in their deep
mutual love a shield against the sharpest arrows of fate. In low gentle
accents they breathed their passion, solemnly plighting their faith
before all-seeing Heaven.

Poor souls! they were happy then--intensely happy. Alas! that their
happiness should be so short; for those few moments of bliss, stolen
from a waste of tears, were all that were allowed them. Inexorable fate
still dogged their footsteps.

Amidst the bosquet stood a listener to their converse--a little girl
with high shoulders and sharp features, on which diabolical malice was
stamped. Two yellow eyes glistened through the leaves beside her,
marking the presence of a cat. As the lovers breathed their vows, and
indulged in hopes never to be realised, the wicked child grinned,
clenched her hands, and, grudging them their short-lived happiness,
seemed inclined to interrupt it. Some stronger motive, however, kept her
quiet.

What are the pair talking of now?--She hears her own name mentioned by
the maiden, who speaks of her with pity, almost with affection--pardons
her for the mischief she has done her, and hopes Heaven will pardon her
likewise. But she knows not the full extent of the girl's malignity, or
even her gentle heart must have been roused to resentment.

The little girl, however, feels no compunction. Infernal malice has
taken possession of her heart, and crushed every kindly feeling within
it. She hates all those that compassionate her, and returns evil for
good.

What are the lovers talking of now? Of their first meeting at Whalley
Abbey, when one was May Queen, and by her beauty and simplicity won the
other's heart, losing her own at the same time. A bright unclouded
career seemed to lie before them then. Wofully had it darkened since.
Alas! Alas!

The little girl smiles. She hopes they will go on. She likes to hear
them talk thus. Past happiness is ever remembered with a pang by the
wretched, and they _were_ happy then. Go on--go on!

But they are silent for awhile, for they wish to dwell on that hopeful,
that blissful season. And a nightingale, alighting on a bough above
them, pours forth its sweet plaint, as if in response to their tender
emotions. They praise the bird's song, and it suddenly ceases.

For the little girl, full of malevolence, stretches forth her hand, and
it drops to the ground, as if stricken by a dart.

"Is thy heart broken, poor bird?" exclaimed the young man, taking up the
hapless songster, yet warm and palpitating. "To die in the midst of thy
song--'tis hard."

"Very hard!" replied the maiden, tearfully. "Its fate seems a type of
our own."

The little girl laughed, but in a low tone, and to herself.

The pair then grew sad. This slight incident had touched them deeply,
and their conversation took a melancholy turn. They spoke of the blights
that had nipped their love in the bud--of the canker that had eaten into
its heart--of the destiny that so relentlessly pursued them, threatening
to separate them for ever.

The little girl laughed merrily.

Then they spoke of the grave--and of hope beyond the grave; and they
spoke cheerfully.

The little girl could laugh no longer, for with her all beyond the grave
was despair.

After that they spoke of the terrible power that Satan had lately
obtained in that unhappy district, of the arts he had employed, and of
the votaries he had won. Both prayed fervently that his snares might be
circumvented, and his rule destroyed.

During this part of the discourse the cat swelled to the size of a
tiger, and his eyes glowed like fiery coals. He made a motion as if he
would spring forward, but the voice of prayer arrested him, and he
shrank back to his former size.

"Poor Jennet is ensnared by the Fiend," murmured the maiden, "and will
perish eternally. Would I could save her!"

"It cannot be," replied the young man. "She is beyond redemption."

The little girl gnashed her teeth with rage.

"But my mother--I do not now despair of her," said Alizon. "She has
broken the bondage by which she was enchained, and, if she resists
temptation to the last, I am assured will be saved."

"Heaven aid her!" exclaimed Richard.

Scarcely were the words uttered, than the cat disappeared.

"Why, Tib!--where are yo, Tib? Ey want yo!" cried the little girl in a
low tone.

But the familiar did not respond to the call.

"Where con he ha' gone?" cried Jennet; "Tib! Tib!"

Still the cat came not.

"Then ey mun do the wark without him," pursued the little girl; "an ey
win no longer delay it."

And with this she crept stealthily round the arbour, and, approaching
the side where Richard sat, watched an opportunity of touching him
unperceived.

As her finger came in contact with his frame, a pang like death shot
through his heart, and he fell upon Alizon's shoulder.

"Are you ill?" she exclaimed, gazing at his pallid features, rendered
ghastly white by the moonlight.

Richard could make no reply, and Alizon, becoming dreadfully alarmed,
was about to fly for assistance, but the young man, by a great effort,
detained her.

"Ey mun now run an tell Mester Potts, so that hoo may be found wi' him,"
muttered Jennet, creeping away.

Just then Richard recovered his speech, but his words were faintly
uttered, and with difficulty.

"Alizon," he said, "I will not attempt to disguise my condition from
you. I am dying. And my death will be attributed to you--for evil-minded
persons have persuaded the King that you have bewitched me, and he will
believe the charge now. Oh! if you would ease the pangs of death for
me--if you would console my latest moments--leave me, and quit this
place, before it be too late."

"Oh! Richard," she cried distractedly; "you ask more than I can perform.
If you are indeed in such imminent danger, I will stay with you--will
die with you."

"No! live for me--live--save yourself, Alizon," implored the young man.
"Your danger is greater than mine. A dreadful death awaits you at the
stake! Oh! mercy, mercy, heaven! Spare her--in pity spare her!--Have we
not suffered enough? I can no more. Farewell for ever, Alizon--one
kiss--the last."

And as their lips met, his strength utterly forsook him, and he fell
backwards.

"One grave!" he murmured; "one grave, Alizon!"--And so, without a groan,
he expired.

Alizon neither screamed nor swooned, but remained in a state of
stupefaction, gazing at the body. As the moon fell upon the placid
features, they looked as if locked in slumber.

There he lay--the young, the brave, the beautiful, the loving, the
beloved. Fate had triumphed. Death had done his work; but he had only
performed half his task.

"One grave--one grave--it was his last wish--it shall be so!" she cried,
in frenzied tones, "I shall thus escape my enemies, and avoid the
horrible and shameful death to which they would doom me."

And she snatched the dagger from the ill-fated youth's side.

"Now, fate, I defy thee!" she cried, with a fearful laugh.

One last look at that calm beautiful face--one kiss of the cold lips,
which can no more return the endearment--and the dagger is pointed at
her breast.

But she is withheld by an arm of iron, and the weapon falls from her
grasp. She looks up. A tall figure, clothed in the mouldering
habiliments of a Cistertian monk, stands beside her. She knows the
vestments at once, for she has seen them before, hanging up in the
closet adjoining her mother's chamber at Whalley Abbey--and the features
of the ghostly monk seem familiar to her.

"Raise not thy hand against thyself," said the phantom, in a tone of
awful reproof. "It is the Fiend prompts thee to do it. He would take
advantage of thy misery to destroy thee."

"I took thee for the Fiend," replied Alizon, gazing at him with wonder
rather than with terror. "Who art thou?"

"The enemy of thy enemies, and therefore thy friend," replied the monk.
"I would have saved thy lover if I could, but his destiny was not to be
averted. But, rest content, I will avenge him."

"I do not want vengeance--I want to be with him," she replied,
frantically embracing the body.

"Thou wilt soon be with him," said the phantom, in tones of deep
significance. "Arise, and come with me. Thy mother needs thy
assistance."

"My mother!" exclaimed Alizon, clearing the blinding tresses from her
brow. "Where is she?"

"Follow me, and I will bring thee to her," said the monk.

"And leave him? I cannot!" cried Alizon, gazing wildly at the body.

"You must. A soul is at stake, and will perish if you come not," said
the monk. "He is at rest, and you will speedily rejoin him."

"With that assurance I will go," replied Alizon, with a last look at the
object of her love. "One grave--lay us in one grave!"

"It shall be done according to your wish," said the monk.

And he glided on with noiseless footsteps.

Alizon followed him along the terrace.

Presently they came to a dark yew-tree walk, leading to a labyrinth, and
tracking it swiftly, as well as the overarched and intricate path to
which it conducted, they entered a grotto, whence a flight of steps
descended to a subterranean passage, hewn out of the rock. Along this
passage, which was of some extent, the monk proceeded, and Alizon
followed him.

At last they came to another flight of steps, and here the monk stopped.

"We are now beneath the pavilion, where you will find your mother," he
said. "Mount! the way is clear before you. I have other work to do."

Alizon obeyed; and, as she advanced, was surprised to find the monk
gone. He had neither passed her nor ascended the steps, and must,
therefore, have sunk into the earth.

CHAPTER XII.--THE LAST HOUR.

Within the pavilion sat Alice Nutter. She was clad in deep mourning, but
her dress seemed disordered as if by hasty travel. Her looks were full
of anguish and terror; her blanched tresses, once so dark and beautiful,
hung dishevelled over her shoulders; and her thin hands were clasped in
supplication. Her cheeks were ashy pale, but on her brow was a bright
red mark, as if traced by a finger dipped in blood.

A lamp was burning on the table beside her. Near it was a skull, and
near this emblem of mortality an hourglass, running fast.

The windows and doors of the building were closed, and it would seem the
unhappy lady was a prisoner.

She had been brought there secretly that night, with what intent she
knew not; but she felt sure it was with no friendly design towards
herself. Early in the day three horsemen had arrived at her retreat in
Pendle Forest, and without making any charge against her, or explaining
whither they meant to take her, or indeed answering any inquiry, had
brought her off with them, and, proceeding across the country, had
arrived at a forester's hut on the outskirts of Hoghton Park. Here they
tarried till evening, placing her in a room by herself, and keeping
strict watch over her; and when the shadows of night fell, they conveyed
her through the woods, and by a private entrance to the gardens of the
Tower, and with equal secresy to the pavilion, where, setting a lamp
before her, they left her to her meditations. All refused to answer her
inquiries, but one of them, with a sinister smile, placed the hourglass
and skull beside her.

Left alone, the wretched lady vainly sought some solution of the
enigma--why she had been brought thither. She could not solve it; but
she determined, if her capture had been made by any lawful authorities,
to confess her guilt and submit to condign punishment.

Though the windows and doors were closed as before mentioned, sounds
from without reached her, and she heard confused and tumultuous noises
as if from a large assemblage. For what purpose were they met? Could it
be for her execution? No--there were strains of music, and bursts of
laughter. And yet she had heard that the burning of a witch was a
spectacle in which the populace delighted--that they looked upon it as a
show, like any other; and why should they not laugh, and have music at
it? But could she be executed without trial, without judgment? She knew
not. All she knew was she was guilty, and deserved to die. But when this
idea took possession of her, the laughter sounded in her ears like the
yells of demons, and the strains like the fearful harmonies she had
heard at weird sabbaths.

All at once she recollected with indescribable terror, that on this very
night the compact she had entered into with the Fiend expired. That at
midnight, unless by her penitence and prayers she had worked out her
salvation, he could claim her. She recollected also, and with increased
uneasiness, that the man who had set the hourglass on the table, and who
had regarded her with a sinister smile as he did so, had said it was
eleven o'clock! Her last hour then had arrived--nay, was partly spent,
and the moments were passing swiftly by.

The agony she endured at this thought was intense. She felt as if reason
were forsaking her, and, but for her determined efforts to resist it,
such a crisis might have occurred. But she knew that her eternal welfare
depended upon the preservation of her mental balance, and she strove to
maintain it, and in the end succeeded.

Her gaze was fixed intently on the hourglass. She saw the sand trickling
silently but swiftly down, like a current of life-blood, which, when it
ceased, life would cease with it. She saw the shining grains above
insensibly diminishing in quantity, and, as if she could arrest her
destiny by the act, she seized the glass, and would have turned it, but
the folly of the proceeding arrested her, and she set it down again.

Then horrible thoughts came upon her, crushing her and overwhelming her,
and she felt by anticipation all the torments she would speedily have to
endure. Oceans of fire, in which miserable souls were for ever tossing,
rolled before her. Yells, such as no human anguish can produce, smote
her ears. Monsters of frightful form yawned to devour her. Fiends, armed
with terrible implements of torture, such as the wildest imagination
cannot paint, menaced her. All hell, and its horrors, was there, its
dreadful gulf, its roaring furnaces, its rivers of molten metal, ever
burning, yet never consuming its victims. A hot sulphureous atmosphere
oppressed her, and a film of blood dimmed her sight.

She endeavoured to pray, but her tongue clove to the roof of her mouth.
She looked about for her Bible, but it had been left behind when she was
taken from her retreat. She had no safeguard--none.

Still the sand ran on.

New agonies assailed her. Hell was before her again, but in a new form,
and with new torments. She closed her eyes. She shut her ears. But she
saw it still, and heard its terrific yells.

Again she consults the hourglass. The sand is running on--ever
diminishing.

New torments assail her. She thinks of all she loves most on earth--of
her daughter! Oh! if Alizon were near her, she might pray for her--might
scare away these frightful visions--might save her. She calls to
her--but she answers not. No, she is utterly abandoned of God and man,
and must perish eternally.

Again she consults the hourglass. One quarter of an hour is all that
remains to her. Oh! that she could employ it in prayer! Oh! that she
could kneel--or even weep!

A large mirror hangs against the wall, and she is drawn towards it by an
irresistible impulse. She sees a figure within it--but she does not know
herself. Can that cadaverous object, with the white hair, that seems
newly-arisen from the grave, be she? It must be a phantom. No--she
touches her cheek, and finds it is real. But, ah! what is this red brand
upon her brow? It must be the seal of the demon. She tries to efface
it--but it will not come out. On the contrary, it becomes redder and
deeper.

Again she consults the glass. The sand is still running on. How many
minutes remain to her?

"Ten!" cried a voice, replying to her mental inquiry.--"Ten!"

And, turning, she perceived her familiar standing beside her.

"Thy time is wellnigh out, Alice Nutter," he said. "In ten minutes my
lord will claim thee."

"My compact with thy master is broken," she replied, summoning up all
her resolution. "I have long ceased to use the power bestowed upon me;
but, even if I had wished it, thou hast refused to serve me."

"I have refused to serve you, madam, because you have disobeyed the
express injunctions of my master," replied the familiar; "but your
apostasy does not free you from bondage. You have merely lost advantages
which you might have enjoyed. If you chose to dismiss me I could not
help it. Neither I nor my lord have been to blame. We have performed our
part of the contract."

"Why am I brought hither?" demanded Mistress Nutter.

"I will tell you," replied the familiar. "You were brought here by order
of the King. Your retreat was revealed to him by Master Potts, who
learnt it from Jennet Device. The sapient sovereign intended to confront
you with your daughter Alizon, who, like yourself, is accused of
witchcraft; but he will be disappointed--for when he comes for you, you
will be out of his reach--ha! ha!"

And he rubbed his hands at the jest.

"Alizon accused of witchcraft--say'st thou?" cried Mistress Nutter.

"Ay," replied the familiar. "She is suspected of bewitching Richard
Assheton, who has been done to death by Jennet Device. For one so young,
the little girl has certainly a rare turn for mischief. But no one will
know the real author of the crime, and Alizon will suffer for it."

"Heaven will not suffer such iniquity," said the lady.

"As you have nothing to do with heaven, madam, it is needless to refer
to it," said the familiar. "But it certainly is rather hard that one so
young as Alizon should perish."

"Can you save her?" asked Mistress Nutter.

"Oh! yes, I _could_ save her, but she will not let me," replied the
familiar, with a grin.

"No--no--it is impossible," cried the wretched woman. "And I cannot help
her."

"Perhaps you might," observed the tempter. "My master, whom you accuse
of harshness, is ever willing to oblige you. You have a few minutes
left--do you wish him to aid her? Command me, and I will obey you."

"This is some snare," thought Mistress Nutter; "I will resist it."

"You cannot be worse off than you are," remarked the familiar.

"I know not that," replied the lady. "What would'st thou do?"

"Whatever you command me, madam. I can, do nothing of my own accord.
Shall I bring your daughter here? Say so, and it shall be done."

"No--thou would'st ensnare me," she replied. "I well know thou hast no
power over her. Thou would'st place some phantasm before me. I would see
her, but not through thy agency."

"She is here," cried Alizon, opening the door of a closet, and rushing
towards her mother, who instantly locked her in her arms.

"Pray for me, my child," cried Mistress Nutter, mastering her emotion,
"or I shall be snatched from you for ever. My moments are numbered.
Pray--pray!"

Alizon fell on her knees, and prayed fervently.

"You waste your breath," cried the familiar, in a mocking tone. "Never
till the brand shall disappear from her brow, and the writing, traced in
her blood, shall vanish from this parchment, can she be saved. She is
mine."

"Pray, Alizon, pray!" shrieked Mistress Nutter.

"I will tear her in pieces if she does not cease," cried the familiar,
assuming a terrible shape, and menacing her with claws like those of a
wild beast.

"Pray thou, mother!" cried Alizon.

"I cannot," replied the lady.

"I will kill her if she but makes the attempt," howled the demon.

"But try, mother, try!" cried Alizon.

The poor lady dropped on her knees, and raised her hands in humble
supplication--"Heaven forgive me!" she exclaimed.

The demon seized the hourglass.

"The sand is out--her term has expired--she is mine!" he cried.

"Clasp thy arms tightly round me, my child. He cannot take me from
thee," shrieked the agonised woman.

"Release her, Alizon, or I will slay thee likewise," roared the demon.

"Never," she replied; "thou canst not overcome me. Ha!" she added
joyfully, "the brand has disappeared from her brow."

"And the writing from the parchment," howled the demon; "but I will have
her notwithstanding."

And he plunged his claws into Alice Nutter's flesh. But her daughter
held her fast.

"Oh! hold me, my child--hold me, or I am lost!" shrieked the lady.

"Be warned, and let her go, or thy life shall pay for her's," cried the
demon.

"My life for her's, willingly," replied Alizon.

"Then take thy fate," rejoined the evil spirit.

And placing his hand upon her heart, it instantly ceased to beat.

"Mother, thou art saved--saved!" exclaimed Alizon, throwing out her
arms.

And gazing at her for an instant with a seraphic look, she fell
backwards, and expired.

"Thou art mine," roared the demon, seizing Mistress Nutter by the hair,
and dragging her from her daughter's body, to which she clung
desperately.

"Help!--help!" she cried.

"Thou mayst call, but thy cries will be unheeded," rejoined the familiar
with mocking laughter.

"Thou liest, false fiend!" said Mistress Nutter. "Heaven will help me
now."

And, as she spoke, the Cistertian monk stood before them.

"Hence!" he cried with an imperious gesture to the demon. "She is no
longer in thy power. Hence!"

And with a howl of rage and disappointment the familiar vanished.

"Alice Nutter," continued the monk, "thy safety has been purchased at
the price of thy daughter's life. But it is of little moment, for she
could not live long. Her gentle heart was broken, and, when the demon
stopped it for ever, he performed unintentionally a merciful act. She
must rest in the same grave with him she loved so well during life. This
tell to those who will come to thee anon. Thou art delivered from the
yoke of Satan. Full expiation has been made. But earthly justice must be
satisfied. Thou must pay the penalty for crimes committed in the flesh,
but what thou sufferest here shall avail thee hereafter."

"I am content," she replied.

"Pass the rest of thy life in penitence and prayer," pursued the monk,
"and let nothing divert thee from it; for, though free now, thou wilt be
subject to evil influence and temptations to the last. Remember this."

"I will--I will," she rejoined.

"And now," he said, "kneel beside thy daughter's body and pray. I will
return to thee ere many minutes be passed. One task more, and then my
mission is ended."

CHAPTER XIII.--THE MASQUE OF DEATH.

Short time as he had to await, James was unable to control his
impatience. At last he arose, and, completely sobered by the recent
strange events, descended the steps of the platform, and walked on
without assistance.

"Let the yeomen of the guard keep back the crowd," he said to an
officer, "and let none follow me but Sir Ralph Assheton, Master Nicholas
Assheton, and Master Roger Nowell. When I call, let the prisoners be
brought forward."

"Your Majesty shall be obeyed," replied the baronet, giving the
necessary directions.

James then moved slowly forward in the direction of the pavilion; and,
as he went, called Nicholas Assheton to him.

"Wha was that officer?" he asked.

"Your pardon, my liege, but I cannot answer the question," replied
Nicholas.

"And why not, sir?" demanded the monarch, sharply.

"For reasons I will hereafter render to your Majesty, and which I am
persuaded you will find satisfactory," rejoined the squire.

"Weel, weel, I dare say you are right," said the King. "But do you think
he will keep his word?"

"I am sure of it," returned Nicholas.

"The time is come, then!" exclaimed James impatiently, and looking up at
the pavilion.

"The time is come!" echoed a sepulchral voice.

"Did you speak?" inquired the monarch.

"No, sire," replied Nicholas; "but some one seemed to give you
intimation that all is ready. Will it please you to go on?"

"Enter!" cried the voice.

"Wha speaks?" demanded the King. And, as no answer was returned, he
continued--"I will not set foot in the structure. It may be a snare of
Satan."

At this moment, the shutters of the windows flew open, showing that the
pavilion was lighted up by many tapers within, while solemn strains of
music issued from it.

"Enter!" repeated the voice.

"Have no fear, sire," said Nicholas.

"That canna be the wark o' the deil," cried James. "He does not delight
in holy hymns and sweet music."

"That is a solemn dirge for the dead," observed Nicholas, as melodious
voices mingled with the music.

"Weel, weel, I will go on at a' hazards," said James.

The doors flew open as the King and his attendants approached, and, as
soon as they had passed through them, the valves swung back to their
places.

A strange sad spectacle met their gaze. In the midst of the chamber
stood a bier, covered with a velvet pall, and on it the bodies of a
youth and maiden were deposited. Pale and beautiful were they as
sculptured marble, and a smile sat upon their features. Side by side
they were lying, with their arms enfolded, as if they had died in each
other's embrace. A wreath of yew and cypress was placed above their
heads, and flowers were scattered round them.

They were Richard and Alizon.

It was a deeply touching sight, and for some time none spake. The solemn
dirge continued, interrupted only by the stifled sobs of the listeners.

"Both gone!" exclaimed Nicholas, in accents broken by emotion; "and so
young--so good--so beautiful! Alas! alas!"

"She could not have bewitched him," said the King.

"Alizon was all purity and goodness," cried Nicholas, "and is now
numbered with the angels."

"The guilty one is in thy hands, O King!" said the voice. "It is for
thee to punish."

"And I will not hold my hand," said James. "The Devices shall assuredly
perish. When I go from this chamber, I will have them conveyed under a
strong escort to Lancaster Castle. They shall die by the hands of the
common executioner."

"My mission, then, is complete," replied the voice. "I can rest in
peace.".

"Who art thou?" demanded the King.

"One who sinned deeply, but is now pardoned," replied the voice.

The King was for a moment lost in reflection, and then turned to depart.
At this moment a kneeling figure, whom no one had hitherto noticed,
arose from behind the bier. It was a lady, robed in mourning. So ghastly
pale were her features, and so skeleton-like her attenuated frame, that
James thought he beheld a spectre, and recoiled in terror. The figure
advanced slowly towards him.

"Who, and what art thou, in Heaven's name?" he exclaimed.

"I am Alice Nutter, sire," replied the lady, prostrating herself before
him.

"Alice Nutter, the witch!" cried the King. "Why--ay, I recollect thou
wert here. I sent for thee, but recent terrible events had put thee
clean out of my head. But expect no grace from me, evil woman. I will
show thee none."

"I ask none, sire," replied the penitent. "I came to place myself in
your hands, that justice may be done upon me."

"Ah!" exclaimed James. "Dost thou, indeed, repent thee of thy
iniquities? Dost thou abjure the devil and all his works?"

"I do," replied the lady, fervently. "My compact with the Evil One has
been broken by the prayers of my devoted daughter, who sacrificed
herself for me, and thereby saved my soul alive. But human justice
requires an expiation, and I am anxious to make it."

"Arise, ill-fated woman," said the king, much moved. "You must go to
Lancaster, but, in consideration of your penitence, no indignity shall
be shown you. You must be strictly guarded, but you shall not be taken
with the other prisoners."

"I humbly thank your Majesty," replied the lady. "May I take a last
farewell of my child?"

"Do so," replied James.

Alice Nutter then approached the bier, and, after gazing for a moment
with deepest fondness upon the features of her daughter, imprinted a
kiss upon her marble brow. In doing this her tears fell fast.

"You can weep, I see," observed the King. "You are a witch no longer."

"Ay, Heaven be praised! I can weep," she replied; "and so ease my
over-burthened heart. Oh! sire, none but those who have experienced it
can tell the agony of being denied this relief of nature. Farewell for
ever, my blessed child!" she exclaimed, kissing her brow again; "and
you, too, her beloved. Nicholas Assheton--it was her wish to be buried
in the same grave with Richard. You will see it done, Nicholas?"

"I will--I will!" replied the squire, in a voice of deepest emotion.

"And I likewise promise it," said Sir Ralph Assheton. "They shall rest
together in Whalley churchyard. It is well that Sir Richard and Dorothy
are gone," he observed to Nicholas.

"It is indeed," said the squire, "or we should have had another funeral
to perform. Pray Heaven it be not so now!"

"Have you any other request to prefer?" demanded the King.

"None whatever, sire," replied the lady, "except that I wish to make
full restitution of all the land I have robbed him of, to Master Roger
Nowell; and, as some compensation, I would fain add certain lands
adjoining, which have been conveyed over to Sir Ralph and Nicholas
Assheton, only annexing the condition that a small sum annually be given
in dole to the poor of the parish, that I may be remembered in their
prayers."

"We will see it done," said Sir Ralph and Nicholas.

"And I will see my part fulfilled," said Nowell. "For any wrong you have
done me I now freely and fully forgive you, and may Heaven in its
infinite mercy forgive you likewise!"

"Amen!" ejaculated the monarch. And all the others joined in the
ejaculation.

The King then moved to the door, which was opened for him by the two
Asshetons. At the foot of the steps stood Master Potts, attended by an
officer of the guard and a party of halberdiers. In the midst of them,
with their hands tied behind their backs, were Jem Device, his mother,
Jennet, and poor Nance Redferne. Jem looked dogged and sullen, Elizabeth
downcast, but Jennet retained her accustomed malignant expression. Poor
Nance was the only one who excited any sympathy. Jennet's malice seemed
now directed against Master Potts, whom she charged with having betrayed
and deceived her.

"If Tib had na deserted me he should tear thee i' pieces, thou
ill-favourt little monster," she cried.

"Monster in your own face, you hideous little wretch," exclaimed the
indignant attorney. "If you use such opprobrious epithets I will have
you gagged. You will be taken to Lancaster Castle, and hanged."

"Yo are os bad as ey am, and warse," replied Jennet, "and deserve
hanging os weel, and the King shan knoa of your tricks," she
vociferated, as James appeared at the door of the pavilion. "Yo wished
to ensnare Alizon. Yo wished me to kill her. Ey was only your
instrument."

"Stop her mouth--gag her!" cried Potts.

"Nah, nah!--they shanna stap my mouth--they shanna gag me," cried
Jennet. "Ey win speak out. The King shan hear me. You are as bad os me."

"All malice, your Majesty--all malice," cried the attorney.

"Malice, nae doubt, in great pairt," replied James; "but some truth as
weel, I fear, sir. And in any case it will prevent my doing any thing
for you."

"There, you have ruined my hopes, you little wretch!" cried Potts,
furiously.

"Ey'm reet glad on't," said Jennet. "Yo may tay me to Lonkester Castle,
boh yo conna hong me. Ey knoa that fu' weel. Ey shan get out, and then
look to yersel, lad; for, os sure os ey'm Mother Demdike's grandowter,
ey'n plague the life out o' ye."

"Take the prisoners away, and let them be conveyed under a strict escort
to Lancaster Castle," said James.

"And, as the assizes commence next week, quick work will be made with
them, your Majesty," observed Potts. "Their guilt can be incontestably
proved, so they are sure to be found guilty, sure to be hanged, sire."

As the prisoners were removed, Nance Redferne looked round her, and,
catching the eye of Nicholas, made a slight motion with her head, as if
bidding him farewell.

The squire returned the mute valediction.

"Poor Nance!" he exclaimed, compassionately, "I sincerely pity her.
Would there was any means of saving her!"

"There is none," observed Sir Ralph Assheton. "And you may be thankful
you are not brought in as her accomplice."

As Jennet was taken away, she continued to hurl threats and imprecations
against Potts.

Another officer of the guard was then summoned, and when he came, James
said, "One other prisoner remains within the pavilion. She likewise must
be conveyed to Lancaster Castle but in a litter, and not with the other
prisoners."

Attended by Sir Richard Hoghton, the monarch then proceeded to his
lodgings in the Tower.

CHAPTER XIV.--"ONE GRAVE."

Notwithstanding the sad occurrences above detailed, James remained for
two more days the guest of Sir Richard Hoghton, enjoying his princely
hospitality, hunting in the park, carousing in the great hall, and
witnessing all kinds of sports.

Nothing, indeed, was left to remind him of the sad events that had
occurred. The prisoners were taken that night to Lancaster Castle, and
Master Potts accompanied the escort, to be ready for the assizes. The
three judges proceeded thither at the end of the week. The attendance of
Roger Nowell, Nicholas, and Sir Ralph Assheton, was also required as
witnesses at the trial of the witches.

Sir Richard Assheton and Dorothy had returned, as already stated, to
Middleton; and, though the intelligence of the death of Richard and
Alizon was communicated to them with infinite caution, the shock to both
was very great, especially to Dorothy, who was long--very long--in
recovering from it.

Nicholas's vivacity of temperament made him feel the loss of his cousin
at first very keenly, but it soon wore off. He vowed amendment and
reformation on the model of John Bruen, whose life offered so striking a
contrast to his own, that it has very properly been placed in opposition
by a reverend moralist; but I regret to say that he did not carry out
his praiseworthy intentions. He was apt to make a joke of John Bruen,
instead of imitating his example. He professed to devote himself to his
excellent wife--but his old habits would break out; and, I am sorry to
say, he was often to be found in the alehouse, and was just as fond of
horse-racing, cock-fighting, hunting, fishing, and all other sports, as
ever. Occasionally he occupied a leisure or a rainy day with a
Journal,[6] parts of which have been preserved; but he set down in it
few of the terrible events here related, probably because they were of
too painful a nature to be recorded. He died in 1625--at the early age
of thirty-five.

But to go back. A few days after the tragical events at Hoghton Tower,
the whole village of Whalley was astir. But it was no festive
occasion--no merry-making--that called forth the inhabitants, for grief
sat upon every countenance. The day, too, was gloomy. The feathered
summits of Whalley Nab were wreathed in mist, and a fine rain descended
in the valley. The Calder looked dull and discoloured as it flowed past
the walls of the ancient Abbey. The church bell tolled mournfully, and a
large concourse was gathered in the churchyard. Not far from one of the
three crosses of Paulinus, which stood nearest the church porch, a grave
had been digged, and almost every one looked into it. The grave, it was
said, was intended to hold two coffins. Soon after this, a train of
mourners issued from the ancient Abbey gateway, and sure enough there
were two coffins on the shoulders of the bearers; They were met at the
gate by Doctor Ormerod, who was so deeply affected as scarcely to be
able to perform the needful offices for the dead. The principal mourners
were Sir Richard Assheton of Middleton, Sir Ralph Assheton, and
Nicholas. Amid the tears and sobs of all the bystanders, the bodies of
Richard and Alizon were committed to the earth--laid together in one
grave.

Thus was their latest wish fulfilled. Flowers grew upon the turf that
covered them, and there was the earliest primrose seen, and the latest
violet. Many a fond youth and trusting maiden have visited their lowly
tomb, and many a tear, fresh from the heart, has dropped upon the sod
covering the ill-fated lovers.

CHAPTER XV.--LANCASTER CASTLE.

Behold the grim and giant fabric, rebuilt and strengthened by

          "Old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd Lancaster!"

Within one of its turrets called John of Gaunt's Chair, and at eventide,
stands a lady under the care of a jailer. It is the last sunset she will
ever see--the last time she will look upon the beauties of earth; for
she is a prisoner, condemned to die an ignominious and terrible death,
and her execution will take place on the morrow. Leaving her alone
within the turret, the jailer locks the door and stands outside it. The
lady casts a long, lingering look around. All nature seems so
beautiful--so attractive. The sunset upon the broad watery sands of
Morecambe Bay is exquisite in varied tints. The fells of Furness look
black and bold, and the windings of the Lune are clearly traced out. But
she casts a wistful glance towards the mountainous ridges of Lancashire,
and fancies she can detect amongst the heights the rounded summit of
Pendle Hill. Then her gaze settles upon the grey old town beneath her,
and, as her glance wanders over it, certain terrible objects arrest it.
In the area before the Castle she sees a ring of tall stakes. She knows
well their purpose, and counts them. They are thirteen in number.
Thirteen wretched beings are to be burned on the morrow. Not far from
the stakes are an enormous pile of fagots. All is prepared. Fascinated
by the sight, she remains gazing at the place of execution for some
time, and when she turns, she beholds a tall dark man standing beside
her. At first she thinks it is the jailer, and is about to tell the man
she is ready to descend to her cell, when she recognises him, and
recoils in terror.

"Thou here--again!" she cried.

"I can save thee from the stake, if thou wilt, Alice Nutter," he said.

"Hence!" she exclaimed. "Thou temptest me in vain. Hence!"

And with a howl of rage the demon disappeared.

Conveyed back to her cell, situated within the dread Dungeon Tower,
Alice Nutter passed the whole of that night in prayer. Towards four
o'clock, wearied out, she dropped into a slumber; and when the
clergyman, from whom she had received spiritual consolation, came to her
cell, he found her still sleeping, but with a sweet smile upon her
lips--the first he had ever beheld there.

Unwilling to disturb her, he knelt down and prayed by her side. At
length the jailer came, and the executioner's aids. The divine then laid
his hand upon her shoulder, and she instantly arose.

"I am ready," she said, cheerfully.

"You have had a happy dream, daughter," he observed.

"A blessed dream, reverend sir," she replied. "I thought I saw my
children, Richard and Alizon, in a fair garden--oh! how angelic they
looked--and they told me I should be with them soon."

"And I doubt not the vision will be realised," replied the clergyman.
"Your redemption is fully worked out, and your salvation, I trust,
secured. And now you must prepare for your last trial."

"I am fully prepared," she replied; "but will you not go to the others?"

"Alas! my dear daughter," he replied, "they all, excepting Nance
Redferne, refuse my services, and will perish in their iniquities."

"Then go to her, sir, I entreat of you," she said; "she may yet be
saved. But what of Jennet? Is she, too, to die?"

"No," replied the divine; "being evidence against her relatives, her
life is spared."

"Heaven grant she do no more mischief!" exclaimed Alice Nutter.

She then submitted herself to the executioner's assistants, and was led
forth. On issuing into the open air a change came over her, and such an
exceeding faintness that she had to be supported. She was led towards
the stake in this state; but she grew fainter and fainter, and at last
fell back in the arms of the men that supported her. Still they carried
her on. When the executioner put out his hand to receive her from his
aids, she was found to be quite dead. Nevertheless, he tied her to the
stake, and her body was consumed. Hundreds of spectators beheld those
terrible fires, and exulted in the torments of the miserable sufferers.
Their shrieks and blasphemies were terrific, and the place resembled a
hell upon earth.

Jennet escaped, to the dismay of Master Potts, who feared she would
wreak her threatened vengeance upon him. And, indeed, he did suffer from
aches and cramps, which he attributed to her; but which were more
reasonably supposed to be owing to rheum caught in the marshes of Pendle
Forest. He had, however, the pleasure of assisting at her execution,
when some years afterwards retributive justice overtook her.

Jennet was the last of the Lancashire Witches. Ever since then
witchcraft has taken a new form with the ladies of the county--though
their fascination and spells are as potent as ever. Few can now escape
them,--few desire to do so. But to all who are afraid of a bright eye
and a blooming cheek, and who desire to adhere to a bachelor's
condition--to such I should say, "BEWARE OF THE LANCASHIRE WITCHES!"

THE END.

M'CORQUODALE AND CO., PRINTERS, LONDON--WORKS, NEWTON.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: A similar eruption occurred at Pendle Hill in August, 1669,
and has been described by Mr. Charles Townley, in a letter cited by Dr.
Whitaker in his excellent "History of Whalley." Other and more
formidable eruptions had taken place previously, occasioning much damage
to the country. The cause of the phenomenon is thus explained by Mr.
Townley: "The colour of the water, its coming down to the place where it
breaks forth between the rock and the earth, with that other particular
of its bringing nothing along but stones and earth, are evident signs
that it hath not its origin from the very bowels of the mountain; but
that it is only rain water coloured first in the moss-pits, of which the
top of the hill, being a great and considerable plain, is full, shrunk
down into some receptacle fit to contain it, until at last by its
weight, or some other cause, it finds a passage to the sides of the
hill, and then away between the rock and swarth, until it break the
latter and violently rush out."]

[Footnote 2: Locus Benedictus de Whalley.]

[Footnote 3: This speech is in substance the monarch's actual
Declaration concerning Lawful Sports, promulgated in 1618, in a little
Tractate, generally known as the "Book of Sports;" by which he would
have conferred a great boon on the lower orders, if his kindly purpose
had not been misapprehended by some, and ultimately defeated by bigots
and fanatics. King James deserves to be remembered with gratitude, if
only for this manifestation of sympathy with the enjoyments of the
people. He had himself discovered that the restrictions imposed upon
them had "setup filthy tipplings and drunkenness, and bred a number of
idle and discontented speeches in the alehouses."]

[Footnote 4: "There is a laughable tradition," says Nichols, "still
generally current in Lancashire, that our knight-making monarch knighted
at the banquet in Hoghton Tower a loin of beef; the part ever since
called the sir-loin." And it is added by the same authority, "If the
King did not give the sir-loin its name, he might, notwithstanding, have
indulged in a pun on the already coined word, the etymology of which was
then, as now, as little regarded as the thing signified is well
approved."--_Nichols's Progresses of James I._, vol. iii.]

[Footnote 5: These speeches, given by _Nichols_ as derived from the
family records of Sir Henry Philip Hoghton, Bart., were actually
delivered at a masque represented on occasion of King James's visit to
Hoghton Tower.]

[Footnote 6: Published by the Chetham Society, and admirably edited,
with notes, exhibiting an extraordinary amount of research and
information, by the Rev. F.R. Raines, M.A., F.S.A., of Milnrow
Parsonage, near Rochdale.]