eech from him, but
instantly disappeared. Demdike, however, recognised in her the miller's
daughter, Dorothy Croft.

CHAPTER VIII.--THE EXECUTIONER.

Dawn came at last, after a long and weary night to many within and
without the abbey. Every thing betokened a dismal day. The atmosphere
was damp, and oppressive to the spirits, while the raw cold sensibly
affected the frame. All astir were filled with gloom and despondency,
and secretly breathed a wish that, the tragical business of the day were
ended. The vast range of Pendle was obscured by clouds, and ere long the
vapours descended into the valleys, and rain began to fall; at first
slightly, but afterwards in heavy continuous showers. Melancholy was the
aspect of the abbey, and it required no stretch of imagination to fancy
that the old structure was deploring the fate of its former ruler. To
those impressed with the idea--and many there were who were so--the very
stones of the convent church seemed dissolving into tears. The statues
of the saints appeared to weep, and the great statue of Saint Gregory de
Northbury over the porch seemed bowed down with grief. The grotesquely
carved heads on the spouts grinned horribly at the abbot's destroyers,
and spouted forth cascades of water, as if with the intent of drowning
them. So deluging and incessant were the showers, that it seemed,
indeed, as if the abbey would be flooded. All the inequalities of ground
within the great quadrangle of the cloisters looked like ponds, and the
various water-spouts from the dormitory, the refectory, and the
chapter-house, continuing to jet forth streams into the court below, the
ambulatories were soon filled ankle-deep, and even the lower apartments,
on which they opened, invaded.

Surcharged with moisture, the royal banner on the gate drooped and clung
to the staff, as if it too shared in the general depression, or as if
the sovereign authority it represented had given way. The countenances
and deportment of the men harmonized with the weather; they moved about
gloomily and despondently, their bright accoutrements sullied with the
wet, and their buskins clogged with mire. A forlorn sight it was to
watch the shivering sentinels on the walls; and yet more forlorn to see
the groups of the abbot's old retainers gathering without, wrapped in
their blue woollen cloaks, patiently enduring the drenching showers, and
awaiting the last awful scene. But the saddest sight of all was on the
hi