s of a child of sin. Dost thou
know the man with whom she is wedded--or supposed to be wedded--for I
have seen no proof of the marriage? He is a stranger here."

"Ey knoas neawt abowt him, lort abbut, 'cept that he cum to Pendle a
twalmont agoa," replied Ashbead; "boh ey knoas fu' weel that
t'eawtcumbling felly robt me ot prettiest lass i' aw Lonkyshiar--aigh,
or i' aw Englondshiar, fo' t' matter o' that."

"What manner of man is he?" inquired the abbot.

"Oh, he's a feaw teyke--a varra feaw teyke," replied Ashbead; "wi' a
feace as black as a boggart, sooty shiny hewr loike a mowdywarp, an' een
loike a stanniel. Boh for running, rostling, an' throwing t' stoan, he'n
no match i' this keawntry. Ey'n triet him at aw three gams, so ey con
speak. For't most part he'n a big, black bandyhewit wi' him, and, by th'
Mess, ey canna help thinkin he meys free sumtoimes wi' yor lortship's
bucks."

"Ha! this must be looked to," cried the abbot. "You say you know not
whence he comes? 'Tis strange."

"T' missmannert carl'll boide naw questionin', odd rottle him!" replied
Ashbead. "He awnsurs wi' a gibe, or a thwack o' his staff. Whon ey last
seet him, he threatened t' raddle me booans weel, boh ey sooan lowert
him a peg."

"We will find a way of making him speak," said the abbot.

"He can speak, and right well if he pleases," remarked Father Eastgate;
"for though ordinarily silent and sullen enough, yet when he doth talk
it is not like one of the hinds with whom he consorts, but in good set
phrase; and his bearing is as bold as that of one who hath seen service
in the field."

"My curiosity is aroused," said the abbot. "I must see him."

"Noa sooner said than done," cried Ashbead, "for, be t' Lort Harry, ey
see him stonding be yon moss poo' o' top t' hill, though how he'n getten
theer t' Dule owny knoas."

And he pointed out a tall dark figure standing near a little pool on the
summit of the mountain, about a hundred yards from them.

"Talk of ill, and ill cometh," observed Father Haydocke. "And see, the
wizard hath a black hound with him! It may be his wife, in that
likeness."

"Naw, ey knoas t' hount reet weel, Feyther Haydocke," replied the
forester; "it's a Saint Hubert, an' a rareun fo' fox or badgert. Odds
loife, feyther, whoy that's t' black bandyhewit I war speaking on."

"I like not the appearance of the knave at this juncture," said the
abbot; "yet I wish to confront him, and charge him with his
midemeanours."