Water,
swells up the river, and devastates the country far and wide.[1]

The abbot and his companions beheld this work of destruction with
amazement and dread. Blanched terror sat in their cheeks, and the blood
was frozen in Paslew's veins; for he thought it the work of the powers
of darkness, and that he was leagued with them. He tried to mutter a
prayer, but his lips refused their office. He would have moved, but his
limbs were stiffened and paralysed, and he could only gaze aghast at the
terrible spectacle.

Amidst it all he heard a wild burst of unearthly laughter, proceeding,
he thought, from Demdike, and it filled him with new dread. But he could
not check the sound, neither could he stop his ears, though he would
fain have done so. Like him, his companions were petrified and
speechless with fear.

After this had endured for some time, though still the black torrent
rushed on impetuously as ever, Demdike turned to the abbot and said,--

"Your vengeance has been fully gratified. You will now baptise my
child?"

"Never, never, accursed being!" shrieked the abbot. "Thou mayst
sacrifice her at thine own impious rites. But see, there is one poor
wretch yet struggling with the foaming torrent. I may save him."

"That is John Braddyll, thy worst enemy," replied Demdike. "If he lives
he shall possess half Whalley Abbey. Thou hadst best also save Richard
Assheton, who yet clings to the great stone below, as if he escapes he
shall have the other half. Mark him, and make haste, for in five minutes
both shall be gone."

"I will save them if I can, be the consequence to myself what it may,"
replied the abbot.

And, regardless of the derisive laughter of the other, who yelled in his
ears as he went, "Bess shall see thee hanged at thy own door!" he dashed
down the hill to the spot where a small object, distinguishable above
the stream, showed that some one still kept his head above water, his
tall stature having preserved him.

"Is it you, John Braddyll?" cried the abbot, as he rode up.

"Ay," replied the head. "Forgive me for the wrong I intended you, and
deliver me from this great peril."

"I am come for that purpose," replied the abbot, dismounting, and
disencumbering himself of his heavy cloak.

By this time the two herdsmen had come up, and the abbot, taking a crook
from one of them, clutched hold of the fellow, and, plunging fearlessly
into the stream, extended it towards the drowning man, who instantly
li