he was not destined to die thus. What happened afterwards he knew
not; but when he recovered full consciousness, he found himself
stretched, with aching limbs and throbbing head, upon a couch in a
monastic room, with a richly-painted and gilded ceiling, with shields at
the corners emblazoned with the three luces of Whalley, and with panels
hung with tapestry from the looms of Flanders, representing divers
Scriptural subjects.

"Have I been dreaming?" he murmured.

"No," replied a tall man standing by his bedside; "thou hast been saved
from one death to suffer another more ignominious."

"Ha!" cried the abbot, starting up and pressing his hand to his temples;
"thou here?"

"Ay, I am appointed to watch thee," replied Demdike. "Thou art a
prisoner in thine own chamber at Whalley. All has befallen as I told
thee. The Earl of Derby is master of the abbey; thy adherents are
dispersed; and thy brethren are driven forth. Thy two partners in
rebellion, the abbots of Jervaux and Salley, have been conveyed to
Lancaster Castle, whither thou wilt go as soon as thou canst be moved."

"I will surrender all--silver and gold, land and possessions--to the
king, if I may die in peace," groaned the abbot.

"It is not needed," rejoined the other. "Attainted of felony, thy lands
and abbey will be forfeited to the crown, and they shall be sold, as I
have told thee, to John Braddyll and Richard Assheton, who will be
rulers here in thy stead."

"Would I had perished in the flood!" groaned the abbot.

"Well mayst thou wish so," returned his tormentor; "but thou wert not
destined to die by water. As I have said, thou shalt be hanged at thy
own door, and my wife shall witness thy end."

"Who art thou? I have heard thy voice before," cried the abbot. "It is
like the voice of one whom I knew years ago, and thy features are like
his--though changed--greatly changed. Who art thou?"

"Thou shalt know before thou diest," replied the other, with a look of
gratified vengeance. "Farewell, and reflect upon thy fate."

So saying, he strode towards the door, while the miserable abbot arose,
and marching with uncertain steps to a little oratory adjoining, which
he himself had built, knelt down before the altar, and strove to pray.

CHAPTER III.--WHALLEY ABBEY.

A sad, sad change hath come over the fair Abbey of Whalley. It knoweth
its old masters no longer. For upwards of two centuries and a half hath
the "Blessed Place"[2] grown in beau