“It is the beacon on Blackstone Edge,” cried the abbot; “and look! a second blazes over the Grange of Cliviger—­another on Ightenhill—­ another on Boulsworth Hill—­and the last on the neighbouring heights of Padiham.  Our own comes next.  May it light the enemies of our holy Church to perdition!”

With this, he applied the burning brand to the combustible matter of the beacon.  The monks did the same; and in an instant a tall, pointed flame, rose up from a thick cloud of smoke.  Ere another minute had elapsed, similar fires shot up to the right and the left, on the high lands of Trawden Forest, on the jagged points of Foulridge, on the summit of Cowling Hill, and so on to Skipton.  Other fires again blazed on the towers of Clithero, on Longridge and Ribchester, on the woody eminences of Bowland, on Wolf Crag, and on fell and scar all the way to Lancaster.  It seemed the work of enchantment, so suddenly and so strangely did the fires shoot forth.  As the beacon flame increased, it lighted up the whole of the extensive table-land on the summit of Pendle Hill; and a long lurid streak fell on the darkling moss-pool near which the wizard had stood.  But when it attained its utmost height, it revealed the depths of the forest below, and a red reflection, here and there, marked the course of Pendle Water.  The excitement of the abbot and his companions momently increased, and the sentinels shouted as each new beacon was lighted.  At last, almost every hill had its watch-fire, and so extraordinary was the spectacle, that it seemed as if weird beings were abroad, and holding their revels on the heights.

Then it was that the abbot, mounting his steed, called out to the monks—­“Holy fathers, you will follow to the abbey as you may.  I shall ride fleetly on, and despatch two hundred archers to Huddersfield and Wakefield.  The abbots of Salley and Jervaux, with the Prior of Burlington, will be with me at midnight, and at daybreak we shall march our forces to join the main army.  Heaven be with you!”

“Stay!” cried a harsh, imperious voice.  “Stay!”

And, to his surprise, the abbot beheld Nicholas Demdike standing before him.  The aspect of the wizard was dark and forbidding, and, seen by the beacon light, his savage features, blazing eyes, tall gaunt frame, and fantastic garb, made him look like something unearthly.  Flinging his staff over his shoulder, he slowly approached, with his black hound following close by at his heels.

“I have a caution to give you, lord abbot,” he said; “hear me speak before you set out for the abbey, or ill will befall you.”

“Ill will befall me if I listen to thee, thou wicked churl,” cried the abbot.  “What hast thou done with Cuthbert Ashbead?”

“I have seen nothing of him since he sent a bolt after me at your bidding, lord abbot,” replied Demdike.

“Beware lest any harm come to him, or thou wilt rue it,” cried Paslew.  “But I have no time to waste on thee.  Farewell, fathers.  High mass will be said in the convent church before we set out on the expedition to-morrow morning.  You will both attend it.”