The Lancashire Witches, William Harrison Ainsworth [good romance books to read .TXT] 📗

paid the penalty of it at the
stake, if she had not fled. In scaling Whalley Nab, in the
woody heights of which she was to remain concealed till her
lover could come to her, she fell from a rock, shattering her
limbs, and disfiguring her features. Some say she was lamed
for life, and became as hideous as she had heretofore been
lovely; but this is erroneous, for apprehensive of such a
result, attended by the loss of her lover, she invoked the
powers of darkness, and proffered her soul in return for five
years of unimpaired beauty.

"The compact was made, and when Blackburn came he found her
more beautiful than ever. Enraptured, he conveyed her to
Malkin Tower, and lived with her there in security, laughing
to scorn the menaces of Abbot Eccles, by whom he was
excommunicated.

"Time went on, and as Isole's charms underwent no change, her
lover's ardour continued unabated. Five years passed in
guilty pleasures, and the last day of the allotted term
arrived. No change was manifest in Isole's demeanour; neither
remorse nor fear were exhibited by her. Never had she
appeared more lovely, never in higher or more exuberant
spirits. She besought her lover, who was still madly
intoxicated by her infernal charms, to give a banquet that
night to ten of his trustiest followers. He willingly
assented, and bade them to the feast. They ate and drank
merrily, and the gayest of the company was the lovely Isole.
Her spirits seemed somewhat too wild even to Blackburn, but
he did not check her, though surprised at the excessive
liveliness and freedom of her sallies. Her eyes flashed like
fire, and there was not a man present but was madly in love
with her, and ready to dispute for her smiles with his
captain.

"The wine flowed freely, and song and jest went on till
midnight. When the hour struck, Isole filled a cup to the
brim, and called upon them to pledge her. All arose, and
drained their goblets enthusiastically. 'It was a farewell
cup,' she said; 'I am going away with one of you.' 'How!'
exclaimed Blackburn, in angry surprise. 'Let any one but
touch your hand, and I will strike him dead at my feet.' The
rest of the company regarded each other with surprise, and it
was then discovered that a stranger was amongst them; a tall
dark man, whose looks were so terrible and demoniacal that no
one dared lay hands upon him. 'I am come,' he said, with
fearful significance, to Isole. 'And I am ready,' she
answered boldly. 'I will go with you were it to the
bottomless pit,' cried Blackburn catching hold of her. 'It is
thither I am going,' she answered with a scream of laughter.
'I shall be glad of a companion.'

"When the paroxysm of laughter was over, she fell down on the
floor. Her lover would have raised her, when what was his
horror to find that he held in his arms an old woman, with
frightfully disfigured features, and evidently in the agonies
of death. She fixed one look upon him and expired.

"Terrified by the occurrence the guests hurried away, and
when they returned next day, they found Blackburn stretched
on the floor, and quite dead. They cast his body, together
with that of the wretched Isole, into the vault beneath the
room where they were lying, and then, taking possession of
his treasure, removed to some other retreat.

"Thenceforth, Malkin Tower became haunted. Though wholly
deserted, lights were constantly seen shining from it at
night, and sounds of wild revelry, succeeded by shrieks and
groans, issued from it. The figure of Isole was often seen to
come forth, and flit across the wastes in the direction of
Whalley Abbey. On stormy nights a huge black cat, with
flaming eyes, was frequently descried on the summit of the
structure, whence it obtained its name of Grimalkin, or
Malkin Tower. The ill-omened pile ultimately came into the
possession of the Nutter family, but it was never tenanted,
until assigned, as I have already mentioned, to Mother
Demdike."

* * * * *

The chirurgeon's marvellous story was listened to with great attention by his auditors. Most of them were familiar with different versions of it; but to Master Potts it was altogether new, and he made rapid notes of it, questioning the narrator as to one or two points which appeared to him to require explanation. Nicholas, as may be supposed, was particularly interested in that part of the legend which referred to Isole de Heton. He now for the first time heard of her unhallowed intercourse with the freebooter Blackburn, of her compact on Whalley Nab with the fiend, of her mysterious connection with Malkin Tower, and of her being the ancestress of Mother Demdike. The consideration of all these points, coupled with a vivid recollection of his own strange adventure with the impious votaress at the Abbey on the previous night, plunged him into a deep train of thought, and he began seriously to consider whether he might not have committed some heinous sin, and, indeed, jeopardised his soul's welfare by dancing with her. "What if I should share the same fate as the robber Blackburn," he ruminated, "and be dragged to perdition by her? It is a very awful reflection. But though my fate might operate as a warning to others, I am by no means anxious to be held up as a moral scarecrow. Rather let me take warning myself, amend my life, abandon intemperance, which leads to all manner of wickedness, and suffer myself no more to be ensnared by the wiles and delusions of the tempter in the form of a fair woman. No--no--I will alter and amend my life."

I regret, however, to say that these praiseworthy resolutions were but transient, and that the squire, quite forgetting that the work of reform, if intended to be really accomplished, ought to commence at once, and by no means be postponed till the morrow, yielded to the seductions of a fresh pottle of sack, which was presented to him at the moment by Bess, and in taking it could not help squeezing the hand of the bouncing hostess, and gazing at her more tenderly than became a married man. Oh! Nicholas--Nicholas--the work of reform, I am afraid, proceeds very slowly and imperfectly with you. Your friend, Parson. Dewhurst, would have told you that it is much easier to form good resolutions than to keep them.

Leaving the squire, however, to his cogitations and his sack, the attorney to his memorandum-book, in which he was still engaged in writing, and the others to their talk, we shall proceed to the chamber whither the poor miller had been led by Bess. When visited by the rector, he had been apparently soothed by the worthy man's consolatory advice, but when left alone he speedily relapsed into his former dark and gloomy state of mind. He did not notice Bess, who, according to Holden's directions, placed the aquavitae bottle before him, but, as long as she stayed, remained with his face buried in his hands. As soon as she was gone he arose, and began to pace the room to and fro. The window was open, and he could hear the funeral bell tolling mournfully at intervals. Each recurrence of the dismal sound added sharpness and intensity to his grief. His sufferings became almost intolerable, and drove him to the very verge of despair and madness. If a weapon had been at hand, he might have seized it, and put a sudden period to his existence. His breast was a chaos of fierce and troubled thoughts, in which one black and terrible idea arose and overpowered all the rest. It was the desire of vengeance, deep and complete, upon her whom he looked upon as the murderess of his child. He cared not how it were accomplished so it were done; but such was the opinion he entertained of the old hag's power, that he doubted his ability to the task. Still, as the bell tolled on, the furies at his heart lashed and goaded him on, and yelled in his ear revenge--revenge! Now, indeed, he was crazed with grief and rage; he tore off handfuls of hair, plunged his nails deeply into his breast, and while committing these and other wild excesses, with frantic imprecations he called down Heaven's judgments on his own head. He was in that lost and helpless state when the enemy of mankind has power over man. Nor was the opportunity neglected; for when the wretched Baldwyn, who, exhausted by the violence of his motions, had leaned for a moment against the wall, he perceived to his surprise that there was a man in the room--a small personage attired in rusty black, whom he thought had been one of the party in the adjoining chamber.

There was an expression of mockery about this person's countenance which did not please the miller, and he asked him, sternly, what he wanted.

"Leave off grinnin, mon," he said, fiercely, "or ey may be tempted to tay yo be t' throttle, an may yo laugh o't wrong side o' your mouth."

"No, no, you will not, Richard Baldwyn, when you know my errand," replied the man. "You are thirsting for vengeance upon Mother Demdike. You shall have it."

"Eigh, eigh, you promised me vengeance efore," cried the miller--"vengeance by the law. Boh ey mun wait lung for it. Ey wad ha' it swift and sure--deep and deadly. Ey wad blast her wi' curses, os hoo blasted my poor Meary. Ey wad strike her deeod at my feet. That's my vengeance, mon."

"You shall have it," replied the other.

"Yo talk differently fro' what yo did just now, mon," said the miller, regarding him narrowly and distrustfully. "An yo look differently too. There's a queer glimmer abowt your een that ey didna notice efore, and that ey mislike."

The