The Lancashire Witches by William Harrison Ainsworth

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As her finger came in contact with his frame, a pang like death shot
through his heart, and he fell upon Alizon's shoulder.

"Are you ill?" she exclaimed, gazing at his pallid features, rendered
ghastly white by the moonlight.

Richard could make no reply, and Alizon, becoming dreadfully alarmed,
was about to fly for assistance, but the young man, by a great effort,
detained her.

"Ey mun now run an tell Mester Potts, so that hoo may be found wi' him,"
muttered Jennet, creeping away.

Just then Richard recovered his speech, but his words were faintly
uttered, and with difficulty.

"Alizon," he said, "I will not attempt to disguise my condition from
you. I am dying. And my death will be attributed to you--for evil-minded
persons have persuaded the King that you have bewitched me, and he will
believe the charge now. Oh! if you would ease the pangs of death for
me--if you would console my latest moments--leave me, and quit this
place, before it be too late."

"Oh! Richard," she cried distractedly; "you ask more than I can perform.
If you are indeed in such imminent danger, I will stay with you--will
die with you."

"No! live for me--live--save yourself, Alizon," implored the young man.
"Your danger is greater than mine. A dreadful death awaits you at the
stake! Oh! mercy, mercy, heaven! Spare her--in pity spare her!--Have we
not suffered enough? I can no more. Farewell for ever, Alizon--one
kiss--the last."

And as their lips met, his strength utterly forsook him, and he fell
backwards.

"One grave!" he murmured; "one grave, Alizon!"--And so, without a groan,
he expired.

Alizon neither screamed nor swooned, but remained in a state of
stupefaction, gazing at the body. As the moon fell upon the placid
features, they looked as if locked in slumber.

There he lay--the young, the brave, the beautiful, the loving, the
beloved. Fate had triumphed. Death had done his work; but he had only
performed half his task.

"One grave--one grave--it was his last wish--it shall be so!" she cried,
in frenzied tones, "I shall thus escape my enemies, and avoid the
horrible and shameful death to which they would doom me."

And she snatched the dagger from the ill-fated youth's side.

"Now, fate, I defy thee!" she cried, with a fearful laugh.

One last look at that calm beautiful face--one kiss of the cold lips,
which can no more return the endearment--and the dagger is pointed at
her breast.

But she is withheld by an arm of iron, and the weapon falls from her
grasp. She looks up. A tall figure, clothed in the mouldering
habiliments of a Cistertian monk, stands beside her. She knows the
vestments at once, for she has seen them before, hanging up in the
closet adjoining her mother's chamber at Whalley Abbey--and the features
of the ghostly monk seem familiar to her.

"Raise not thy hand against thyself," said the phantom, in a tone of
awful reproof. "It is the Fiend prompts thee to do it. He would take
advantage of thy misery to destroy thee."

"I took thee for the Fiend," replied Alizon, gazing at him with wonder
rather than with terror. "Who art thou?"

"The enemy of thy enemies, and therefore thy friend," replied the monk.
"I would have saved thy lover if I could, but his destiny was not to be
averted. But, rest content, I will avenge him."

"I do not want vengeance--I want to be with him," she replied,
frantically embracing the body.

"Thou wilt soon be with him," said the phantom, in tones of deep
significance. "Arise, and come with me. Thy mother needs thy
assistance."

"My mother!" exclaimed Alizon, clearing the blinding tresses from her
brow. "Where is she?"

"Follow me, and I will bring thee to her," said the monk.

"And leave him? I cannot!" cried Alizon, gazing wildly at the body.

"You must. A soul is at stake, and will perish if you come not," said
the monk. "He is at rest, and you will speedily rejoin him."

"With that assurance I will go," replied Alizon, with a last look at the
object of her love. "One grave--lay us in one grave!"

"It shall be done according to your wish," said the monk.

And he glided on with noiseless footsteps.

Alizon followed him along the terrace.

Presently they came to a dark yew-tree walk, leading to a labyrinth, and
tracking it swiftly, as well as the overarched and intricate path to
which it conducted, they entered a grotto, whence a flight of steps
descended to a subterranean passage, hewn out of the rock. Along this
passage, which was of some extent, the monk proceeded, and Alizon
followed him.

At last they came to another flight of steps, and here the monk stopped.

"We are now beneath the pavilion, where you will find your mother," he
said. "Mount! the way is clear before you. I have other work to do."

Alizon obeyed; and, as she advanced, was surprised to find the monk
gone. He had neither passed her nor ascended the steps, and must,
therefore, have sunk into the earth.

CHAPTER XII.--THE LAST HOUR.

Within the pavilion sat Alice Nutter. She was clad in deep mourning, but
her dress seemed disordered as if by hasty travel. Her looks were full
of anguish and terror; her blanched tresses, once so dark and beautiful,
hung dishevelled over her shoulders; and her thin hands were clasped in
supplication. Her cheeks were ashy pale, but on her brow was a bright
red mark, as if traced by a finger dipped in blood.

A lamp was burning on the table beside her. Near it was a skull, and
near this emblem of mortality an hourglass, running fast.

The windows and doors of the building were closed, and it would seem the
unhappy lady was a prisoner.

She had been brought there secretly that night, with what intent she
knew not; but she felt sure it was with no friendly design towards
herself. Early in the day three horsemen had arrived at her retreat in
Pendle Forest, and without making any charge against her, or explaining
whither they meant to take her, or indeed answering any inquiry, had
brought her off with them, and, proceeding across the country, had
arrived at a forester's hut on the outskirts of Hoghton Park. Here they
tarried till evening, placing her in a room by herself, and keeping
strict watch over her; and when the shadows of night fell, they conveyed
her through the woods, and by a private entrance to the gardens of the
Tower, and with equal secresy to the pavilion, where, setting a lamp
before her, they left her to her meditations. All refused to answer her
inquiries, but one of them, with a sinister smile, placed the hourglass
and skull beside her.

Left alone, the wretched lady vainly sought some solution of the
enigma--why she had been brought thither. She could not solve it; but
she determined, if her capture had been made by any lawful authorities,
to confess her guilt and submit to condign punishment.

Though the windows and doors were closed as before mentioned, sounds
from without reached her, and she heard confused and tumultuous noises
as if from a large assemblage. For what purpose were they met? Could it
be for her execution? No--there were strains of music, and bursts of
laughter. And yet she had heard that the burning of a witch was a
spectacle in which the populace delighted--that they looked upon it as a
show, like any other; and why should they not laugh, and have music at
it? But could she be executed without trial, without judgment? She knew
not. All she knew was she was guilty, and deserved to die. But when this
idea took possession of her, the laughter sounded in her ears like the
yells of demons, and the strains like the fearful harmonies she had
heard at weird sabbaths.

All at once she recollected with indescribable terror, that on this very
night the compact she had entered into with the Fiend expired. That at
midnight, unless by her penitence and prayers she had worked out her
salvation, he could claim her. She recollected also, and with increased
uneasiness, that the man who had set the hourglass on the table, and who
had regarded her with a sinister smile as he did so, had said it was
eleven o'clock! Her last hour then had arrived--nay, was partly spent,
and the moments were passing swiftly by.

The agony she endured at this thought was intense. She felt as if reason
were forsaking her, and, but for her determined efforts to resist it,
such a crisis might have occurred. But she knew that her eternal welfare
depended upon the preservation of her mental balance, and she strove to
maintain it, and in the end succeeded.

Her gaze was fixed intently on the hourglass. She saw the sand trickling
silently but swiftly down, like a current of life-blood, which, when it
ceased, life would cease with it. She saw the shining grains above
insensibly diminishing in quantity, and, as if she could arrest her
destiny by the act, she seized the glass, and would have turned it, but
the folly of the proceeding arrested her, and she set it down again.

Then horrible thoughts came upon her, crushing her and overwhelming her,
and she felt by anticipation all the torments she would speedily have to
endure. Oceans of fire, in which miserable souls were for ever tossing,
rolled before her. Yells, such as no human anguish can produce, smote
her ears. Monsters of frightful form yawned to devour her. Fiends, armed
with terrible implements of torture, such as the wildest imagination
cannot paint, menaced her. All hell, and its horrors, was there, its
dreadful gulf, its roaring furnaces, its rivers of molten metal, ever
burning, yet never consuming its victims. A hot sulphureous atmosphere
oppressed her, and a film of blood dimmed her sight.

She endeavoured to pray, but her tongue clove to the roof of her mouth.
She looked about for her Bible, but it had been left behind when she was
taken from her retreat. She had no safeguard--none.

Still the sand ran on.

New agonies assailed her. Hell was before her again, but in a new form,
and with new torments. She closed her eyes. She shut her ears. But she
saw it still, and heard its terrific yells.

Again she consults the hourglass. The sand is running on--ever
diminishing.

New torments assail her. She thinks of all she loves most on earth--of
her daughter! Oh! if Alizon were near her, she might pray for her--might
scare away these frightful visions--might save her. She calls to
her--but she answers not. No, she is utterly abandoned of God and man,
and must perish eternally.

Again she consults the hourglass. One quarter of an hour is all that
remains to her. Oh! that she could employ it in prayer! Oh! that she
could kneel--or even weep!

A large mirror hangs against the wall, and she is drawn towards it by an
irresistible impulse. She sees a figure within it--but she does not know
herself. Can that cadaverous object, with the white hair, that seems
newly-arisen from the grave, be she? It must be a phantom. No--she
touches her cheek, and finds it is real. But, ah! what is this red brand
upon her brow? It must be the seal of the demon. She tries to efface
it--but it will not come out. On the contrary, it becomes redder and
deeper.

Again she consults the glass. The sand is still running on. How many
minutes remain to her?

"Ten!" cried a voice, replying to her mental inquiry.--"Ten!"

And, turning, she perceived her familiar standing beside her.

"Thy time is wellnigh out, Alice Nutter," he said. "In ten minutes my
lord will claim thee."

"My compact with thy master is broken," she replied, summoning up all
her resolution. "I have long ceased to use the power bestowed upon me;
but, even if I had wished it, thou hast refused to serve me."

"I have refused to serve you, madam, because you have disobeyed the
express injunctions of my master," replied the familiar; "but your
apostasy does not free you from bondage. You have merely lost advantages
which you might have enjoyed. If you chose to dismiss me I could not
help it. Neither I nor my lord have been to blame. We have performed our
part of the contract."

"Why am I brought hither?" demanded Mistress Nutter.

"I will tell you," replied the familiar. "You were brought here by order
of the King. Your retreat was revealed to him by Master Potts, who
learnt it from Jennet Device. The sapient sovereign intended to confront
you with your daughter Alizon, who, like yourself, is accused of
witchcraft; but he will be disappointed--for when he comes for you, you
will be out of his reach--ha! ha!"

And he rubbed his hands at the jest.

"Alizon accused of witchcraft--say'st thou?" cried Mistress Nutter.

"Ay," replied the familiar. "She is suspected of bewitching Richard
Assheton, who has been done to death by Jennet Device. For one so young,
the little girl has certainly a rare turn for mischief. But no one will
know the real author of the crime, and Alizon will suffer for it."

"Heaven will not suffer such iniquity," said the lady.

"As you have nothing to do with heaven, madam, it is needless to refer
to it," said the familiar. "But it certainly is rather hard that one so
young as Alizon should perish."

"Can you save her?" asked Mistress Nutter.

"Oh! yes, I _could_ save her, but she will not let me," replied the
familiar, with a grin.

"No--no--it is impossible," cried the wretched woman. "And I cannot help
her."

"Perhaps you might," observed the tempter. "My master, whom you accuse
of harshness, is ever willing to oblige you. You have a few minutes
left--do you wish him to aid her? Command me, and I will obey you."

"This is some snare," thought Mistress Nutter; "I will resist it."

"You cannot be worse off than you are," remarked the familiar.

"I know not that," replied the lady. "What would'st thou do?"

"Whatever you command me, madam. I can, do nothing of my own accord.
Shall I bring your daughter here? Say so, and it shall be done."

"No--thou would'st ensnare me," she replied. "I well know thou hast no
power over her. Thou would'st place some phantasm before me. I would see
her, but not through thy agency."

"She is here," cried Alizon, opening the door of a closet, and rushing
towards her mother, who instantly locked her in her arms.

"Pray for me, my child," cried Mistress Nutter, mastering her emotion,
"or I shall be snatched from you for ever. My moments are numbered.
Pray--pray!"

Alizon fell on her knees, and prayed fervently.

"You waste your breath," cried the familiar, in a mocking tone. "Never
till the brand shall disappear from her brow, and the writing, traced in
her blood, shall vanish from this parchment, can she be saved. She is
mine."

"Pray, Alizon, pray!" shrieked Mistress Nutter.

"I will tear her in pieces if she does not cease," cried the familiar,
assuming a terrible shape, and menacing her with claws like those of a
wild beast.

"Pray thou, mother!" cried Alizon.

"I cannot," replied the lady.

"I will kill her if she but makes the attempt," howled the demon.

"But try, mother, try!" cried Alizon.

The poor lady dropped on her knees, and raised her hands in humble
supplication--"Heaven forgive me!" she exclaimed.

The demon seized the hourglass.

"The sand is out--her term has expired--she is mine!" he cried.

"Clasp thy arms tightly round me, my child. He cannot take me from
thee," shrieked the agonised woman.

"Release her, Alizon, or I will slay thee likewise," roared the demon.

"Never," she replied; "thou canst not overcome me. Ha!" she added
joyfully, "the brand has disappeared from her brow."

"And the writing from the parchment," howled the demon; "but I will have
her notwithstanding."

And he plunged his claws into Alice Nutter's flesh. But her daughter
held her fast.

"Oh! hold me, my child--hold me, or I am lost!" shrieked the lady.

"Be warned, and let her go, or thy life shall pay for her's," cried the
demon.

"My life for her's, willingly," replied Alizon.

"Then take thy fate," rejoined the evil spirit.

And placing his hand upon her heart, it instantly ceased to beat.

"Mother, thou art saved--saved!" exclaimed Alizon, throwing out her
arms.

And gazing at her for an instant with a seraphic look, she fell
backwards, and expired.

"Thou art mine," roared the demon, seizing Mistress Nutter by the hair,
and dragging her from her daughter's body, to which she clung
desperately.

"Help!--help!" she cried.

"Thou mayst call, but thy cries will be unheeded," rejoined the familiar
with mocking laughter.

"Thou liest, false fiend!" said Mistress Nutter. "Heaven will help me
now."

And, as she spoke, the Cistertian monk stood before them.

"Hence!" he cried with an imperious gesture to the demon. "She is no
longer in thy power. Hence!"

And with a howl of rage and disappointment the familiar vanished.

"Alice Nutter," continued the monk, "thy safety has been purchased at
the price of thy daughter's life. But it is of little moment, for she
could not live long. Her gentle heart was broken, and, when the demon
stopped it for ever, he performed unintentionally a merciful act. She
must rest in the same grave with him she loved so well during life. This
tell to those who will come to thee anon. Thou art delivered from the
yoke of Satan. Full expiation has been made. But earthly justice must be
satisfied. Thou must pay the penalty for crimes committed in the flesh,
but what thou sufferest here shall avail thee hereafter."

"I am content," she replied.

"Pass the rest of thy life in penitence and prayer," pursued the monk,
"and let nothing divert thee from it; for, though free now, thou wilt be
subject to evil influence and temptations to the last. Remember this."

"I will--I will," she rejoined.

"And now," he said, "kneel beside thy daughter's body and pray. I will
return to thee ere many minutes be passed. One task more, and then my
mission is ended."

CHAPTER XIII.--THE MASQUE OF DEATH.

Short time as he had to await, James was unable to control his
impatience. At last he arose, and, completely sobered by the recent
strange events, descended the steps of the platform, and walked on
without assistance.

"Let the yeomen of the guard keep back the crowd," he said to an
officer, "and let none follow me but Sir Ralph Assheton, Master Nicholas
Assheton, and Master Roger Nowell. When I call, let the prisoners be
brought forward."

"Your Majesty shall be obeyed," replied the baronet, giving the
necessary directions.

James then moved slowly forward in the direction of the pavilion; and,
as he went, called Nicholas Assheton to him.

"Wha was that officer?" he asked.

"Your pardon, my liege, but I cannot answer the question," replied
Nicholas.

"And why not, sir?" demanded the monarch, sharply.

"For reasons I will hereafter render to your Majesty, and which I am
persuaded you will find satisfactory," rejoined the squire.

"Weel, weel, I dare say you are right," said the King. "But do you think
he will keep his word?"

"I am sure of it," returned Nicholas.

"The time is come, then!" exclaimed James impatiently, and looking up at
the pavilion.

"The time is come!" echoed a sepulchral voice.

"Did you speak?" inquired the monarch.

"No, sire," replied Nicholas; "but some one seemed to give you
intimation that all is ready. Will it please you to go on?"

"Enter!" cried the voice.

"Wha speaks?" demanded the King. And, as no answer was returned, he
continued--"I will not set foot in the structure. It may be a snare of
Satan."

At this moment, the shutters of the windows flew open, showing that the
pavilion was lighted up by many tapers within, while solemn strains of
music issued from it.

"Enter!" repeated the voice.

"Have no fear, sire," said Nicholas.

"That canna be the wark o' the deil," cried James. "He does not delight
in holy hymns and sweet music."

"That is a solemn dirge for the dead," observed Nicholas, as melodious
voices mingled with the music.

"Weel, weel, I will go on at a' hazards," said James.

The doors flew open as the King and his attendants approached, and, as
soon as they had passed through them, the valves swung back to their
places.

A strange sad spectacle met their gaze. In the midst of the chamber
stood a bier, covered with a velvet pall, and on it the bodies of a
youth and maiden were deposited. Pale and beautiful were they as
sculptured marble, and a smile sat upon their features. Side by side
they were lying, with their arms enfolded, as if they had died in each
other's embrace. A wreath of yew and cypress was placed above their
heads, and flowers were scattered round them.

They were Richard and Alizon.

It was a deeply touching sight, and for some time none spake. The solemn
dirge continued, interrupted only by the stifled sobs of the listeners.

"Both gone!" exclaimed Nicholas, in accents broken by emotion; "and so
young--so good--so beautiful! Alas! alas!"

"She could not have bewitched him," said the King.

"Alizon was all purity and goodness," cried Nicholas, "and is now
numbered with the angels."

"The guilty one is in thy hands, O King!" said the voice. "It is for
thee to punish."

"And I will not hold my hand," said James. "The Devices shall assuredly
perish. When I go from this chamber, I will have them conveyed under a
strong escort to Lancaster Castle. They shall die by the hands of the
common executioner."

"My mission, then, is complete," replied the voice. "I can rest in
peace.".

"Who art thou?" demanded the King.

"One who sinned deeply, but is now pardoned," replied the voice.

The King was for a moment lost in reflection, and then turned to depart.
At this moment a kneeling figure, whom no one had hitherto noticed,
arose from behind the bier. It was a lady, robed in mourning. So ghastly
pale were her features, and so skeleton-like her attenuated frame, that
James thought he beheld a spectre, and recoiled in terror. The figure
advanced slowly towards him.

"Who, and what art thou, in Heaven's name?" he exclaimed.

"I am Alice Nutter, sire," replied the lady, prostrating herself before
him.

"Alice Nutter, the witch!" cried the King. "Why--ay, I recollect thou
wert here. I sent for thee, but recent terrible events had put thee
clean out of my head. But expect no grace from me, evil woman. I will
show thee none."

"I ask none, sire," replied the penitent. "I came to place myself in
your hands, that justice may be done upon me."

"Ah!" exclaimed James. "Dost thou, indeed, repent thee of thy
iniquities? Dost thou abjure the devil and all his works?"

"I do," replied the lady, fervently. "My compact with the Evil One has
been broken by the prayers of my devoted daughter, who sacrificed
herself for me, and thereby saved my soul alive. But human justice
requires an expiation, and I am anxious to make it."

"Arise, ill-fated woman," said the king, much moved. "You must go to
Lancaster, but, in consideration of your penitence, no indignity shall
be shown you. You must be strictly guarded, but you shall not be taken
with the other prisoners."

"I humbly thank your Majesty," replied the lady. "May I take a last
farewell of my child?"

"Do so," replied James.

Alice Nutter then approached the bier, and, after gazing for a moment
with deepest fondness upon the features of her daughter, imprinted a
kiss upon her marble brow. In doing this her tears fell fast.

"You can weep, I see," observed the King. "You are a witch no longer."

"Ay, Heaven be praised! I can weep," she replied; "and so ease my
over-burthened heart. Oh! sire, none but those who have experienced it
can tell the agony of being denied this relief of nature. Farewell for
ever, my blessed child!" she exclaimed, kissing her brow again; "and
you, too, her beloved. Nicholas Assheton--it was her wish to be buried
in the same grave with Richard. You will see it done, Nicholas?"

"I will--I will!" replied the squire, in a voice of deepest emotion.

"And I likewise promise it," said Sir Ralph Assheton. "They shall rest
together in Whalley churchyard. It is well that Sir Richard and Dorothy
are gone," he observed to Nicholas.

"It is indeed," said the squire, "or we should have had another funeral
to perform. Pray Heaven it be not so now!"

"Have you any other request to prefer?" demanded the King.

"None whatever, sire," replied the lady, "except that I wish to make
full restitution of all the land I have robbed him of, to Master Roger
Nowell; and, as some compensation, I would fain add certain lands
adjoining, which have been conveyed over to Sir Ralph and Nicholas
Assheton, only annexing the condition that a small sum annually be given
in dole to the poor of the parish, that I may be remembered in their
prayers."

"We will see it done," said Sir Ralph and Nicholas.

"And I will see my part fulfilled," said Nowell. "For any wrong you have
done me I now freely and fully forgive you, and may Heaven in its
infinite mercy forgive you likewise!"

"Amen!" ejaculated the monarch. And all the others joined in the
ejaculation.

The King then moved to the door, which was opened for him by the two
Asshetons. At the foot of the steps stood Master Potts, attended by an
officer of the guard and a party of halberdiers. In the midst of them,
with their hands tied behind their backs, were Jem Device, his mother,
Jennet, and poor Nance Redferne. Jem looked dogged and sullen, Elizabeth
downcast, but Jennet retained her accustomed malignant expression. Poor
Nance was the only one who excited any sympathy. Jennet's malice seemed
now directed against Master Potts, whom she charged with having betrayed
and deceived her.