"May the malediction of Heaven and all its hosts alight on the head of thy infant--" "Oh! holy abbot," shrieked Bess, breaking from her husband, and flinging herself at Paslew's feet, "curse me, if thou wilt, but spare my innocent child.

Save it, and we will save thee." "Avoid thee, wretched and impious woman," rejoined the abbot; "I have pronounced the dread anathema, and it cannot be recalled.

Look at the dripping garments of thy child.

In blood has it been baptised, and through blood-stained paths shall its course be taken." "Ha!" shrieked Bess, noticing for the first time the ensanguined condition of the infant's attire.

"Cuthbert's blood--oh!" "Listen to me, wicked woman," pursued the abbot, as if filled with a prophetic spirit.