"Go not. 'Tis accursed!" said she, as if preparing to dispute the
attempt.
"I am a stranger, and hastening for shelter. In troth, 'tis a narrow
goit that will not let a drowning man through. Prythee, dame, let me
not, in some wise, seem uncourteous. Yet"----
Here he attempted to pass; but she seized him, and with so powerful a
grasp that for a moment his intention was foiled, so sudden and
unexpected was the attack. Though of a stout and muscular shape, yet
was he holden tightly, as if she were exulting in her strength. Either
malice or madness had given her a vigour of body beyond that of her sex.
"Michael de Poininges!"
The stranger started at this recognition.
"I warn thee! Thinkest thou yon fiend will forward thy mission. Wilt
thou tear the prey from the jaws of the famished and ravening wolf?
Beware!"
Some score of years had elapsed since De Poininges was a visitor in
these parts; and he was now upon some sacred mission to the Prior of
Burscough, Thomas de Litherland, whose great power and reckless
intrepidity of guilt had won for him a name of no common note, even in
those ages of privileged injustice and oppression.
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