The interjections of "Poor fellow,"-- "Poor George," which escaped in whispers, and betwixt sighs, were the only sounds with which she interrupted the story.

When it was finished she made a long pause.
"And this was his advice ?" were the first words she uttered.
"Just sic as I hae tell'd ye," replied her sister.
"And he wanted you to say something to yon folks, that wad save my young life ?" "He wanted," answered Jeanie, "that I suld be man-sworn." "And you tauld him," said Effie, "that ye wadna hear o' coming between me and the death that I am to die, and me no aughten year auld yet ?" "I told him," replied Jeanie, who now trembled at the turn which her sister's reflection seemed about to take, "that I daured na swear to an untruth." "And what d'ye ca' an untruth ?" said Effie, again showing a touch of her former spirit--"Ye are muckle to blame, lass, if ye think a mother would, or could, murder her ain bairn--Murder!--I wad hae laid down my life just to see a blink o' its ee!" "I do believe," said Jeanie, "that ye are as innocent of sic a purpose as the new-born babe itsell." "I am glad ye do me that justice," said Effie, haughtily; "ifs whiles the faut of very good folk like you, Jeanie, that, they think a' the rest of the warld are as bad as the warst temptations can make them." "I didna deserve this frae ye, Effie," said her sister, sobbing, and feeling at once the injustice of the reproach, and compassion for the state of mind which dictated it.
"Maybe no, sister," said Effie.

"But ye are angry because I love Robertson--How can I help loving him, that loves me better than body and soul baith ?--Here he put his life in a niffer, to break the prison to let me out; and sure am I, had it stude wi' him as it stands wi' you"-- Here she paused and was silent.
"O, if it stude wi' me to save ye wi' risk of my life!" said Jeanie.
"Ay, lass," said her sister, "that's lightly said, but no sae lightly credited, frae ane that winna ware a word for me; and if it be a wrang word, ye'll hae time eneugh to repent o't." "But that word is a grievous sin, and it's a deeper offence when it's a sin wilfully and presumptuously committed." "Weel, weel, Jeanie," said Effie, "I mind a' about the sins o' presumption in the questions--we'll speak nae mair about this matter, and ye may save your breath to say your carritch and for me, I'll soon hae nae breath to waste on onybody." "I must needs say," interposed Ratcliffe, "that it's d--d hard, when three words of your mouth would give the girl the chance to nick Moll Blood,* that you make such scrupling about rapping** to them.

D--n me, if they would take me, if I would not rap to all what d'ye callums--Hyssop's Fables, for her life--I am us'd to't, b--t me, for less matters.

Why, I have smacked calf-skin*** fifty times in England for a keg of brandy." * The gallows.
** Swearing.
*** Kissed the book.
"Never speak mair o't," said the prisoner.