"I dinna deserve this frae ye, Effie," said her sister, feeling 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. Sure am I, if it had stude wi' him as it stands wi' you----"

"O if it stude wi' me to save ye wi' the risk of _my_ life!" said
Jeannie.

"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 enough to repent o' 't."

"But that word is a grievous sin."

"Well, weel, Jeannie, never speak mair o' 't," said the prisoner. "It's
as weel as it is. And gude-day, sister. Ye keep Mr. Ratcliffe waiting
on. Ye'll come back and see me, I reckon, before----"

"And are we to part in this way," said Jeannie, "and you in sic deadly
peril? O, Effie, look but up and say what ye wad hae me do, and I could
find it in my heart amaist to say I wad do 't."

"No, Jeannie," said her sister, with an effort. "I'm better minded now.
God knows, in my sober mind, I wadna' wuss any living creature to do a
wrang thing to save my life!"

But when Jeannie was called to give her evidence next day, Effie, her