"Whisht, whisht, bairnie! dinna greet sae loud! Hech! but ye mak' din eneugh to deave a miller!" expostulated the warden, as he handed the receipt to McRae and turned his regards to the female prisoner.
But the only effect of his words upon Faustina was to open the sluices of her tears and make them flow in greater abundance.
"Eh, lassie, 'tis pity of you too! But hae ye ne'er been tauld that the way o' the transgreesor is haird? and the wages o' sin is deeth?" said the "kindly" Scot.
"But I do not deserve death! I never did kill anybody myself!" whimpered Faustina.
"Wha the de'il said ye did? I was quoting the Book whilk I greatly fear ye dinna aften look into, or ye would na be here noo."
"But I have no right to be here. I never did anything, I, myself, to deserve such treatment. It was Lord Vincent's fault. It was he who brought me to this!" whined Faustina.
"Nae doobt! nae doobt at a'! He's ane o' the natural enemies o' your sex, ye ken. And ye suld o' thocht o' that before ye trusted him sae far."
"I did not trust him at all. And I do not know what you mean by your insinuations, you horrid old red-headed beast!" cried Faustina.
"Whisht! whisht! haud your tongue, woman! Dinna be sae abusive! Fou' words du nae guid, as I aften hae occasion to impress upon the malefactors that are brocht here for safe-keeping," said the jailer, as he turned and looked around upon the underlings in attendance. Then beckoning one of the turnkeys to him, he said:
"Here, Cuddie, tak' this lass into the north corridor o' the women's ward; and when ye hae her safe in the cell, ye maun knock off the irons fra her wrists. Gang wi' Cuddie, lass; an dinna be fashed; he's nae a bad chiel."