"But tell me, Eppie, for ye hae na telt me yet, how did ye leave my weans?"
"Would you like to see them?" said Elspa, eagerly.
"I would na like to gang to Crail," replied her sister, thoughtfully; "but if—" and she hesitated.
"Surely, Marion," exclaimed Elspa, with indignation, "ye're no sae lost to all shame as to wish your innocent dochters to see you in the midst of your iniquities?"
Marion reddened, and sat abashed and rebuked for a short time in silence, and then reverting to her children, she said, somewhat humbly,—
"But tell me how they are—poor things!"
"They are as weel as can be hoped for," replied Elspa, moved by her altered manner; "but they'll lang miss the loss of their mother's care. O, Marion, how could ye quit them! The beasts that perish are kinder to their young, for they nourish and protect them till they can do for themselves; but your wee May can neither yet gang nor speak. She's your very picture, Marion, as like you as—God forbid that she ever be like you!"
The wretched mother was unable to resist the energy of her sister's appeal, and, bursting into tears, wept bitterly for some time.
Elspa, compassionating her contrition, rose, and, taking her kindly by the hand, said, "Come, Marion, we'll gang hame—let us leave this guilty city—let us tarry no longer within its walls—the curse of Heaven is darkening over it, and the storm of the hatred of its corruption is beginning to lighten:—let us flee from the wrath that is to come."
"I'll no gang back to Crail—I dare na gang there—everyone would haud out their fingers at me—I canna gang to Crail—Eppie, dinna bid me—I'll mak away wi' mysel' before I'll gang to Crail."