Thus commanded, she resumed the subject of her pretended dream.
"I thought that I saw three prisoners, with faces covered with black crape, march with trembling steps towards the scaffold, while the hangman, who walked beside them, continually shouted, with a voice so loud that it was heard by every one, 'Behold, these men are about to be executed for murder and robbery. Don't pray for them, Christians, for your prayers will be in vain. They are denounced by God and man, and hell alone knows how to punish them as their many crimes deserve.'"
"You old she devil, can't you tell us something more lively than that?" demanded one of the bushrangers, glancing around uneasily.
"The best is yet to come," she replied, calmly, her eyes fixed upon vacancy, as though she really saw the scenes she was narrating.
"Well, let's have the rest, and don't be too hard on bushrangers, if it's all the same to you."
"I saw the procession reach the scaffold, and the three condemned men ascend the steps, although they trembled so that they had to be supported by the soldiers, for, though they could kill and rob, they were cowards at heart, and were to die like dogs."
"They should have given the coveys a pint of brandy each, and then they would have been all right," grunted the fellow whom the bushranger called Bill.
"A prayer was made by the clergyman," continued Nancy, not heeding the interruption, "and then the men were informed they could say any thing if they wished. The crape was removed from their faces, and I saw—"
"Who?" exclaimed the listeners, eagerly.
"Your face, and yours, and yours," she cried, pointing to three of the men, who sprang to their feet with frightful oaths, and murder in their hearts.