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304 clear the room and leave the surgeon to his operations, she called out aloud, raising herself at the same time upon the couch, "Dirk Hatteraick, you and I will never meet again until we are before the judgment seat—Will ye own to what I have said?" He turned his hardened brow upon her, with a look of dumb and inflexible defiance. "Dirk Hatteraick, dare ye deny, with my blood upon your hands, one word of what my dying breath is uttering?"—He looked at her with the same expression of hardihood and dogged stubbornness, and moved his lips, but uttered no sound. "Then fareweel!" she said, "and God forgive you! your hand has sealed my evidence.—When I was in life, I was the mad randy gypsey, that had been scourged, and banished, and branded,—that had begged from door to door, and been hounded like a stray tyke from parish to parish—wha would hae minded her word?—But now I am a dying woman, and my words