Rat," replied Sharpitlaw, "since ye are nice, I'll speak to the
hussy mysell."

Sharpitlaw, accordingly, caused himself to be introduced into the little
dark apartment tenanted by the unfortunate Effie Deans. The poor girl was
seated on her little flock-bed, plunged in a deep reverie. Some food
stood on the table, of a quality better than is usually supplied to
prisoners, but it was untouched. The person under whose care she was more
particularly placed, said, "that sometimes she tasted naething from the
tae end of the four-and-twenty hours to the t'other, except a drink of
water."

Sharpitlaw took a chair, and, commanding the turnkey to retire, he opened
the conversation, endeavouring to throw into his tone and countenance as
much commiseration as they were capable of expressing, for the one was
sharp and harsh, the other sly, acute, and selfish.

"How's a' wi' ye, Effie?--How d'ye find yoursell, hinny?"

A deep sigh was the only answer.

"Are the folk civil to ye, Effie?--it's my duty to inquire."

"Very civil, sir," said Effie, compelling herself to answer, yet hardly
knowing what she said.

"And your victuals," continued Sharpitlaw, in the same condoling
tone,--"do you get what you like?--or is there onything you would
particularly fancy, as your health seems but silly?"

"It's a' very weel, sir, I thank ye," said the poor prisoner, in a tone
how different from the sportive vivacity of those of the Lily of St.
Leonard's!--"it's a' very gude--ower gude for me."

"He must have been a great villain, Effie, who brought you to this pass,"
said Sharpitlaw.

The remark was dictated partly by a natural feeling, of which even he
could not divest himself, though accustomed to practise on the passions
of others, and keep a most heedful guard over his own, and partly by his
wish to introduce the sort of conversation which might, best serve his
immediate purpose. Indeed, upon the present occasion, these mixed motives
of feeling and cunning harmonised together wonderfully; for, said
Sharpitlaw to himself, the greater rogue Robertson is, the more will be
the merit of bringing him to justice. "He must have been a great villain,
indeed," he again reiterated; "and I wish I had the skelping o' him."

"I may blame mysell mair than him," said Effie; "I was bred up to ken
better; but he, poor fellow,"--(she stopped).

"Was a thorough blackguard a' his life, I dare say," said Sharpitlaw.
"A stranger he was in this country, a