"Meg Merrilies, the old devil's limb of a gypsey witch."
"Is she still alive?"
"Yaw."
"And in this country?"
"And in this country. She was at the Kaim of Derncleugh, at Vanbeest Brown's last wake, as they call it, the other night, with two of my people, and some of her own blasted gypsies."
"That's another breaker ahead, Captain! Will she not squeak, think ye?"
"Not she—she won't start—she swore by the salmon, if we did the kinchin no harm, she would never tell how the gauger got it. Why, man, though I gave her a wipe with my hanger in the heat of the matter, and cut her arm, and though she was so long after in trouble about it up at your borough-town there, der deyvil! old Meg was true as steel."
"Why, that's true as you say. And yet if she could be carried over to Zealand, or Hamburgh, or—or———any where else, you know;—it were as well."
