rth flits fast, and time draws on.
Gasp thy gasp, and groan thy groan,
Day is near the breaking.

The songstress paused, and was answered by one or two deep and hollow
groans, that seemed to proceed from the very agony of the mortal strife.
'It will not be,' she muttered to herself; 'he cannot pass away with that
on his mind, it tethers him here--

Heaven cannot abide it,
Earth refuses to hide it.

[Footnote: See Note 6.]

I must open the door'; and, rising, she faced towards the door of the
apartment, observing heedfully not to turn back her head, and,
withdrawing a bolt or two (for, notwithstanding the miserable appearance
of the place, the door was cautiously secured), she lifted the latch,
saying,

Open lock, end strife, Come death, and pass life.

Brown, who had by this time moved from his post, stood before her as she
opened the door. She stepped back a pace, and he entered, instantly
recognising, but with no comfortable sensation, the same gipsy woman whom
he had met in Bewcastle. She also knew him at once, and her attitude,
figure, and the anxiety of her countenance, assumed the appearance of the
well-disposed ogress of a fairy tale, warning a stranger not to enter the
dangerous castle of her husband. The first words she spoke (holding up
her hands in a reproving manner) were, 'Said I not to ye, Make not,
meddle not? Beware of the redding straik! [Footnote: The redding straik,
namely, a blow received by a peacemaker who interferes betwixt two
combatants, to red or separate them, is proverbially said to be the most
dangerous blow a man can receive.] You are come to no house o' fair-strae
death.' So saying, she raised the lamp and turned its light on the dying
man, whose rude and harsh features were now convulsed with the last
agony. A roll of linen about his head was stained with blood, which had
soaked also through the blankets and the straw. It was, indeed, under no
natural disease that the wretch was suffering. Brown started back from
this horrible object, and, turning to the gipsy, exclaimed, 'Wretched
woman, who has done this?'

'They that were permitted,' answered Meg Merrilies, while she scanned
with a close and keen glance the features of the expiring man. 'He has
had a sair struggle; but it's passing. I kenn'd he would pass when you
came in. That was the death-ruckle; he's dead.'

Sounds were now heard at a distance, as of voices. 'They are coming,'
said she to Brow