"Lord safe us!" whispered Hobbie, "that the dead should bear sie fearfu'
ill-will to the living!--his saul maun be in a puir way, I'm jealous."

"Come, my friend," said Earnscliff, "you seem to suffer under some
strong affliction; common humanity will not allow us to leave you here."

"Common humanity!" exclaimed the being, with a scornful laugh that
sounded like a shriek, "where got ye that catch-word--that noose for
woodcocks--that common disguise for man-traps--that bait which the
wretched idiot who swallows, will soon find covers a hook with barbs ten
times sharper than those you lay for the animals which you murder for
your luxury!"

"I tell you, my friend," again replied Earnscliff, "you are incapable of
judging of your own situation--you will perish in this wilderness, and
we must, in compassion, force you along with us."

"I'll hae neither hand nor foot in't," said Hobbie; "let the ghaist take
his ain way, for God's sake!"

"My blood be on my own head, if I perish here," said the figure; and,
observing Earnscliff meditating to lay hold on him, he added, "And
your blood be upon yours, if you touch but the skirt of my garments, to
infect me with the taint of mortality!"

The moon shone more brightly as he spoke thus, and Earnscliff observed
that he held out his right hand armed with some weapon of offence, which
glittered in the cold ray like the blade of a long knife, or the barrel
of a pistol. It would have been madness to persevere in his attempt upon