the large grey stones, not like a person intending to journey onward, but with the slow, irregular, flitting movement of a being who hovers around some spot of melancholy recollection, uttering also, from time to time, a sort of indistinct muttering sound. This so much resembled his idea of the motions of an apparition, that Hobbie Elliot, making a dead pause, while his hair erected itself upon his scalp, whispered to his companion—"It's auld Ailie, hersel! Shall I gi'e her a shot, in the name of God?"
"For Heaven's sake, no," said his companion, holding down the weapon which he was about to raise to the aim—" for Heaven's sake, no; it's some poor distracted creature."
"You're distracted yoursel, for thinking of going so near to her," said Elliot, holding his companion, in his turn, as he prepared to advance. "We'll aye hae time to pit ower a bit prayer (an' I could but mind ane) afore she comes this length
