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 alted by passion. "I want not your guidance—I want not your lodging—it is five years since my head was under a human roof, and I trust it was for the last time."

"He is mad," said Earnscliff—"He has a look of auld Humphrey Ettercap, the tinkler, that perished in this very moss about five years syne," answered his superstitious companion; "but Humphrey was na that awfu' big in the bouk."

"Pass on your way," reiterated the object of their curiosity, "the breath of your human bodies poisons the air around me—the sound of your human voices goes through my ears like sharp bodkins."

"Lord safe us!" said Hobbie, "that the dead should bear sic 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