There's an astounding din to make your ears tingle! as if the welkin were breaking down upon us with its lading of terror and destruction! The lightning has done as I bade it. I see him, I see him now.
MARY MACMURREN.
Where, where? I see nothing.
ELSPY LOW.
Nor I either, Grizeld.
GRIZELD BANE.
Look yonder to the skirt of that cloud: his head is bending over it like a knight from the keep of a castle. Hold ye quiet for a space; quiet as the corse in its coffin: he will be on the moor in a trice.
ELSPY LOW.
Trowth, I think he will; for I'm trembling sa.
MARY MACMURREN.
I'm trem'ling too, woman; and sa is poor Wilkin.
GRIZELD BANE (exultingly, after another very loud peal, &c.).
Ay, roar away! glare away! roar to the very outrage of roaring! Brave heralding, I trow, for the prince of the power of the air!—He will be here, anon.
