She was at first disappointed.

Nothing was visible beside the little pile of stones, which shone grey in the moonlight.

A multitude of confused suggestions rushed on her mind.

Had her correspondent deceived her, and broken his appointment ?--was he too tardy at the appointment he had made ?--or had some strange turn of fate prevented him from appearing as he proposed ?--or, if he were an unearthly being, as her secret apprehensions suggested, was it his object merely to delude her with false hopes, and put her to unnecessary toil and terror, according to the nature, as she had heard, of those wandering demons ?--or did he purpose to blast her with the sudden horrors of his presence when she had come close to the place of rendezvous?
These anxious reflections did not prevent her approaching to the cairn with a pace that, though slow, was determined.
When she was within two yards of the heap of stones, a figure rose suddenly up from behind it, and Jeanie scarce forbore to scream aloud at what seemed the realisation of the most frightful of her anticipations.
She constrained herself to silence, however, and, making a dead pause, suffered the figure to open the conversation, which he did, by asking, in a voice which agitation rendered tremulous and hollow, "Are you the sister of that ill-fated young woman ?" "I am--I am the sister of Effie Deans!" exclaimed Jeanie.

"And as ever you hope God will hear you at your need, tell me, if you can tell, what can be done to save her!" "I do _not_ hope God will hear me at my need," was the singular answer.
"I do not deserve--I do not expect he will." This desperate language he uttered in a tone calmer than that with which he had at first spoken, probably because the shook of first addressing her was what he felt most difficult to overcome.