Scotland/Scots > Wilson's tales of the Borders and of Scotland > Volume 3

THE SOMNAMBULIST OF REDCLEUGH.
43
cured. The loss of that book was the ruin of the house
of Hedcleugh.”
There it is, said I, holding up the tattered brochure to
the wondering eyes of the old butler.
“ Gracious Heaven!” cried the old man. “Yet not
gracious—too late, too late!” and he staggered, like one
who is drunk. Mr. Bernard is dead.
And Amelia is mad, said I, sorrowfully.
“ Yes, mad,” said he, as he still gazed on the brochure,
and turned it over and over with trembling hands.
“ But how did you come to get this,” he inquired.
I told him, and he rose and hastened to the escritoire
to examine it, and satisfy himself of the truth of my state¬
ment.
“ When that book could not be found, sir,” he resumed
when he came back, “ my master put his resolution into
effect. He placed his children with Mr. Gordon, one of
his trustees, executed a settlement, and went to the East.
My lady Amelia never saw him from that morning, but
he left word with me, that if the pamphlet was found in
the house, he should be made acquainted with it through
his trustee, Mr. Gordon. But, ah! sir, that never hap¬
pened, in God’s mysterious providence; and now my poor
lady Amelia could receive no advantage from this proof of
her innocence. I have heard from her own lips, before
her reason gave way, that she was the grand-daughter of
Jane Grierson and Mr. Temple, and that was the reason
why she came to have this little book. The story haunted
her, yet she read it; while, at the same time, she concealed
her possession of it, and her connection with the parties.
Francis now left me, and if I had little inclination to
deep before, I had less now. All the strange incidents of
the story seemed to revolve round myself; though my part
in it seemed merely the result of chance, I appeared to
tnyself somehow as a directly-appointed agent for working