"'Francis, you are an old friend, not a servant--not now at least. I trust you. The house of Redcleugh is doomed, nor shall a Bernard be ever again happy within its walls.'
"'The core,' said he; 'the master's heart. I must go to the East again. There may be peace there for me; here, in my father's house, there is none. But what shall become of Caleb and Mira?'
"My heart was too full to answer, and still Amelia's groans came from the passages, changing and changing, like the voice of a restless spirit. My master rose, and, folding his arms, paced along the room. His brow was knit tight as the muscles would draw. He seemed to contract his arms, as if to compress his heart--nor did a word escape from him. A thought seized me, that, like the older Bernards, he was under a fit of alienation. I made for the door, to seek my lady Amelia, and even in her agonies to consult her what was to be done. My master seized me sharply by the arm.
"'For Amelia?' he said--'for the murderer of my Lillah, my first love, my angel?'
"I stood petrified, the word 'murderer' twittering on my shaking lips in fragments.
"'Yes,' he said, 'come in, come in--bolt that door; the other is already cared for. Francis, you know how my Lillah died; there was no disease--she slept away as a drugged victim. Now, listen. During this last night I was awoke by the restlessness of Amelia. I heard her leave my side, and rise from the bed'--that on which you are now lying.--'The rush-light burned on the mantelpiece, and I could see my wife, as she rose and began to pace the floor. I called out gently, "Amelia;" but got no answer. Her eyes, I saw, were fixed; and she moved her arms, as if she were addressing some imaginary being. I concluded she was sleep-walking, and immediately she began to speak, as she paced backwards and forwards. Part of what she said I lost, but I could join together enough for conviction.
"'"She stood between me and my love," she said, as she stopped for a moment, laying one hand upon another, "and it was necessary she should be put out of the way. A Grierson was never a waverer when a deed of blood was to be done." "How did you do it?" "How did I do it? Poison! I made her sleep the long sleep, which the sun never breaks, nor the moon, nor time." "What poison did you say?" "The sleepy poison. I made for her a draught, that I might draw the sweet life away; and"--