e draught--away to bed. 'Tis late, late! and I am cold."

"'She came to bed, Francis, cold and shivering. My mind began to regain
some form of thinking, after having been tossed about by the effect of
her horrible monologue, or rather part of a dialogue. The conviction was
instant, unavoidable, and certain. I never thought of awakening her to
question her, but lay distant from her as from a reptile. I slept none.
In the morning she turned to kiss me. I drew back my head in horror,
and saw that she too was horrified at my manner. I bade her begone for a
murderer, and, committed thus by my agony, told her she had confessed
the whole story in a fit of somnambulism. Then she flew from me, crying
she was innocent, tearing her hair in good acting--and there she walks
by the passages under the sting of her guilt. Oh! she dare not face me,
even were I to allow a meeting, which I wont. Francis, I am convinced.'

"My master," continued Francis, addressing me as I lay listening and
thinking of the old brochure, "was always moody, as I have said--ay, and
crotchety; no one had any power to drive from him a settled opinion or
resolution. After I had listened to him I said--

"'Master, permit me, your poor servant, to say that this is not evidence
on which I would beat a dog.'

"'I am convinced,' he replied sternly and unkindly, and he moved his
hand as a sign that I should leave him. I retreated, grieved to the
heart, for I knew master's nature. When I got to the top of the stair, I
saw my lady beckoning me from the door of the library. I went to her.

"'Francis,' she said, as she shut the door, 'what is this? Has my
husband told you anything?'

"'All,' I replied. 'He has recounted to me some strange words uttered by
you in your sleep, from which he infers that you poisoned my lady
Lillah.'

"'Repeat them--repeat them,' she said hurriedly.

"I did so, and when I mentioned the name Grierson, she seemed to
brighten a little. O how she hung upon my words!

"'Francis,' she said, 'I may be saved. You may help me. Some nights
ago I was occupied in reading the history of Jane Grierson--a little
pamphlet which you will find in the drawer of the escritoire, in
the dressing-room. There is the key. That story is the story I had
recounted in my sleep. Go get the book, and bring it to me. That will
save me, and nothing but that will save me.'

"'God be praised,' I ejaculated, and then hurried with all speed to get
the book. I searched