HIS FINIS. 385 



found that even the sight and feel of his treasure could 

 not keep out the cold ; and that the chill wind, 

 combined with the spirits he had imbibed, was numb- 

 ing his faculties as well as his flesh. Eeluctantly he 

 returned the money to its bags ; reluctantly he moved 

 towards the vault to replace them muttering as he did 

 sOj " The murdered laird's dry bones, lying in his ain 

 wine cellar, keep good watch over my treasure. I 

 give it again to your care, with a benediction, old 

 man ! " And with a horrid grin, Gertson lowered the 

 bags into the vault. As they touched the ground 

 they rattled against the skeleton of the long-since 

 murdered man. 



That superstitious fears had no power over old 

 Gertson on ordinary occasions, and when he was in 

 full possession of all his senses, we can readily believe. 

 He would never have chosen that place for his " bank " 

 if he had credited one of the many stories told about 

 the Ha'. But as we have seen, he, on the contrary, 

 traded on the superstitious awe of his neighbours, and 

 laughed in his sleeve. When he heard the noise made 

 by his money bags as they descended among the dry 

 bones, Gertson chuckled again, and leant over the 

 opening, muttering as he did so — " Yes ! yes ! a safe 

 bank this, and a trusty keeper yon grim skeleton ! Luck 

 played me a good turn when it whispered that if I dared 

 come here I would fare well. The fools that closed 

 this vault over the dead laird, leaving him to rot under 

 the ruins of his home without even a cofhn to cover 

 his remains, thought, doubtless, that they left him to 



2 B 



