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“They were sent to me by Mr. Let me go my own way towards them. Peste, but everything had become difficult. Kneebone, having been alarmed by something in the widow's look before her feelings found vent in the manner above described, thrust his hand instinctively into his coat in search of his pocket-book,—about the security of which, as it contained several letters and documents implicating himself and others in the Jacobite plot, he was, not unnaturally, solicitous,—and finding it gone, he felt certain he had been robbed. The tail-ender of this little caravan, he had been rather out of it.
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