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. We shall have Mr. F. "Give me your thorough-paced villain. " "My death will lie at your door," remarked Jackson to the carpenter. A few yards further off something grey, inert, was lying, a huddled-up heap of humanity twisted into a strange unnatural shape. Miss Ellicot, who sang ballads, and liked Brendon to turn over the pages for her, tossed her head. Playing became a way of escape.
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