Thank goodness you’ll understand. She met his eye for a moment in curious surprise. E. 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. " "Here you have it, my dear," returned the hawker. He laid her on their old bed and kissed her from head to toe. "Spare me!" he groaned, looking upwards. Presently repellance grew under the frozen mask of astonishment and dissipated it. “No, he wouldn’t come here of all places—just now.
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