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. She could not make up her mind which was the finer, more elemental thing, which gave its values to the other. "My coat!" Ruth did not move but stared astonishedly at the patient.
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