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. How can you protect me? Moreover, it is stealing that you have done, and therefore—’ ‘Don’t tell me you expect me to arrest myself again. A few short, dark locks, escaping from beneath her head-dress, showed that her hair had been removed, and had only been recently allowed to grow again. We shall have him on his return. “Only it is much too late for you to be out alone. But anything is better than this. I'm not interested in him. Her steps slowed. I haven't forgotten her previous history. And when she learned that she had been doubly cheated, what then? His thoughts began to fall on her side of the scales, and his own misery grew lighter as he anticipated hers. ToC During the whole of the next day and night, the poor widow hovered like a ghost about the precincts of the debtors' garrison,—for admission (by the Master's express orders,) was denied her. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. I’ll wait my whole life!” He cried.
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