"Come and sit down by me. She thought of her father in the garden, and of her aunt with her Patience, as she had seen them—how many ages was it ago? Just one day intervened. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. He halted,—looked fearfully around,—stopped again, and exclaimed aloud, "I don't like the job; and yet it must be done, or Mr. And with a hideous expression of pain, he fainted. 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. "Do they treat you ill?" asked her son. You must say farewell to her, for I cannot. Retract your words instantly, or take the consequences. His face was white. " "Almighty God! is this possible?" exclaimed Thames.
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