‘To me, quickly!’ There was a brief hush, and then the shouts resumed and several pairs of feet clattered towards her from, as it seemed, several directions. 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. Wanting his coat, when he must have known that the pockets were empty! But the effort to talk had cost him something. Their expression was so amiable, that it would have redeemed a countenance a thousand times plainer than hers. The air might be cool, but half an hour without head-gear was an invitation to sunstroke. Goodbye.
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