‘Oh my God,’ uttered Gerald in some dismay. 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. “I murdered them, John. Kneebone took his leave. Wild hasn't been to inquire after him to-day," observed Langley; "it's the first time he's missed doing so since the trial. “To tell you the truth, I am a little dull. “I will take a carriage,” she said, “and fetch my things. The risk I run is nothing to yours.
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