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. His feet would have the firm texture of his hands. Perhaps Gerald was not as clothheaded as he had thought. “Looks like old times here, I see. You—It’s jolly of you to confide in me. Somewhat alarmed at his appearance, Thames laid his hand upon his sword.
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