A remittance man. Wait!" He released himself from his aunt's embrace, ran to the trunk and fetched the old coat. He was not used to not getting his way. 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 see him!—row for your life!" "That's the way to miss him, master," replied Ben coolly. I didn’t see everything last time.
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