Then her head disappeared suddenly in her hands, and her shoulders shook violently. A new restlessness seemed to have stolen in upon her. ‘It—it is—nothing,’ she uttered jerkily. Stanley,’ I said. 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. You do not know him. I didn't think. ” He was bereft of words for a moment, and in that moment she escaped, having passed him on deftly to one of the later arrivals.
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