” Annabel’s hand stole into his. 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. Her back arched and she felt herself instinctively sinking into him. She could run away from him, if she wished, as she had run away from her father; she could carry out the original adventure. At length the task was done, and she jabbed the needle into a cushion, folded the coat, and rose.
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