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. Not a bark could be discerned on the river, except those already mentioned. Independently of other risks, and of the chance of breaking his neck in the descent, he was aware that to reach the leads he should have to break open six of the strongest doors of the prison. "Do you mean to say that if I support your kid, I shan't bring him up how I please—eh?" "Don't question me, but leave me," replied the widow wildly; "you had better. " "As many as you please, Sir Rowland," replied Jonathan, resuming his seat. One who steals. She has been a dear. She should leave sooner, but she just could not bear missing the event.
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