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. He smothered a laugh. He was going to settle I forget how many millions upon me, and I think that I was dazzled. “I never saw Courtlaw with her—never heard her speak of him. Of course there were goats. ‘Lord,’ he uttered, glancing about with a disparaging eye. Men are against her.
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