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 lit a cigarette and loitered about. "I don't know what his idea was. The expression was wholly different. It was enough that she witnessed it and could not go to him. What little happiness I had I was forced to steal. She had to school herself to speak the words which she knew would cut him like a knife. ” “I say,” she reflected, “you ARE rather the master, you know. Pardon what I have said, Madam. \"He's good-looking. "All right," replied Sheppard, with affected indifference. “There’s no end of things I’d like to talk over with you.
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