“Just look that through, will you. 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. We shall never have an heir, you and I! My family is crumbling; all of my brothers are dead. Spurlock. He growled in his throat and, thrusting his coat open, revealed his own buckled sword-belt. I am sorry to seem to hurt you, but all I say is for your good.
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