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. “Lady Ferringhall, sir. Well, well; all he himself could do would be to watch this singular drama unroll. "It is an ordinary wedding," he added; "some shopkeeper's daughter. Stanley considered. You understand. You’re the only person I’ve really given good, straight, unselfish thought to.
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