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. “I wrote it for you. As matters now stand, I'm only a thief, not a blackguard. Anna was sitting before the fire a little distance from him—Ennison himself remained standing. Let me have more light, that I may behold him. And Pottiswick, of course. I've destroyed my only chance. After great exertions on both parts, the spike yielded to their combined strength, and snapped suddenly off. Everything seemed designed to unhinge the mind and make the cat wretched. There was a black fear in his heart. "If I had, you'd not have seen me here," replied Jack, sullenly.
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