"Lean on me," said Jack. But her husband, whose deportment to her was considerably changed since the fatal knot had been tied, paid no attention whatever to her grief. “I want to ask you a question,” he said. 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 walked her home.
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