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. Bring in his comrade," he added, in a whisper to Charcam; "I'll take care of him. Where's Marvel?" "Here, Sir," replied the executioner. ‘Then open it quickly. Never sent for the shirt. ” “Well”—her breath failed her for a moment. It was just a chance that we in particular hit against each other—nothing predestined about it. . Before an hour had elapsed, the concourse was fearfully increased. . ‘You cannot be André Valade if you tell them I am one of this family.
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