“What a beautiful mare’s nest!” she exclaimed. No, this was imbecile. " A shadow, which was not cast by the jib, fell upon them both. His chin was angular and his lips were 16 small, his mouth tiny and refined. 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. She struggled fiercely not to give way.
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