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 met his eye for a moment in curious surprise. Keeping hold of the doorhandle, she turned slowly. Only, he'll be an interesting specimen for me to observe. Frequently he would take up a box of talc and send a shower down his back, or fill his palms with the powder and rub his face and arms and hands. Hastily, he reached for the door. Beware of him, my son! Beware of him! You know not what villany he is capable of. You might trust me with the Chevalier himself,—I'd never betray him.
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