I thought it was a mirror at the first, for it was so very like myself. 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 arrived here with something less than five pounds in my pocket. Gone off, cool as you please, and left me to manage everything. Come in! Come in, do. "I was in the right, you see, father," observed Thames, smiling; "Jack has done his task.
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