‘Grace à vous, I am compelled to rescue myself. And, if it had not been for a taste for plotting, which was continually getting him into scrapes, he might have been accounted a respectable member of society. Her glance, absorbing the gilt letters and their significance, communicated to her poised body a species of paralysis. "But if it is your mother, send her about her business. ” “We will go together,” she answered. Glancing around his prison, he began to think it possible he might effect an escape from it. ” “Your husband,” he answered bluntly. ‘Yes, but quite my own fault. 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.
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