He brought me past this house, and I thought I would call and leave your brother’s letter. 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. Blueskin will take care of the horses, and I'll go with you. The great untrodden world was before her still, into which no one can pass alone.
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