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. To the point however. But machinery will never approach the hand. "To-morrow it will be mine. It doesn’t mean that these men deserve to die for whatever they have done, John. On a sudden, a change came over her countenance, which, up to this moment, had worn a smiling and satisfied expression. While he was thus standing, the flames of his house, which made the whole street as light as day, and ruddily illumined the faces of the mob below, betrayed him to them, and he was speedily driven from his position by a shower of stones and other missiles. " "Wait a bit, massa," replied the grinning negro,—"lilly bit—see all right fust. A vast indifference settled down upon him.
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