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. This had well nigh been the case with the carpenter. He might go on as the devoted lover until he tired. As the Wastrel rushed, Spurlock sidestepped, swept the ball into his hand, set himself and threw it. "Where?" "That can wait," she answered. “I do not know whether to wish you success or not.
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