"Hear me!" cried Thames, bursting into tears. They decided quite audibly, “She’s an Old Dear, anyhow. ” “Can’t we arrange something? Can’t we make a sort of treaty?” “He wouldn’t keep it. 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. "Have you been more successful, Sir?" ventured Ireton.
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