He hung round those broad waters from noon until three and realized that he had embarked upon a wild-goose chase. Even her debt to him was a triviality now. “You—appear to know my name, sir,” Sir John said. Presently he became filled with astonishment over the singular fact that Ruth was eluding him in fancy as well as in reality. 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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