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. She made herself a private declaration of liberty. They left the room amongst the last, and Ennison had almost to elbow his way through a group of acquaintances who had all some pretext for detaining him, to which he absolutely refused to listen. ‘Jacques! This—this bête he attacks me, and you stand there and you do nothing. He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. I saw him last night at Jonathan Wild's, after my escape from the New Prison. E. There were moments when she thought of turning upon this man and talking to him.
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