"I understand, Sir," replied Davies, drawing a little aside. ’ Trodger had started towards the stairs, signing to his men to get behind the lady. But the fall was too great, and he abandoned the attempt. “What the devil are you doing star-gazing here?” Ennison looked at him in surprise. She drifted northward from the Strand, and came on some queer and dingy quarters. " "Hush!" replied Mrs. 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. The third time she escaped she reached the inconsequent barricade of the overturned table. .
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