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 white cloth was instantly dyed with crimson; but, regardless of this, Jonathan continued his murderous assault. At last she was roused. I am too weak to aid you. “You mustn’t say anything more to your mother, Michelle. He threw her on the bed.
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