’ He clenched his fists and grew red in the face. If you do not help me to read the riddle of yourself, Annabel, I think that very soon I shall be a candidate for the asylum. The soi-disant Valade escapes and takes my proof, which I have broken on his head. Without betraying the slightest confusion, or making a single remark, he quietly resumed his seat. 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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