“We are not going the right way,” she exclaimed. "Hear! hear!" vociferated Quilt. Sometimes a whole morning would pass without Spurlock uttering a word beyond the request for a drink of water. They all left the room. She always dawdled, so it was easy. 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. “Oh good. That’s one thing clear.
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