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. I'll leave these out, and to-morrow you can read them through. But in the train going home her aunt reasoned it out. His tone was kind and sympathetic. There was no need of sowing suspicion when he wasn't really certain there were grounds for it. But that was all over. I believe you have had it pulled down, have you not?” “The Misses Pellissier!” he exclaimed. Anyhow, they didn’t run about so much. ’ Roding’s voice changed. Over the mantel, set into an ornately carved panel with fluted columns at each end, was a portrait of a man on horseback. She was a woman now to the tips of her fingers; she had said good-bye to her girlhood in the old garden four years and a quarter ago.
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