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 didn't awake you, because you seemed tired. "He can't escape. That I am not ignorant of the reward offered for my capture this will show," he added, taking a large placard headed 'Murder' from his pocket, and throwing it on the floor. He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. "Nobody has so much cause for complaint as me," growled Austin.
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