“Was he really?” She asked, waiting on baited breath. There was, in fact, only one clear thought in his fevered brain: he had reached the hotel without falling down. I——” The door was thrown open. Wood cut him short by stating his intention of crossing the river as soon as possible in order to avoid the storm. They sat down, McClintock reaching for a lump of sugar which he began munching. Gerald switched to French. 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. ‘Very. ‘Hadn’t meant you to know,’ said the nun gruffly.
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