" "Wretch!" cried Mrs. 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. Luckily, they were not easily discomposed. “I wish you would come and see my lawyers. On the second day out he was helped to a steamer-chair on deck; on the third day, his arm across Ruth's shoulder, he walked from his chair to the foremast and back. “Where are they?” She looked around. Wood sank, submissively, into a chair, while his daughter hastened to execute her arbitrary parent's commission. One always dreamed of this and never believed it.
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