She was frowning, but it was evident that her initial fright had left her. “But how is it all going to end?” said Mr. “I wish you and I had drunk that love potion,” he said. As the body was borne to the house in the arms of the farming-men, Mr. " "You needn't trouble yourself," replied Thames. 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. He paced faster, stomping around. There's a letter for the head turnkey, Mr. O God! O God!" And he appeared convulsed with agony.
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