He had brought the shrubs down from Syria, and, strangely enough, they had prospered. He reached the top floor and ran down the corridor to the little dressing room at the end where he had lost her before. “Why?” He inquired. It reverberated in the silence. The girl only smiled at him serenely, but she laid her hand for a moment quietly upon his. He donned his winter coat. Pitt, the then governor of Newgate. I have fulfilled my part of our marriage contract. 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.
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