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. Only, he'll be an interesting specimen for me to observe. Ennison?” “He spoke to me, thinking that I was you,” Anna answered. Purney, the present ordinary of Newgate. It was like pouring a strong acid over dulled metal. I was sorry for what I did afterwards; for, I don't know why, but, poor, lady! with her pale face, and black eyes, she reminded me of my mother.
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