"That's your hunting ground," said the doctor. And Anna was conscious of a few moments of exquisite emotion. 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. "Can't I settle this business, Captain," muttered Blueskin, drawing a pistol. You will have to tell me. What’s that?” They both stood listening. He was not able to recognize, as the doctor did, that she was only a natural woman.
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