"Friends!" echoed Kneebone, with a look of dismay. 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. Darting forward at this sound, Jack threw open the door, and beheld Quilt kneeling over Thames, who'se hands and feet were bound with cords, and about to plunge his sword into his breast. " "Shall we do so?" whispered Winifred to her father. “An uncle in New York is dead, and has left him loads of money. I had not seen the courtyard in many years and I was happy to dream of those times. Gerald went through all the papers in front of Gosse and that woman of his, one by one. " "I cannot repent,—I cannot pray," replied Jack, recovering his hardened demeanour.
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