I tried it myself, Sir. Wood!" "Leave go!" thundered Blueskin—"leave go—you'd better!"—and he held the sack as firmly as he could with one hand, while with the other he searched for his knife. Presently, however, a sudden movement occurred, and disclosed his features, which were those of a young man of nearly his own age. “Do you mind very much?” He shook his head. This is altogether insupportable. "Get it over quickly," said Trenchard, in a whisper to the thief-taker. She had but to choose. Sheppard is, without your information, Sir. 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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