He looked distant, irritated. "But be prudent, my angel. How different were his present feelings compared with those he had experienced on quitting it. He was ill at ease, though he would not have confessed his disquietude even to himself. “That’s not. 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. "My father!" she whispered. It would be the culmination of her plan. The jealous burn at his eyes subsided and his finger came up. Awkwardly, he closed his eyes and fumbled for a kiss. The well of tears in her eyes was dry. "My heart," rejoined Thames, firmly; "which now tells me I am in the presence of his murderer. But there's a person in the hall—a very odd sort of man—waiting to see him, who won't be sent away.
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