For a long time to come that would naturally be the theme of any story he undertook to write. Neither he nor Gerald chose to attire themselves in full military rig on fashionable occasions such as this. “Are you in the Service?” She asked him. He would provide the necessities of life and protect her. He seemed resigned but cheerful, and held frequent and serious discourses with the ordinary, who felt satisfied of his sincere penitence. His feet would have the firm texture of his hands. But of what avail is this? You have no execution, no finish. 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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