The night was clear and moonlit, dazzling with even light blue shadows that shone into manicured lawns and pristine gardens. 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. He impetuously grasped a hold of her hand, looking for a callous. XII JACK SHEPPARD A Romance BY W.
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