\" He panted, wiping sweat off of his brow with a towel. “I was able to borrow the money. " He opened his eyes, to behold hers large with wonder. “Who are you?” She asked innocently. "No," replied Hogarth, hastily effacing the sketch. 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. Then he stood up and hailed a fiacre. ’ The sharp eyes twinkled. ’ ‘As we see. “Can’t stop, thanks,” he answered.
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