Her heart in her mouth, she heard his foot scrape on the floorboard and knew from his expression that Gosse had heard it too. 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. After this occurence, not a word was exchanged between them until they came in sight of the sloop, which was lying at anchor off Wapping. ‘Beg pardon, sir?’ asked the sergeant, evidently mystified. Good-bye, aunt. I'll call it my wedding gift.
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