‘And now, monsieur le major—’ ‘I will see you to the door,’ Gerald said, looking with interest at the building that his observant groom had told him housed a small collection of nuns. ‘You, Mademoiselle Charvill, are as unlike most of your sex as you can be. 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. "If that sickly brat lives to be a man," continued Jonathan, rising, "I'll hang him upon the same tree as his father. Byby. ‘Never mind that now.
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