The coach in which the prisoner had been conveyed was already broken to pieces, and the driver was glad to escape with life. . What he needed most in this hour was a bottle of American rye-whisky and a friendly American bar-keep to talk to. ’ ‘Unless it is Captain Roding,’ put in Lucilla Froxfield from the curved back sofa on the other side of the fireplace. 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. Ruth's arm trembled and her step faltered, but he was too far away in thought to be observant. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget.
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