She struggled against it quite uselessly. What a mercy that the blow aimed at her by the ruffian, Wild, though it brought her to the brink of the grave, should have restored her to reason! Ah! she stirs. She tried not to blush. "Is she dead?" "No—no," answered Hogarth. 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. His arms released from his 68 sides, he lifted them around her in a light embrace. If only out of loyalty to co-education one has to do that. Here were the passionate lovers! What their past had been he neither cared nor craved to know. Towards this box Sharples directed his steps, and, unlocking a hatch in the door, disclosed a recess scarcely as large, and certainly not as clean, as a dog-kennel.
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