She must weigh her situation. 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. That’s how things are; that’s the order of the world. Gay, by his strokes of pleasantry, whether in his writings or conversation, never lost a friend. "What is it?" "Can't you see? Together, down there; you and I!… As my wife! Both of us, never to be lonely again!… Will you marry me, Ruth?" As many a wiser woman had done, Ruth mistook thrilling eagerness for love. Kneebone begged him to take the prisoner into the churchyard. He was a London man of business, spending a small legacy in Paris. And I have wanted to so very much.
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