"As it's getting late, and the porter may be gone to bed," he observed; "I'll take the pass-key, and let myself in. “Are you in a hurry? Will you come in and have some coffee?” He hesitated, and glanced towards her companion. It was a purse. The stench is everywhere. 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. Jolly nose! the bright rubies that garnish thy tip Are dug from the mines of canary; And to keep up their lustre I moisten my lip With hogsheads of claret and sherry. " "While I look as if I had stepped out of the family album?" He frowned perplexedly.
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