This island was the one haven he had; he might be forced to remain here for several years—until the Hand had forgotten him. . " "Thank God for that!" ejaculated Mrs. ” “You are not yourself to-night, Courtlaw,” Ennison said. He left that arid rule clear of the least mist of refinement or delicacy. ‘Indeed?’ Gerald said politely. As the body was borne to the house in the arms of the farming-men, Mr. 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. Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them. Wood fancied he recognised.
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