He looked at her guiltily. “My wife refused absolutely to have anything more to do with me. "A friend," replied Jonathan, uncocking the pistol, and placing it in his pocket. 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. There was a great splash of blood upon it, her hand was all wet and sticky. Lucy acted the part of savoring the end of the meal, but it was difficult. “I repeat, gentlemen,” he said, in an ominously low tone, “what of it?” Drummond shrugged his shoulders. Presently the odour of burnt powder mingled agreeably with that of the incense. The chapel was crowded to excess. Do you think I would marry you? Rather would I marry the pig in the convent. “That’s all.
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