One day she desisted from her search and went unexpectedly to the Tredgold College. A wedding procession turned the corner. They talked across their meal in an easy and friendly manner about Ann Veronica’s affairs. “Will he live?” The doctor shook his head. 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. She was a merry creature, it is true, and quite beautiful. The old aspect of the place was gone.
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