” She smiled at the thought. ‘Why did you bring him? I hate him. Do not underestimate my power. And, as he was about to put himself into a posture of defence, his mother clasped him in her arms. She did not want to feel such negative emotion towards any member of her foster family. She backed away, amazed as the thing buzzed loudly in the center of the room. 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.
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