A swift frown brought the still dark brows together for a moment. He was way out of her league and it was downright odd that he had obliged himself to talk to her, let alone walk her home. 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. "But if it is thy will to take me from him," she continued, as soon as her emotion permitted her,—"if he must be left an orphan amid strangers, implant, I beseech thee, a mother's feelings in some other bosom, and raise up a friend, who shall be to him what I would have been. She had imagined she had drowned them altogether. She has an excellent remedy for a sprain. Her commander, Rykhart Van Galgebrok, is devoted to my interests. But don’t think your heroic milice will save you. “I wish,” she said, “that you would leave off looking at me as though I were something grisly. Collins, you can go now.
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