My destiny, I am afraid, is going to lead me into the ruts. 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. “Mr. The bridge was protected on either side by a railing with bannisters placed at wide intervals. We must never let your father know we went. Mr.
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