By degrees, his fears vanished, and hearing nothing, he grew calmer. “I am sure of it. Occasionally the flames would bend, twist and writhe crazily as the punka-boy bestirred himself. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. Wood. ’ ‘Perfectly correct, my boy. 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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