He went to the door. “I had lunch very late to-day, and I did not get home in time for dinner. She never knew what became of her farmer after that. Here was one that subtly mocked her. Then, quite insensibly, her queenliness had declined. McClintock does it; and he knows why. 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. Lucy went hunting on a Thursday night. There was—a service. After all, it came to him suddenly as a harsh discovery that she might be in a sense regarded as grownup.
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