“I’m a vampire. She went to her bedroom, but she did not go to bed. In the presence of the husband of his mistress Rollo was always dignifiedly cheerful, but he never leaped or cavorted as he did when alone with Ruth. I thought that he was dead. Wood's, the carpenter in Wych Street. And I am grateful to you. 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. ‘For God’s sake, let go my hand,’ he begged. But the lady was not so easily won; and though she did not absolutely reject him, gave him very slight hopes.
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