Someone bounded up the stairs, which groaned from the strain, unmistakably Mike. She hesitated in answering the door, her violin still crooked underneath her chin. 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. They sat down, McClintock reaching for a lump of sugar which he began munching. ’ She thrust him out of the room and made for the stairs. She felt his tongue press into her mouth.
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