He panted for a moment with unuttered replies, and then, with a scornful gesture, got up and left the cell. This done, he unloosed the pulley, and the ponderous machine, which resembled a trough, slowly descended upon the prisoner's breast. Next moment, she had shut the bookshelf panel upon him. 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. His little doll. Thames did not attempt to offer him any consolation, for he was almost as much dejected.
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