” Chapter II THE ADVENTURE OF ANNABEL The man spoke mercilessly, incisively, as a surgeon. 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. He drew a chair to the side of the bed and sat down, terrified by the utter fallowness of his mind. Next instant he had her immobilised, her hands behind her back, her chest crushed to his, the white veil slipping once again. Aware of his father's inflexibility of purpose, he set his wits to work to defeat the design. He was also, had she known it, more than a little insincere. “This wonderful affection of yours for my sister, does it date from your first meeting with her in Paris?” He hesitated.
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