"Red apples and snow!" she sent back at him, her face suddenly transfixed by some inner glory. ’ Kimble’s widening gaze told its own tale, but still he kept his fingers on the handle of the door. 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.
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