"Mur—der!" roared Wood, struggling to free himself from his assailant, by whom he was half strangled. The sun lingered, finally dropping beyond the dark canopy of pine trees at the edge of the park. But what else he saw fit to teach her I do not care to stipulate. I spied a small picture of them in your house, though. 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. "If you doubt my word, woman," replied the carpenter's wife, coldly, "ask Mr.
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