His name was Sebastianus. 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. Unless he can arise from the bottom of the Thames, where he and his abhorred father lie buried, you will never behold him again in this world. Then she reverted to the trousers.
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