" "No fear of that," laughed Kneebone. The man looked closely at Anna as she crossed the footway, and as he held her skirt from the wheel he pressed something into her hand. He was pretty successful in Manchester,—a town which may be said to have been the head-quarters of the disaffected. But the big job for you is yet to come. ” She shook her head, snapping out of her reverie. . ’ A thought caught in her mind and she turned quickly to her old nurse. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him.
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