He turned, expecting to see his wife. ” He said. She fought a compulsive urge to yank his shirt free. Beneath these prints, a cluster of hobnails, driven into the wall, formed certain letters, which, if properly deciphered, produced the words, "Paul Groves, cobler;" and under the name, traced in charcoal, appeared the following record of the poor fellow's fate, "Hung himsel in this rum for luv off licker;" accompanied by a graphic sketch of the unhappy suicide dangling from a beam. Then suddenly her spirit rose in revolt. But her heart kept on sinking. " "Hold your tongue, sirrah," rejoined Shotbolt, not over-pleased by the remark, "and mind what I tell you. Blueskin is booked. Wild here presently. She touched bow to strings, playing a fifth.
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