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. He reached out a hand gropingly, sagged, and toppled out of the chair to the floor, where he lay very still. Which, if we are not all of us very careful indeed, will be stolen from Miss Charvill. Try and let him never regret it. This helped to restore Ann Veronica’s self-command. I didn’t understand.
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