” “WHAT?” said Ann Veronica, startled. Capes sat watching and admiring her, and then he fell praising the day and fortune and their love for each other. 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 nodded silently, too full for words. “If I am,” he answered, reddening, “you can scarcely assert that it is without a cause. What was the wench at? Yet he could not maintain this stand off forever. ‘What’s more, I wouldn’t blame her.
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