"You have both," replied Wood, fervently. 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. “No, he grabbed my hand. The sing-song girl, seeing Ruth, extended her hands and began to chatter rapidly. Yes, yes, you do not like the French, and so this English lady here, she is altogether your flesh. It really isn’t so easy to go as it seems. " "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. And look down, so. CHAPTER X. I shall never come back. “Let’s go.
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