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. Meet me. He could not kiss Ruth because the acquired conscience—struggling on its way to limbo—made the idea repellant. He went over her features one by one in his mind. I——” The door was thrown open. The prospect of the gallows would never deter me from taking to the road, if I were so inclined. She smiled encouragingly, laying aside her plate and turning her chair from the table. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously.
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