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. A gust of irrational impatience blew through her being. No— no, it must never be. ’ His brows rose. 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. Lucy entered and Mike followed. “He spends hours of every day on the pavement below,” Anna answered calmly. And there was another matter. “Yet it is my last evening, and I think —if you are sure that you would like to have me—that I will risk it.

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