What might it have been?’ Mrs Sindlesham shook her head helplessly. "Is it indeed you, or am I dreaming?" "You're not dreaming, mother," he answered. But, go and see who it is, love. When she had finished the first tale, there was a sense of disappointment. “Mr. 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. Unless—would he hide from them as he had hidden from her? It was a big house, he said. ” “But what did father imagine?” “Of course he imagined! Any one would! ‘What has happened, Peter?’ I asked. The pistol fell to the floor.
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