CHAPTER VII. Would you mind drawing them back?” Ennison sprang up, but he never reached the curtains. Last night there had been no time. 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. "Farewell!" blubbered the executioner's wife, pressing his hand to her lips.
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