You might trust me with the Chevalier himself,—I'd never betray him. 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. But if only you will come I do not care. "You do love me?" "God knows how much!" Suddenly he laid his head on her shoulder. "I can escape to France.
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