" "Not now, my love—not now," entreated Wood. Nothing could occupy her attention long today, unless it concerned her situation. You need have no apprehensions about him, Sir Rowland. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms. ‘But the fact remains that you should not have enjoyed it, you were quite right to threaten to kill me, and I— God help me!—should not have kissed you at all. 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. Then, if you are bad to me, I can more easily blow off your head.
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