“I thought that I heard a groan,” Anna whispered. 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. Immediately the "boy" went forth with his paper lantern, repeating a cry as he ran—warning to clear the way. The picture of her flashed across the doctor's vision magically. He will have it that I’ve taken leave of my senses.
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