On beholding the intruders, his fears changed to exultation, and he uttered a roar of satisfaction as he glared at them, which could only be likened to the cry of some savage denizen of the plains. 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. Nervously he pulled alongside the dilapidated oncewhite farmhouse. He panted for a moment with unuttered replies, and then, with a scornful gesture, got up and left the cell. ‘I trust you are cursing Valade, and not Melusine.
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