Her father read a draft prospectus warily, and her aunt dropped fragments of her projects for managing while the cook had a holiday. Bête, she told herself fiercely. If you could see how it gives them souls, women who have taken things for granted, who have given themselves up altogether to pettiness and vanity. In the subdued light she could not tell whether he was asleep or awake. "Where shall I fly?" exclaimed the lady, bewildered with terror. She looked and felt like a fairy princess. 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. “You see you do not know how much of truth there is in his story. But the besetting evil of the place, and that which drew down the severest censures of the writers above-mentioned, was that this spot,—which of all others should have been most free from such intrusion—was made a public exhibition. “Leave them!” He yelled.
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