’ ‘Aye, miss,’ Kimble agreed, taking the garments, ‘but where will I find you?’ ‘I do not know. " "Till midnight," replied Jack. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. “Are you speaking to me?” she asked calmly. To be ill and helpless. At last the panel swung back into the library. 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. Manning, I do not think I love you.
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