" "It shall be, Sir," replied Ireton, bowing. If the young ladies were dowerless, which seemed likely, their attire at least—so Lucilla assured him in a whisper—was of the first stare. He must fight the thought continually, day in and day out. 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. Restraining with an effort his intense curiosity, he talked of general subjects only, trying his best to entertain her. This was enough for the poor widow.
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