Monsieur Charvill, he has not the means to choose different. 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 have nothing more to fear from Wild. "Are you his ghost, then?" "No—no," answered Jack. I shall count it a privilege. His hand went with an almost instinctive inquiry to his jawbone again.
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