He recognized the handwriting, and turned a shade paler. . "Would you expose yourself to fresh risk? If it hadn't been for her you wouldn't have been placed in your late jeopardy. Woman's love of silk is not set by fashion; it is bred in the bone; and somewhere, somehow, a woman will have her bit of silk. 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. “Let’s go. Her name, he said, was as pretty as its wearer.
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