What was the fellow doing in this part of the town? Had not Lady Bicknacre said he was living at Paddington? The Frenchman, booted and neat in buckskin breeches and a plain frockcoat, a flat-brimmed hat on his head, paused a moment at an intersection with one of the roads leading north, apparently seeking a street sign. "You do love me?" "God knows how much!" Suddenly he laid his head on her shoulder. ” “Annabel! Annabel!” Annabel stamped her foot. “But why, Lucy? Who is it 145 that you are trying to hide from? John?” Lucy closed her eyes in earnest. On the envelope was written— Sydney Courtlaw, Esq. I'll see her myself; and that's more than she bargained for, I'll be sworn. Do you see the time?” “I may come and see you?” Ennison asked, as his hand touched hers. 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.
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