But it was otherwise with the carpenter. I want to do something. He growled in his throat and, thrusting his coat open, revealed his own buckled sword-belt. 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. They had a universe to talk about—two universes. The law would accord her all her previous rights: she would return to the exact status out of which in his madness he had taken her.
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