"Hear the letter," said Ireton, breaking the seal. I haven’t, anyhow. She realized that with a pang of disgust and horror. She glanced into her companion’s face, and she saw there strange things. 277 “I was beginning to think that I would never see you again, Lucy. 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. Keep up the clamour for five minutes, and I'll finish it. “I wish they did,” he said, “but they don’t. The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes. They pressed more insistently, forcing her lips open. ‘Have I not said so?’ ‘No, as it happens. She liked the high, easy swing of the thing over its big wheels, the quick clatter-patter of the horse, the passage of the teeming streets. The petals have fallen—the red petals we loved so. There's nothing so sad in this world as an old fool," she added.
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