On the groundfloor the shutters were closed, or, to speak more correctly, altogether nailed up, and presented a very singular appearance, being patched all over with the soles of old shoes, rusty hobnails, and bits of iron hoops, the ingenious device of the former occupant of the apartment, Paul Groves, the cobbler, to whom we have before alluded. "No Blueskin, I perceive, Sir," he observed, in a deferential tone, as Wild entered the Lodge. " "What is this to me, Sir?" said Trenchard, cutting him short. You must say farewell to her, for I cannot. The room was dark and dusty. I know he is dead.
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