When the turnkey, next morning, stepp'd into his room, The sight of the hole in the wall struck him dumb; The sheriff's black bracelets lay strewn on the ground, But the lad that had worn 'em could nowhere be found. It is that, is it not?” “No,” he answered readily. To-morrow morning I shall have made up my mind what to do. “Ruin me? Think of me with fondness? Are you dying of cancer or something?” He demanded. " "Bring your story to an end, Sir," said Trenchard who had listened to the recital with mingled emotions of rage and fear.
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