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. Take it, if I die. The open books she knew by heart; aye, they had been ground into her, morning and night. Oh, what’s his name? It’s on the tip of my tongue. "A vow," she answered,—"a vow to my dead husband. "I can't tell you!" she replied, blushing deeply, and clinching her little hand as tightly as possible; "it's a secret!" "I'll soon find it out, then," he returned, playfully forcing the paper from her grasp. “No, that’s fine. ‘She wormed it out of me, the little fiend. Told you how it would be. To return.
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