Single pearls— Lord knows where they come from!—are always turning up, some of them of fine lustre; but I never set eyes on them. 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. But, it can't be helped. “My dear child,” he said, “with me you need have no apprehension.
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