The Child Wife. Майн Рид

      “I agree to it, then.”

      “Enough! I must set about composing the letter. Being a little out of the common, it will require some thought. Where are your pens and ink?”

      Maynard pointed to a table, on which were the writing materials.

      Drawing up a chair, Roseveldt seated himself beside it.

      Then, taking hold of a pen, and spreading a sheet of “cream laid” before him, he proceeded to write the premonitory epistle, scarce consulting the man most interested in what it might contain. Thinking of the revolution in Baden, he was most anxious to set free his friend from the provoking compromise, so that both might bear the flag of freedom through his beloved fatherland.

      The note was soon written; a copy carefully taken, folded up, and shoved into an envelope. Maynard scarce allowed the opportunity of reading it!

      It had to be addressed by his directions, and was sent to Mr Richard Swinton, just as the great gong, screaming through the corridors of the Ocean House, proclaimed to its guests the hour for déjeuner à la fourchette.