No reply was given to this request, but immediately the little trap closed with a click as suddenly as it had opened.
“I expect Mr. Warder is a bit riled,” murmured our hero. “Well, if he is I can’t help it.”
Presently he heard a key inserted in the lock, and the door was opened. Then the warder pointed to an inkstand, pen, and a sheet of writing paper, lying on the ground just outside the cell door.
“I am sure you are very kind, and I beg to thank you for this favour,” said our hero, in the softest voice possible.
“That will do,” cried the gaoler, closing the door after Peace had possessed himself of the writing materials.
“Ah, a man of few words,” murmured the prisoner. “They are most of ’em like that. The least said the soonest mended is their motto. However, he’s given me what I asked for. I’ll write a few lines to the old woman, but I must mind how I word the letter, for I suppose it will be carefully examined before it is permitted to leave the prison.”
He occupied himself in writing for some considerable time, and when the hour for bedtime arrived, he unfastened his hammock and retired to rest, sleeping soundly for the greater portion of the night.
At six o’clock in the morning he was roused by the clanging of a large bell, and he knew it was time to get up.
But before he had dressed, the door of his cell was thrown open by a warder, who passed on to make room for the deputy governor and another warder, who carried a book for taking notes of anything worthy of notice.
Peace knew all these formalities very well, and was, therefore, quite prepared for them.