When I get out I hope to have a good long rest with my own little Wifie somewhere, and to listen to the waves breaking as we used those mornings of spring last May.
YOUR OWN LOVING HUSBAND.
February 17, 1882.
MY OWN QUEENIE,—I had written my Queenie a nice long letter which she should have liked very much, but an alarm came before my messenger arrived that we were all going to be searched, and I was obliged to burn it.
I intend to try and send you a letter direct, written between the lines—I find that by rubbing the words after they are dry it removes all the glistening appearance.
Queenie had best not write me direct at any time, but she can send me a word in the usual way as soon as she is able to tell me how she is. Your King will wait very anxiously for that word. Oh, my Queenie, do take care of yourself, and do not run any risk by remaining at E.
It is exceedingly likely that we shall all be released about the end of March, as then the lading time comes, and the tenants will have to decide whether they will pay or not, and as the majority have decided to pay already it is most likely the minority will then follow suit. YOUR OWN KING.
February 17, 1882.
MY OWN DARLING QUEENIE,—I cannot describe to you what a relief your little note was that everything was quite right. Oh, my Wifie, when I had your two short messages of the 14th your poor husband burst into tears and could not hold up his head or think of anything until my darling's note arrived that everything was right.