Then
he wrote as signature the initials F.A., inclosed the note in an envelope
and addressed it, pondered again, laughed and slapped his knee and went
into his room, where he rummaged about until he found a small seal
beautifully wrought in bronze and a bit of wax. Returning to the table he
lighted a candle, and deftly sealed the letter. He held the red scar on
the back of the envelope to the lamp and examined it with interest. The
lines of the seal were deep cut, and the impression was perfectly
distinct, of F.A. in English script, linked together by the bar of the F.
"Oscar, what do you recommend that we do with the prisoner?"
"He should be tied to a tree and shot; or, perhaps, it would be better to
hang him to the rafters in the kitchen. Yet he is heavy and might pull
down the roof."
"You are a bloodthirsty wretch, and there is no mercy in you. Private
executions are not allowed in this country; you would have us before a
Virginia grand jury and our own necks stretched. No; we shall send him
back to his master."
"It is a mistake. If your Excellency would go away for an hour he should
never know where the buzzards found this large carcass.
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