“My dearest brother, I charge you by the memory of our common father, and even more by that of those three hours that linked you to me for ever, and which I would fain hope linked me also to yourself—­come over, if by any means you can do so—­come over and help us.

   “GEORGE STRONG.”

“My dear,” said I to my wife who was at the other end of the breakfast table, “I shall have to translate this letter to you, and then you will have to help me to begin packing; for I have none too much time.  I must see Alfred, and give him a power of attorney.  He will arrange with some publisher about my book, and you can correct the press.  Break the news gently to the children; and get along without me, my dear, for six months as well as you can.”

* * * * *

I write this at Southampton, from which port I sail to-morrow—­i.e.  November 15, 1900—­for Erewhemos.

Footnotes

{1} See Chapter X.