A seal of red wax had been affixed at either end, and my uncle had apparently used his thumb as a signet.

One could see the little rippling edges of a coarse skin imprinted upon the wax.

And then above one of the seals there was written in English the two words, 'Don't come.' It was hastily scrawled, and whether by a man or a woman it was impossible to say; but there it stared me in the face, that sinister addition to an invitation.
'Don't come!' Had it been added by this unknown uncle of mine on account of some sudden change in his plans?
Surely that was inconceivable, for why in that case should he send the invitation at all?
Or was it placed there by some one else who wished to warn me from accepting this offer of hospitality?
The letter was in French.

The warning was in English.

Could it have been added in England?
But the seals were unbroken, and how could any one in England know what were the contents of the letter?
And then, as I sat there with the big sail humming like a shell above my head and the green water hissing beside me, I thought over all that I had heard of this uncle of mine.