Nestleton Magna: A Story of Yorkshire MethodismWray, J. Jackson (James Jackson)
General
Nestleton Magna: A Story of Yorkshire Methodism
Wray, J. Jackson (James Jackson)
Methodist Church (Great Britain) -- Fiction; Yorkshire (England) -- Fiction
was gently turned, and then gradually opening the door, she peered out
into the thick darkness of the night. Three short coughs were to be
the signal of her presence. No sooner were those given than the
amorous valet, at whose instance the assignation had been made, was by
her side, and had clasped her to his heart.
“O Aubrey!” said the trembling girl, “I am so frightened! I feel sure
that I am doing wrong. I wish I had not consented to this meeting. Bid
me good-bye, and let me shut the door again.”
But the light and airy gentleman to whom her words were addressed had
no intention of letting her off so cheaply, and of risking so much for
so small an issue. He soothed her fears, and expressed undying
gratitude for this proof of the genuineness of her regard.
“‘Cold blows the wind, and in the chilly night’ it is not pleasant to
be exposed to the rage of rude Boreas,” said the glib deceiver. “But
for the ‘bliss of meeting her my soul adores’ I should have taken the
coach from Kesterton to-day, and gone direct to London. I’ll just step
within the door a moment, ’twill be warmer there,” and before his
sweetheart could utter an objecting word, Aubrey Bevan was inside,
with his arm around her waist. In another instant a handkerchief was
placed upon her face, and Hannah Olliver was seated unconscious in a
chair. To bind her hand and foot and to gag her was the work of a few
minutes, and then, in answer to the soft hooting of a night owl, three
brawny men, with crape-covered faces, slid through the open doorway,
and Waverdale Hall was at the mercy of four of the most skilful and
daring burglars that ever broke into house and home!
“Well,” said Bill Buckley, whose acquaintance the reader has already
made, “this crib is cracked as easily as a nut. Bevan, which is the
way?”
That worthy, by means of skilful questions cunningly put, had obtained
from his unconscious dupe, the housemaid, full particulars of the
interior of the house. He had its arrangements clearly mapped out in
his clever, but sadly-prostituted brain, and was at no loss as to the
evil work they had in hand.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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