He gave three shrill whistles, each after an interval of about half a minute.
“Here the villain comes,” said Harmer, hiding himself.
Jonas at that moment was observed approaching in a stealthy, cat-like manner, crawling along under the shadow of the trees and cottages of the village.
He was seen to stop once or twice, and look furtively around him.
He did not know why, but a feeling of suspicion assured him that in some way his master’s scheme for abducting Ellen Harmer would involve heavy blows, if not broken sconces.
He had armed himself, therefore, with a stout, short club of oak, which he concealed under his cloak.
As he approached the mill door he was half-inclined to run away again.
“Courage, Jonas, courage,” said he to himself, half aloud. “Remember the rich reward in store for you. The colonel, my master, is a bold, brave devil, and I must be so likewise. So I am,” said Jonas, slapping his chest. “Who knows but what I may be a gentleman one of these fine days, if all goes on well? Won’t that be grand? Courage, then, Jonas; none but the brave deserve the fair. Onward! rewards and honour await you! That whistle, though, didn’t much sound like master’s,” he thought, “and yet it must be. There it is again. All is right; the girl is secured. Onward, Jonas; teach these rustic villagers what brave stuff Londoners are made of.”
He crept towards the mill slowly and very carefully, and it must be confessed that his legs trembled violently under him, and his teeth chattered.
“He comes,” said the miller, in a half-whisper. “Make ready to receive him.”