“Yes, it is a painful story, as far as I can understand; but come this way, colonel, into the dining room. Tim, go down to the cellar and bring a bottle of wine for the colonel.”
“Yes, Sir Richard,” said Tim, and off he went towards the cellar with great glee, for it must be confessed Master Tim was seldom sent to the wine cellar without helping himself to the very best advantages.
He had not got further than the kitchen stairs, however, when an ominous squeak was heard like that of some unlucky rat who has shoved his head into a steel trap.
“Be ye men or devils! Have mercy on a poor unfortunate youth, who was born to be kicked and cuffed like a dog by every one.”
“Silence!” said Blood’s confederates, “or we will kill you.”
They instantly gagged and bound Master Tim, and for fear he should be in the way or give any trouble, they opened a window and pitched the poor groom into a dust-hole beneath, like a bundle of rags.
Quicker than can be described, the four men stealthily entered the breakfast parlour, closed the door again, and perceived Ellen Harmer lying on a couch, attended by two old nurses.
When the four masked men made their sudden and noiseless appearance in the room, one of the nurses frantically clutched her gin bottle, took a hasty drink, and pretended to swoon.
The other, who was an old maid of fifty, seized the poker, and made a brave stand to defend her virtue from the intruders.
But finding that none so much as even attempted to kiss her, she felt disgusted, disconsolate, and fainted, kicking up her heels high in the air.