Amos Huntingdon

“Help! help! holloa there! Master Walter—Mr Amos—Jim—Harry—quick—bring us a light!—lend a hand here!” Such were the words which suddenly broke the stillness of a dark October night, and roused up the household of Mr Walter Huntingdon, a country gentleman living on his own estate in Derbyshire. The voice was the coachman’s, and came apparently from somewhere near the drive-gate, which was about a couple of hundred yards from the front door of the house. The evening had been dark and stormy; and it was in a lull of the tempest that the ominous sounds of distress reached the ears of the inmates of Flixworth Manor. In a few moments all was bustle and excitement—lights flashing; feet hurrying; voices shouting; and then a rush for the scene of danger and trouble.