The Wyvern Mystery

I

In the small breakfast parlour of Oulton, a pretty girl, Miss Alice Maybell, with her furs and wrappers about her, and a journey of forty miles before her⁠—not by rail⁠—to Wyvern, had stood up to hug and kiss her old aunt, and bid her goodbye.

“Now, do sit down again; you need not be in such a hurry⁠—you’re not to go for ten minutes or more,” said the old lady; “do, there’s a darling.”

“If I’m not home before the sun goes down, aunt, Mr. Fairfield will be so angry,” said the girl, laying a hand on each shoulder of kind old Lady Wyndale, and looking fondly, but also sadly, into her face.