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Chapter 2

           Ishehere?”

           “Fromwhomisit?”askedthemanwiththeblunderbuss.

           “Thatisneitherherenorthere,”saidI,forIwasgrowingverywroth.

           “Well,”wasthereply,“yecanputitdownuponthedoorstep,andbeoffwithye.”

           “Iwilldonosuchthing,”Icried.“IwilldeliveritintoMr.Balfour’shands,asitwasmeantIshould.Itisaletterofintroduction.”

           “Awhat?”criedthevoice,sharply.

           IrepeatedwhatIhadsaid.

           “Whoareye,yourself?”wasthenextquestion,afteraconsiderablepause.

           “Iamnotashamedofmyname,”saidI.“TheycallmeDavidBalfour.”

           Atthat,Imadesurethemanstarted,forIheardtheblunderbussrattleonthewindow-sill;anditwasafterquitealongpause,andwithacuriouschangeofvoice,thatthenextquestionfollowed:

           “Isyourfatherdead?”

           Iwassomuchsurprisedatthis,thatIcouldfindnovoicetoanswer,butstoodstaring.

           “Ay,”themanresumed,“he’llbedead,nodoubt;andthat’llbewhatbringsyechappingtomydoor.”Anotherpause,andthendefiantly,“Well,man,”hesaid,“I’llletyein;”andhedisappearedfromthewindow.

           

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