Похищенный
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.
