Похищенный
Chapter 4
Nowthislastpassage,thislayingofhandsuponmypersonandsuddenprofessionofloveformydeadfather,wentsocleanbeyondmycomprehensionthatitputmeintobothfearandhope.Ontheonehand,Ibegantothinkmyunclewasperhapsinsaneandmightbedangerous;ontheother,therecameupintomymind(quiteunbiddenbymeandevendiscouraged)astorylikesomeballadIhadheardfolksinging,ofapoorladthatwasarightfulheirandawickedkinsmanthattriedtokeephimfromhisown.Forwhyshouldmyuncleplayapartwitharelativethatcame,almostabeggar,tohisdoor,unlessinhishearthehadsomecausetofearhim?
Withthisnotion,allunacknowledged,butneverthelessgettingfirmlysettledinmyhead,Inowbegantoimitatehiscovertlooks;sothatwesatattablelikeacatandamouse,eachstealthilyobservingtheother.Notanotherwordhadhetosaytome,blackorwhite,butwasbusyturningsomethingsecretlyoverinhismind;andthelongerwesatandthemoreIlookedathim,themorecertainIbecamethatthesomethingwasunfriendlytomyself.
Whenhehadclearedtheplatter,hegotoutasinglepipefuloftobacco,justasinthemorning,turnedroundastoolintothechimneycorner,andsatawhilesmoking,withhisbacktome.
“Davie,”hesaid,atlength,“I’vebeenthinking;”thenhepaused,andsaiditagain.“There’saweebitsillerthatIhalfpromisedyebeforeyewereborn,”hecontinued;“promisedittoyourfather.O,naethinglegal,yeunderstand;justgentlemendaffingattheirwine.
