Похищенный
Chapter 9
WhatwasItodo?Theyweredogsandthieves;theyhadstolenmefrommyowncountry;theyhadkilledpoorRansome;andwasItoholdthecandletoanothermurder?Butthen,upontheotherhand,therewasthefearofdeathveryplainbeforeme;forwhatcouldaboyandaman,iftheywereasbraveaslions,againstawholeship’scompany?
Iwasstillarguingitbackandforth,andgettingnogreatclearness,whenIcameintotheround-houseandsawtheJacobiteeatinghissupperunderthelamp;andatthatmymindwasmadeupallinamoment.Ihavenocreditbyit;itwasbynochoiceofmine,butasifbycompulsion,thatIwalkedrightuptothetableandputmyhandonhisshoulder.
“Doyewanttobekilled?”saidI.Hesprangtohisfeet,andlookedaquestionatmeasclearasifhehadspoken.
“O!”criedI,“they’reallmurderershere;it’sashipfullofthem!They’vemurderedaboyalready.Nowit’syou.”
“Ay,ay,”saidhe;“buttheyhaven’tgotmeyet.”Andthenlookingatmecuriously,“Willyestandwithme?”
“ThatwillI!”saidI.“Iamnothief,noryetmurderer.I’llstandbyyou.”
“Why,then,”saidhe,“what’syourname?”
“DavidBalfour,”saidI;andthen,thinkingthatamanwithsofineacoatmustlikefinepeople,Iaddedforthefirsttime,“ofShaws.”
Itneveroccurredtohimtodoubtme,foraHighlanderisusedtoseegreatgentlefolkingreatpoverty;butashehadnoestateofhisown,mywordsnettledaverychildishvanityhehad.
