Chapter 29

           ForsometimeAlanvolleyeduponthedoor,andhisknockingonlyrousedtheechoesofthehouseandneighbourhood.Atlast,however,Icouldhearthenoiseofawindowgentlythrustup,andknewthatmyunclehadcometohisobservatory.Bywhatlighttherewas,hewouldseeAlanstanding,likeadarkshadow,onthesteps;thethreewitnesseswerehiddenquiteoutofhisview;sothattherewasnothingtoalarmanhonestmaninhisownhouse.Forallthat,hestudiedhisvisitorawhileinsilence,andwhenhespokehisvoicehadaquaverofmisgiving.

           “What’sthis?”sayshe.“Thisisnaekindoftimeofnightfordecentfolk;andIhaenaetrokingswi’night-hawks.Whatbringsyehere?Ihaveablunderbush.”

           “Isthatyoursel’,Mr.Balfour?”returnedAlan,steppingbackandlookingupintothedarkness.“Haveacareofthatblunderbuss;they’renastythingstoburst.”

           “Whatbringsyehere?andwhaeareye?”saysmyuncle,angrily.

           “Ihavenomannerofinclinationtorowtoutmynametothecountry-side,”saidAlan;“butwhatbringsmehereisanotherstory,beingmoreofyouraffairthanmine;andifye’resureit’swhatyewouldlike,I’llsetittoatuneandsingittoyou.”

           “Andwhatis’t?”askedmyuncle.

           “David,”saysAlan.

           “Whatwasthat?”criedmyuncle,inamightychangedvoice.

           “ShallIgiveyetherestofthename,then?”saidAlan.

           Therewasapause;andthen,“I’mthinkingI’llbetterletyein,”saysmyuncle,doubtfully.