Robert Louis Stevenson

Catriona Robert Louis Stevenson

Mr. Charles Stewart the Writer dwelt at the top of the longest stair ever mason set a hand to; fifteenflights of it, no less; and when I had come to his door, and a clerk had opened it, and told me hismaster was within, I had scarce breath enough to send my porter packing."Awa' east and west wi' ye!" said I, took the money bag out of his hands, and followed the clerk in. The outer room was an office with the clerk's chair at a table spread with law papers. In the innerchamber, which opened from it, a little brisk man sat poring on a deed, from which he scarce raisedhis eyes on my entrance; indeed, he still kept his finger in the place, as though prepared to show meout and fall again to his studies. This pleased me little enough; and what pleased me less, I thoughtthe clerk was in a good posture to overhear what should pass between us. I asked if he was Mr. Charles Stewart the Writer."The same," says he; "and, if the question is equally fair, who may you be yourself?""You never heard tell of my name nor of me either," said I, "but I bring you a token from a friendthat you know well. That you know well," I repeated, lowering my voice, "but maybe are not just sokeen to hear from at this present being. And the bits of business that I have to propone to you arerather in the nature of being confidential. In short, I would like to think we were quite private."He rose without more words, casting down his paper like a man ill-pleased, sent forth his clerk of anerrand, and shut to the house-door behind him."Now, sir," said he, returning, "speak out your mind and fear nothing; though before you begin," hecries out, "I tell you mine misgives me! I tell you beforehand, ye're either a Stewart or a Stewart sentye. A good name it is, and one it would ill-become my father's son to lightly. But I begin to grue atthe sound of it.""My name is called Balfour," said I, "David Balfour of Shaws. As for him that sent me, I will let histoken speak." And I showed the silver button."Put it in your pocket, sir!" cries he. "Ye need name no names. The deevil's buckie, I ken thebutton of him! And de'il hae't! Where is he now!"I told him I knew not where Alan was, but he had some sure place (or thought he had) about thenorth side, where he was to lie until a ship was found for him; and how and where he had appointedto be spoken with.