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"
From
whom
is
it
?
"
asked
the
man
with
the
blunderbuss
.
"
That
is
neither
here
nor
there
,
"
said
I
,
for
I
was
growing
very
wroth
.
"
Well
,
"
was
the
reply
,
"
ye
can
put
it
down
upon
the
doorstep
,
and
be
off
with
ye
.
"
"
I
will
do
no
such
thing
,
"
I
cried
.
"
I
will
deliver
it
into
Mr.
Balfour
's
hands
,
as
it
was
meant
I
should
.
It
is
a
letter
of
introduction
.
"
"
A
what
?
"
cried
the
voice
,
sharply
.
I
repeated
what
I
had
said
.
"
Who
are
ye
,
yourself
?
"
was
the
next
question
,
after
a
considerable
pause
.
"
I
am
not
ashamed
of
my
name
,
"
said
I.
"
They
call
me
David
Balfour
.
"
At
that
,
I
made
sure
the
man
started
,
for
I
heard
the
blunderbuss
rattle
on
the
window-sill
;
and
it
was
after
quite
a
long
pause
,
and
with
a
curious
change
of
voice
,
that
the
next
question
followed
:
"
Is
your
father
dead
?
"
