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Stevenson, Robert Louis, 1850-1894

"St. Ives, Being the Adventures of a French Prisoner in England"

If it were possible, it would be well he should not know
you were in the house.'
'Quite impossible, depend upon it,' said I. 'Some of the servants
are directly in his interests, perhaps in his pay: Dawson, for an
example.'
'My own idea!' cried Romaine. 'And at least,' he added, as the
first of the chaises drew up with a dash in front of the portico,
'it is now too late. Here he is.'
We stood listening, with a strange anxiety, to the various noises
that awoke in the silent house: the sound of doors opening and
closing, the sound of feet near at hand and farther off. It was
plain the arrival of my cousin was a matter of moment, almost of
parade, to the household. And suddenly, out of this confused and
distant bustle, a rapid and light tread became distinguishable. We
heard it come upstairs, draw near along the corridor, pause at the
door, and a stealthy and hasty rapping succeeded.
'Mr. Anne--Mr. Anne, sir! Let me in!' said the voice of Rowley.
We admitted the lad, and locked the door again behind him.
'It's HIM, sir,' he panted. 'He've come.'
'You mean the Viscount?' said I. 'So we supposed. But come,
Rowley--out with the rest of it! You have more to tell us, or your
face belies you !'
'Mr. Anne, I do,' he said. 'Mr. Romaine, sir, you're a friend of
his, ain't you?'
'Yes, George, I am a friend of his,' said Romaine, and, to my great
surprise, laid his hand upon my shoulder.


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