The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 20Stevenson, Robert Louis
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The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 20
Stevenson, Robert Louis
French -- England -- Fiction; Prisoners of war -- Fiction
As I said the words, I came to a full stop and held up the lantern to
his face. He stood before me, brilliantly illuminated on the background
of impenetrable night and falling snow, stricken to stone between his
double burden like an ass between two panniers, and gaping at me like a
blunderbuss. I had never seen a face so predestined to be astonished, or
so susceptible of rendering the emotion of surprise; and it tempted me
as an open piano tempts the musician.
"Nothing of the sort, Rowley," I continued, in a churchyard voice.
"These are appearances, petty appearances. I am in peril, homeless,
hunted. I count scarce any one in England who is not my enemy. From this
hour I drop my name, my title; I become nameless; my name is proscribed.
My liberty, my life, hang by a hair. The destiny which you will accept,
if you go forth with me, is to be tracked by spies, to hide yourself
under a false name, to follow the desperate pretences and perhaps share
the fate of a murderer with a price upon his head."
His face had been hitherto beyond expectation, passing from one depth to
another of tragic astonishment, and really worth paying to see; but at
this it suddenly cleared. "O, I ain't afraid!" he said; and then,
choking into laughter, "why, I see it from the first!"
I could have beaten him. But I had so grossly overshot the mark that I
suppose it took me two good miles of road and half an hour of elocution
to persuade him I had been in earnest. In the course of which I became
so interested in demonstrating my present danger that I forgot all about
my future safety, and not only told him the story of Goguelat, but threw
in the business of the drovers as well, and ended by blurting out that
I was a soldier of Napoleon's and a prisoner of war.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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