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New Arabian Nights-Part20_ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON(1850-1894)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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"I do not wish to flatter you," replied Vandeleur; "but upon my

word, you have an unusualdisposition for a life of crime. You



have more accomplishments than you imagine; and though I have

encountered a number of rogues in different quarters of the world,



I never met with one so unblushing as yourself. Cheer up, Mr.

Rolles, you are in the right profession at last! As for helping



you, you may command me as you will. I have only a day's business

in Edinburgh on a little matter for my brother; and once that is



concluded, I return to Paris, where I usually reside. If you

please, you may accompany me thither. And before the end of a



month I believe I shall have brought your little business to a

satisfactory conclusion."



(At this point, contrary to all the canons of his art, our Arabian

author breaks off the STORY OF THE YOUNG MAN IN HOLY ORDERS. I



regret and condemn such practices; but I must follow my original,

and refer the reader for the conclusion of Mr. Rolles' adventures



to the next number of the cycle, the STORY OF THE HOUSE WITH THE

GREEN BLINDS.)



STORY OF THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN BLINDS

Francis Scrymgeour, a clerk in the Bank of Scotland at Edinburgh,



had attained the age of twenty-five in a sphere of quiet,

creditable, and domestic life. His mother died while he was young;



but his father, a man of sense and probity, had given him an

excellent education at school, and brought him up at home to



orderly and frugal habits. Francis, who was of a docile and

affectionate disposition, profited by these advantages with zeal,



and devoted himself heart and soul to his employment. A walk upon

Saturday afternoon, an occasional dinner with members of his



family, and a yearly tour of a fortnight in the Highlands or even

on the continent of Europe, were his principal distractions, and,



he grew rapidly in favour with his superiors, and enjoyed already a

salary of nearly two hundred pounds a year, with the prospect of an



ultimate advance to almost double that amount. Few young men were

more contented, few more willing and laborious than Francis



Scrymgeour. Sometimes at night, when he had read the daily paper,

he would play upon the flute to amuse his father, for whose



qualities he entertained a great respect.

One day he received a note from a well-known firm of Writers to the



Signet, requesting the favour of an immediate interview with him.

The letter was marked "Private and Confidential," and had been



addressed to him at the bank, instead of at home - two unusual

circumstances which made him obey the summons with the more



alacrity. The senior member of the firm, a man of much austerity

of manner, made him gravelywelcome, requested him to take a seat,



and proceeded to explain the matter in hand in the picked

expressions of a veteran man of business. A person, who must



remain nameless, but of whom the lawyer had every reason to think

well - a man, in short, of some station in the country - desired to



make Francis an annualallowance of five hundred pounds. The

capital was to be placed under the control of the lawyer's firm and



two trustees who must also remain anonymous. There were conditions

annexed to this liberality, but he was of opinion that his new



client would find nothing either excessive or dishonourable in the

terms; and he repeated these two words with emphasis, as though he



desired to commit himself to nothing more.

Francis asked their nature.



"The conditions," said the Writer to the Signet, "are, as I have

twice remarked, neither dishonourable nor excessive. At the same



time I cannot conceal from you that they are most unusual. Indeed,

the whole case is very much out of our way; and I should certainly



have refused it had it not been for the reputation of the gentleman

who entrusted it to my care, and, let me add, Mr. Scrymgeour, the



interest I have been led to take in yourself by many complimentary




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