He tottered as he spoke; and Harrington, thinking he was going to fall, hastily, and somewhat awkwardly, threw up his arms to catch him, and struck his hand against something hard. Confused and startled, he withdrew his hand to rub it, wondering what could have hurt it. He thought it had come in contact with the sug around the fugitive’s neck; but, as that was clearly only a wrappage of cloth, and as the fugitive’s head was bent at the time, he fancied he might have struck his hand against the man’s teeth. “Did I hurt you?” he asked, hastily. “Did I hit your teeth?” “No, Marster,” replied the fugitive, fumbling with the folds around his throat. “Why do you wear that blanket so?” asked Harrington. “Felt cold, Marster.” He said no more, but stood feebly handling the wrappage, and trembling. Harrington thought it strange that he should thus guard his throat, when his body was so bare, yet admitted to himself that perhaps the cloth could not have been better disposed for comfort, and thinking no more of it, he again grasped the fugitive’s arm, and drew him on. They moved as slowly as before over the dark slope of Somerset street, under the shadow of the dwellings. Presently, the fugitive stopped again, and began to cough. This time Harrington formed a desperate resolution. What was it? There are people who think they love mankind. But among the natural barriers that divide us from our fellows, there is none more impassable than a loathly uncleanliness. How many of the lovers of men could so have conquered nature as to clasp that leprous form in their arms? How many could have borne the test of their love which such an act would impose? For this was the test that proved the mighty heart of Harrington, and this was his resolution. “Listen to me, friend,” he said, when the cough had subsided. “It will never do for us to get on as slowly as this, for we have some distance to go. Now you keep still, for I’m going to carry you.” He quickly took off his coat and vest as he spoke—for he did not wish to spoil them by contact with the filthy body of the fugitive—rolled them up in a close bundle, which he secured with his neckerchief; then without permitting himself to feel the strong repugnance which the foulness of the poor creature’s apparel inspired, he flung his strong arms around him, and lifting him across his breast, with his head above his shoulder, deaf to his feeble remonstrance, set off at a rapid stride. The remonstrance ceased presently, and Harrington, hardly feeling the weight of his burden, strode at a masterly pace over the dark slope of Somerset street, turned into Allston, from thence into Derne, crossed Hancock to Myrtle, wheeled into Belknap, kept the grand stride down the hill to Cambridge street, crossed into Chambers, and set his load down at the garden gate.