“Come, come, poor fellow, you know you’re safe with me,” said Harrington, kindly, all alive meanwhile with curiosity. “Come, off with it.” The negro still fumbling at the blanket, without undoing it, and sighing piteously, Harrington laid his watch on the table, and stepping forward, unwound the wrappage from his neck, fold after fold, pulled it off, and disclosed an iron collar with a prong, and the letters distinct upon it—LAFITTE BROTHERS, NEW ORLEANS. He did not start, nor stagger back, but stood, like a statue struck by thunder, glaring at the collar with parted lips and starting eyes, a pallor like death upon his countenance, and a strong shudder quivering through his bare chest and arms, while the negro cowered with a hideous-piteous imploring face, his form crouching, and his hands clasped before him. In the dead silence, nothing was heard but the loud running of the water in the room overhead, and the faint gasping breath of the fugitive. “God Almighty!” shouted Harrington, “what is this?” The fugitive did not answer, but stood faintly gasping. The next instant Harrington started, with a strong muscular convulsion of his frame, and strode a pace forward. “Who put that collar on your neck!” he demanded with awful anger. “Marster Lafitte put it on, Marster.” “Master Lafitte? which one? That says Lafitte Brothers,” cried Harrington, pointing with outstretched arm and finger straight at the name. “Marster Torwood Lafitte put it on, Marster,” quavered the fugitive, affrighted at Harrington’s manner. Harrington’s outstretched arm sank slowly, and dropped by his side. A deep and burning flush mounted to his face, and clenching his hands, he thundered a tremendous oath. Such an oath as Washington swore when Lee chafed him in his legions. Such an oath as had never before passed the calm lips of Harrington, but it burst from his heart’s core. He stood in silence for a moment, the flush dying from his face, and his anger settling down from that explosion into calm. “Who are you? what’s your name?” he demanded. “Antony, Marster.” Harrington was past surprise, but his brain whirled, and blankness gathered upon it. For a minute, he stood vacantly staring at the fugitive. Then, recovering from his stupefaction, he sighed vaguely, and wiped away the perspiration from his face with the palm of his hand. Glancing presently at his watch, he saw that the five minutes had not expired, and going to a drawer, he produced a bunch of keys. “We’ll have that collar off,” said he, approaching the fugitive. Key after key was tried, but none fitted. Throwing down the bunch, Harrington looked at the watch, and went up-stairs to stop the water. He came back presently, took the shade from the lamp, and holding the light to the collar, inspected its make carefully. He saw that it opened on a hinge behind, and was secured by a lock before. Putting the lamp on the table, he reflected for a moment. “Lie down on the floor,” he said, presently.