“Well, I hardly know more myself,” replied Harrington. “Miss Eastman, and I were going up to see Roux. We met the boy, who ran up the steps before us, and as we were ascending, he came flying back screaming that there was a kidnapper in there carrying off his father, and vanished past us. I didn’t know what to make of it, but I rushed up and in, and sure enough there was this person, whom I had seen last night at the Convention, grasping Roux’s arm, and leading him to the door. I flew at him, and dashed him to the wall. Then came the noise in the street, and the people poured into the house.” “Who is this man anyway?” said the negro. “He is named Lafitte, and he was formerly Roux’s master,” replied Harrington. The negro threw back his head, and laughed, showing his splendid teeth and pink gums. “Well, if this don’t beat all!” he exclaimed. “You don’t mean to tell me that he thought he could carry off Roux alone right out of the midst of us? Why, the man’s crazy!” “Well, it looks insane enough,” said Harrington, “and what put such a foolhardy idea into his head, I can’t imagine. And yet, Brown, reckless and crazy as this attempt seems, do you know that I think it would have been successful? You should have seen Roux. The man was perfectly helpless with fright. He looked fascinated, like a bird in the jaws of a snake. I verily believe that he would have walked without the slightest resistance to the carriage, and have been taken back into slavery without our ever knowing what had become of him.” “I swear,” cried Brown, “I didn’t think Bill Roux was such a coward.” “Coward? I don’t think he is,” returned Harrington. “Just think of the awful and unexpected shock it must have been to suddenly find this man in the room with him!” Lafitte, at this moment, showed signs of returning consciousness, and the conversation ceased. The carriage, having arrived at Mount Vernon street, was now going at a more moderate pace, the crowd having, in the various turns it had made, lost the track of it. If it had been going on a straight road, those negroes would have followed it till they dropped down. Shuddering, as he returned to life, the ghastly Southerner, so unlike the smiling and sardonic gentleman of an hour before, looked around him, and his glance falling upon Brown, he cowered. “You are in safety, sir,” said Muriel, gently. He smiled, or tried to smile, sicklily, and his lips moved in the endeavor to speak, but no sound came from them. “Where shall we take you, Mr. Lafitte?” said Harrington, after a pause. After two or three ineffectual efforts, Lafitte contrived to whisper that he was stopping at the Tremont House. Harrington gave the order to the driver, and in a few minutes they arrived at the hotel. By that time Lafitte had recovered, and Harrington assisted him to button up his shirt and vest, resume his neckcloth, and get himself into something like decent trim.