Leaning on Harrington’s arm, he got from the carriage, and stood, weak and ghastly, on the sidewalk. The flurried driver, pointing to his horses, which stood reeking, and covered with froth and pasty foam, remarked that “if them animals ain’t blown, it’s nobody’s fault—that’s all.” Mr. Lafitte gave him a handful of gold and silver, and appeased, he retired with profuse thanks. “And now, look here,” said Brown, fronting the slaveholder. “I don’t want to say nothin’ ugly to a man in your state, but I’ll give you my advice. You’ve had a taste of Southac street to-day, and if you ain’t dead, it’s just because this gentleman begged your life of me. You just leave this city now as quick as convenient, for if any of our folks fall afoul of you, you’ll get knifed as sure as you’re born. That’s my advice to you. Just you follow it, and bear in mind that you can’t carry on here as you do way down in Louzeana.” “That is good advice, Mr. Lafitte,” said Harrington, “and Mr. Brown here means well by you in giving it. After what has passed, you must not remain in Boston.” Harrington spoke with ominous earnestness, and Mr. Lafitte was evidently impressed by him. He stood, looking weak and sick, while these remarks were made to him, with his eyes cast down. “I’ll go,” he faltered, “I certainly will. I am indebted to you, Mr. Harrington, for your protection—much indebted, sir. And to this lady also.” “You are far more indebted to Mr. Brown,” said Muriel. “Without his friendly aid, we could have done nothing for you.” Mr. Lafitte was silent. Even in his humiliation, his rank and insolent Southern arrogance would not suffer him to make any acknowledgments to a negro, though it was a negro who had preserved him. “Mr. Harrington,” he said after a pause, “I drew my knife on you to-day, and you made a generous return for the injury I tried to do you. Indeed, sir, I am aware that you saved my life.” Harrington’s blue eyes flashed fire, and his nostrils lifted. “Listen to me, sir,” he said, with stern solemnity. “The life you live is not human. Nothing is human that forgets the kindness man owes to man. To-day I have helped to save you, for I do not hate you, and I wish you no harm; but understand that a life like yours has small claims on my heart, and I call it love and mercy to kill you when you attack the weak and poor. Go now from this city, and never come here again to lay your hand on one man in it. I do not seek your life; I would guard it if I could; but while I am tender of you personally, I bid you remember that the issues between tyrants and freemen are the broad issues of life and death. Once I have saved you—twice I will not. Go in peace—but come here again on such an errand, and I will slay you with my own hand, for, by the Eternal God, never while I live, shall you nor any one make Boston a hunting-ground for men!”