ehind him and the words--

'Gie 'im to me, Robert; gie 'im to me. I can carry 'im fine.'

'Haud awa' wi' ye,' returned Robert; and again Shargar fell behind.

For a few hundred yards he trudged along manfully; but his strength,
more from the nature of his burden than its weight, soon gave way. He
stood still to recover. The same moment Shargar was by his side again.

'Noo, Robert,' he said, pleadingly.

Robert yielded, and the burden was shifted to Shargar's back.

How they managed it they hardly knew themselves; but after many changes
they at last got Ericson home, and up to his own room. He had revived
several times, but gone off again. In one of his faints, Robert
undressed him and got him into bed. He had so little to cover him, that
Robert could not help crying with misery. He himself was well provided,
and would gladly have shared with Ericson, but that was hopeless. He
could, however, make him warm in bed. Then leaving Shargar in charge, he
sped back to the new town to Dr. Anderson. The doctor had his carriage
out at once, wrapped Robert in a plaid and brought him home with him.

Ericson came to himself, and seeing Shargar by his bedside, tried to sit
up, asking feebly,

'Where am I?'

'In yer ain bed, Mr. Ericson,' answered Shargar.

'And who are you?' asked Ericson again, bewildered.

Shargar's pale face no doubt looked strange under his crown of red hair.

'Ow! I'm naebody.'

'You must be somebody, or else my brain's in a bad state,' returned
Ericson.

'Na, na, I'm naebody. Naething ava (at all). Robert 'll be hame in ae
meenit.--I'm Robert's tyke (dog),' concluded Shargar, with a sudden
inspiration.

This answer seemed to satisfy Ericson, for he closed his eyes and lay
still; nor did he speak again till Robert arrived with the doctor.

Poor food, scanty clothing, undue exertion in travelling to and from the
university, hard mental effort against weakness, disquietude of mind,
all borne with an endurance unconscious of itself, had reduced Eric
Ericson to his present condition. Strength had given way at last, and he
was now lying in the low border wash of a dead sea of fever.

The last of an ancient race of poor men, he had no relative but a second
cousin, and no means except the little he advanced him, chiefly in
kind, to be paid for when Eric had a profession. This cousin was in the
herring trade, and the chief assistance he gave him was to send him by
sea, from Wick to Aberdeen, a small b