Ericson recovered a little, refused the whisky offered by the bookseller, rose, and staggered out.
'If I were only home!' he said. 'But where is home?'
'We'll try to mak ane,' returned Robert. 'Tak a haud o' me. Lay yer weicht upo' me.—Gin it warna for yer len'th, I cud cairry ye weel eneuch. Whaur's that Shargar?' he muttered to himself, looking up and down the gloomy street.
But no Shargar was to be seen. Robert peered in vain into every dark court they crept past, till at length he all but came to the conclusion that Shargar was only 'fantastical.'
When they had reached the hollow, and were crossing the canal-bridge by Mount Hooly, Ericson's strength again failed him, and again he leaned upon the bridge. Nor had he leaned long before Robert found that he had fainted. In desperation he began to hoist the tall form upon his back, when he heard the quick step of a runner behind 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.