We must return now to the residence of Ben-Ahmed at Mustapha.

 

When his son Osman—who had seen Hester only once and that for but a few minutes—discovered that the fair slave had fled, his rage knew no bounds. He immediately sent for Peter the Great and sternly asked him if he knew how the English girl had escaped. Their intercourse, we may remark, was carried on in the same curious manner as that referred to in connection with Ben-Ahmed. Osman spoke in Lingua Franca and Peter replied in his ordinary language.

 

“Oh yes, massa, I know,” said the latter, with intense earnestness; “she escaped ober de wall.”

 

“Blockhead!” exclaimed the irate Osman, who was a sturdy but ill-favoured specimen of Moslem humanity. “Of course I know that, but how did she escape over the wall?”

 

“Don’ know dat, massa. You see I’s not dere at de time, so can’t ’zactly say. Moreober, it was bery dark, an’ eben if I’s dar, I couldn’t see peepil in de dark.”

 

“You lie! you black scoundrel! and you know that you do. You could tell me much more about this if you chose.”

 

“No, indeed, I don’t lie—if a slabe may dar to counterdick his massa,” returned Peter humbly. “But you’s right when you say I could tell you much more. Oh! I could tell you heaps more! In de fuss place I was sotin’ wid de oder slabes in de kitchen, enjoyin’ ourselves arter supper, w’en we hear a cry! Oh my! how my heart jump! Den all our legs jump, and out we hoed wid lanterns an—”

 

“Fool! don’t I know all that? Now, tell me the truth, has the English slave, George Fos—Fos—I forget his name—”

 

“Geo’ge Foster,” suggested the negro, with an amiable look.

 

“Yes; has Foster had no hand in the matter?”

 

“Unpossible, I t’ink,” said Peter. “You see he was wid me and all de oder slabes when de girl hoed off, an’ I don’t t’ink eben a Englishman kin be in two places at one time. But you kin ax him; he’s in de gardin.”

 

“Go, fetch him,” growled the young Moor, “and tell four of my men to come here. They are waiting outside.”

 

The negro retired, and, soon after, four stout Moorish seamen entered. They seemed worthy of their gruff commander, who ordered them to stand at the inner end of the room. As he spoke he took up an iron instrument, somewhat like a poker, and thrust it into a brazier which contained a glowing charcoal fire.

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