negro
listened with his wonted, cheerful smile and helpful look, which
hitherto had been a sort of beacon-light to the poor midshipman in his
troubles, but when he came to the piece of paper and read its contents
the smile vanished.

"Osman home!" he said. "If Osman come back it's a black look-out for
poor Hester! And the paper says to-morrow," cried Foster; "to take her
away and marry her, no doubt. Peter, I tell you, she must be saved
_to-night_! You and I must save her. If you won't aid me I will do it
alone--or die in the attempt."

"Geo'ge, if you was to die a t'ousan' times dat wouldn't sabe her. You
know de Kasba?"

"Yes, yes--go on!"

"Well, if you was to take dat on your shoulders an' pitch 'im into de
sea, _dat_ wouldn't sabe her."

"Yes it would, you faint-hearted nigger!" cried the middy, losing all
patience, "for if I could do that I'd be able to wring the neck of every
pirate in Algiers--and I'd do it too!"

"Now, Geo'ge, keep cool. I's on'y p'intin' out what you can't do; but
p'r'aps somet'ing may be done. Yes," (he struck his forehead with his
fist, as if to clinch a new idea),--"yes, I knows! I's hit it!"

"What!" cried Foster eagerly.

"Dat you's got nuffin to do wid," returned the negro decisively. "You
must know not'ing, understand not'ing, hear an' see not'ing, for if you
do you'll be whacked to deaf. Bery likely you'll be whacked anyhow, but
dat not so bad. You must just shut your eyes an' mout' an' trust all to
_me_. You understand, Geo'ge?"

"I think I do," said the relieved middy, seizing the negro's right hand
and wringing it gratefully. "Bless your black face! I trust you from
the bottom of my soul."

It was, indeed, a source of immense relief to poor Foster that his
friend not only took up the matter with energy, but spoke in such a
cheery, hopeful tone, for the more he thought of the subject the more
hopeless did the case of poor Hester Sommers appear. He could of course
die for her--and would, if need were--but this thought was always
followed by the depressing question, "What good would that do to _her_?"

Two hours after the foregoing conversation occurred Peter the Great was
seated in a dark little back court in a low coffee-house in one of the
darkest, narrowest, and most intricate streets of Algiers. He sat on an
empty packing-box. In front of him was seated a stout negress, in whom
an Ethiopian might have traced some family likeness to Peter himself.