Father Elzear, as did the greater number of the Brothers of Mercy, spoke Arabic fluently. He approached the captive gently, and, touching him lightly on the arm, woke him from his reverie. As he recognised Father Elzear, who had always had for him a consoling word, the Moor smiled sadly, took the hand of the priest, and pressed it to his lips. “My brother is always absorbed in his sorrows?” said Father Elzear, seating himself on the extremity of the bench, and taking the two hands of the slave in his own trembling, venerable hands. “My wife and my child are far away,” replied the Moor, sadly; “they do not know that I am a captive; they are waiting for me.” “My dear son must not lose all hope, all courage. God protects those who suffer with resignation. He loves those who love their own; my brother will see his wife and child again.” The Moor shook his head, then, with a sadly expressive manner, he lifted his right hand and pointed to the sky. Father Elzear comprehended the mute gesture, and said: “No, it is not up there that my brother will see again those whom he longs for. It will be here,--on the earth.” “I shall die too soon, father, so far from my wife and child; I shall not live to see them again.” “We ought never to despair of the divine mercy, my brother. Many poor slaves have said, like you, ‘I shall never see my loved ones again,’ yet at this moment they are with their own, peaceful and happy. Often the galleys of religion exchange their captives; why, my brother, should you not be included some day in these exchanges?” “Some day! Perhaps! That is my only hope,” said the Moor, despondently. “Poor, unhappy man! then why will you say ‘never’?” “My father is right. Never,--never--oh, that would be too horrible! Yes,--perhaps,--some day!” And a pathetic smile played upon the lips of the Moor. Father Elzear hesitated to make the fatal confidence. Yet the hour was approaching and he resolved to speak. “My brother has won the confidence of all by his gentleness and courage; why, then, this morning did he--” Father Elzear could not continue. The Moor looked at him, astonished. “Why, this morning, instead of obeying the overseer’s orders, did my brother strike him?” “I struck him, father, because he struck me without cause.” “Alas! no doubt you were, as a little while ago, absorbed in your sad reflections; they prevented your hearing the overseer’s orders.” “Did he give me orders?” asked the Moor, with a startled air. “Twice, my brother; he even reprimanded you for not performing them. Taking your silence for an insult, he then struck you.” “It must be as you say, father. I repent having struck the overseer. I did not hear him. In dreaming of the past, I forgot the present. I saw again my little home in Gigeri; my little Acoub came to meet me. I was listening to his voice, and, raising my eyes, I saw his mother opening the blinds of our balcony.”