This was such a very unexpected climax, and so closely resembled the conduct of a child, that it suddenly restored our midshipman to self-possession. Stepping quickly forward, he took one of the girl's hands in his, laid his other hand on her shoulder, and said-- "Don't cry, my poor child! If I can help you in any way, I'll be only too glad; but pray don't, _don't_ cry so." "I--I--can't help it," sobbed the girl, pulling away her hand--not on account of propriety, by any means: that never entered her young head-- but for the purpose of searching for a kerchief in a pocket that was _always_ undiscoverable among bewildering folds. "If--if--you only knew how long, _long_ it is since I heard an English--(where _is_ that _thing_!)--an English voice, you would not wonder. And my father, my dear, dear, darling father--I have not heard of him for--for--" Here the poor thing broke down again and sobbed aloud, while the midshipman looked on, imbecile and helpless. "Pray, _don't_ cry," said Foster again earnestly. "Who are you? where did you come from? Who and where is your father? Do tell me, and how I can help you, for we may be interrupted?" This last remark did more to quiet the girl than anything else he had said. "You are right," she replied, drying her eyes quickly. "And, do you know the danger you run if found conversing with me?" "No--not great danger, I hope?" "The danger of being scourged to death, perhaps," she replied. "Then pray _do_ be quick, for I'd rather not get such a whipping--even for _your_ sake!" "But our owner is not cruel," continued the girl. "He is kind--" "Owner! Is he not, then, your husband?" "Oh, no. He says he is keeping me for his son, who is away on a long voyage. I have never seen him--and--I have such a dread of his coming back!" "But you are English, are you not?" "Yes." "And your father?" "He is also English, and a slave. We have not met, nor have I heard of him, since we were parted on board ship many months ago. Listen!" CHAPTER FIVE. THE MAIDEN'S STORY--PETER THE GREAT AND THE MIDDY GO FOR A HOLIDAY AND SEE AWFUL THINGS. During the conversation detailed in the last chapter the young English girl had spoken with her veil down. She now threw it carelessly back, and, sitting down on a bench opposite our midshipman, folded her hands in her lap and remained silent for a few seconds, during which George Foster said--not aloud, but very privately to himself, "Although your eyes are swelled and your little nose is red with crying, I never--no I never--did see such a dear, sweet, pretty little innocent face in all my life!" All unconscious of his thoughts, and still giving vent now and then to an irresistible sob, the poor child--for she was little more--looked up and began her sad tale. "About eight months ago my dear father, who is a merchant, resolved to take me with him on a voyage to some of the Mediterranean ports. My father's name is Hugh Sommers--" "And yours?" asked Foster.