"H'm! That will do for to-day. You may return to your painting in the garden. It will, perhaps, cure your cold. Go!" he added, turning to Hester, who immediately rose, pushed the paper under the cushion on which she had been sitting, and left the room with her eyes fixed on the ground. As the cat watches the mouse, Foster had watched the girl's every movement while he bent over his paint-box. He saw where she put the paper. In conveying his materials from the room, strange to say, he slipped on the marble floor, close to the cushion, secured the paper as he rose, and, picking up his scattered things with an air of self-condemnation, retired humbly--yet elated--from the presence-chamber. Need we say that in the first convenient spot he could find he eagerly unrolled the paper, and read-- "I am lost! Oh, save me! Osman has come! I have _seen_ him! _Hateful_! He comes to-morrow to--" The writing ended abruptly. "My hideous sneeze did that!" growled Foster savagely. "But if I had been a moment later Ben-Ahmed might have--well, well; no matter. She _must_ be saved. She _shall_ be saved!" Having said this, clenched his teeth and hands, and glared, he began to wonder _how_ she was to be saved. Not being able to arrive at any conclusion on this point, he went off in search of his friend Peter the Great. He found that worthy man busy mending a rake in a tool-house, and in a few eager words explained how matters stood. At first the 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?"