Poor Hugh Sommers chanced to have seated himself a little apart from the others, so as to get the benefit of a large stone for a seat. His figure was, therefore, prominent, as he sat there worn, weary, and dejected, consuming his allowance of black bread. Peter the Great knew him at once, having already, as the reader knows, seen him in his slave garb; but Hester's anxious eyes failed for a few moments to pick out the emaciated frame and strangely clad, ragged figure which represented her once jovial, stalwart, and well-clothed father. "Das him," whispered Peter, as he loosely grasped the girl's arm by way of precaution. "Where--oh, where?" asked the poor creature, glancing round among the slaves. "Now, 'member your promise. Spoil eberyt'ing if you screech or run to him. Look, dis way! De man what's settin' on de stone!" "Yes, yes, I see! Oh--" She stopped abruptly and trembled, for at the moment her father turned his woe-begone face unconsciously towards her. Even the much-increased grey tinge in the hair and beard, the lines of despair on the brow, and the hollow cheeks could not disguise the face that she loved so well. A sharp cry burst from her, and she made an attempt to rush towards him, but the iron grip of Peter restrained her. "It's a dead man he'll be if you do!" he said, in a stern but low tone. "Don't you see de janissary? Your _promise_--" "Yes, yes! I'll restrain myself _now_, Peter. Do let me stay a minute--just to look--" "No, _no_! Come 'long wid you--idle t'ing!" he exclaimed, with sudden severity, and apparent though not real violence, for at the moment his watchful eye had observed one of the slave guards approaching them. As the two went hurriedly past the place where Hugh Sommers was sitting, he looked up with an expression of pity. "Poor thing!" he said. "The black scoundrel is cruel to you, and I am powerless to kick him!" He clinked the fetters on his legs significantly as he spoke. The mingled pathos and indignation of the loved voice was too much for poor Hester. She was on the point of exclaiming "Father!" when Peter's great black paw extinguished her mouth, and was not removed till they were out of danger. "You's like all de rest ob de womans," said the negro, as they hurried through the streets; "awrful dif'cult to manidge. Come 'long, we'll go home and hab a talk ober it." Hester was too miserable to reply. She did not again speak till they were both safe in the boudoir. There she sat down on the bed, laid her face in her hands, and burst into a passion of tears, while Peter stood looking on, his head nearly touching the low ceiling, his bulky frame filling half the remainder of the little room, and two mighty unbidden tears in his great eyes. "Das right, Geo'giana," he said, in a soft voice; "cry away, it'll do you good. Nuffin like cryin' w'en you's fit to bust! An' w'en you's got it ober we'll talk all about it."