He fears lest she may faint, nor thinks it strange under the peculiar circumstances that he should slip an arm around her waist. She does not resent it--at such a time the strong arm of an honest man is not to be despised. Saidee is pleading her cause. She is not in the plot of the cunning pasha, and believes Samson Cereal has come here to upbraid her because her heart yearned for her child. She speaks good English, though in her eagerness and emotion she sometimes trips in her speech as though the words were too weak to express her meaning. This is what they hear, and the words sink deeply into one heart at least: “You have had her love all these years; can you deny me one look, one kiss, and my heart so hungry for it? Ah! Samson Cereal, you believe me bad, but it is not so. I was only crazy to again see my home; I believed I should die in this cold Chicago. Then I laid a plan. My brother came, you knew it not. We meant to take my little one and fly to our home, but at the last a move of yours ruined my hopes, and I had to leave my Dorothy behind. “Alas! those years. I wrote to you, but my letters came back unopened. Then I went to England, where my brother had charge of a great work. I labored with him for years. We are known and honored in London. All this while I hungered to see my child, yet dared not come. At last the Fair--I conceived a plan, and behold you see me! Twice have I looked upon her, but she did not know it. Ah! so fair, so sweet; it almost drove me wild to think I could not take her in my arms and say, 'I am thy mother.’ “Unable to longer endure it, I wrote her a note. Perhaps I did wrong: the God to whom you taught me to pray shall judge. Instead of my child, the stern father comes to judge, to condemn. “Well, what can I say? My only fault was that, homesick and weak, I left you in this cold city and fled with my brother. When I repented and would have returned--on my knees begging your forgiveness--you scorned me, never even reading my plea. We women of Georgia are proud; it is our nature. I could not seek you again. Now you know all. Once you loved me--is that feeling utterly dead in your heart? If I could bring you overwhelming proof that I have ever been true as the needle to the pole, that my only fault was in giving way to this terrible home sickness, would you, oh, Samson Cereal, hate me, scorn me still?” He lets his head fall on his breast and groans; surely such a scene as this was not in the contract when he planned to meet and defeat Aroun Scutari. He has expected that this woman is in sympathy with the Turk, that she will gloat over his capture, and laugh in derision while he fumes. Instead, she appeals to his heart, batters down the walls of his prejudice, and awakens feelings that have lain dormant, frozen, almost a score of years.