"I thank you sincerely for this explanation," said Eliza. "And now, pardon me if I speak a few words concerning yourself—for it is with a good motive. When you mentioned the name of your father, tears started into your eyes."
"My poor father was slain in the battle which made me and several other Georgian females the prisoners of the Persian conquerors, against whom my sire rose in rebellion," answered Malkhatoun. "I was sent to Teflis, and sold as a slave to a Turkish merchant, who carried me to Constantinople, where I was purchased for an English nobleman. I wept ere now, lady, because I have a mother, and brothers, and sisters living in my native land; and my heart yearns towards them."
"And would you be pleased, my poor girl, to return to Georgia?" asked Eliza, the tears trickling down her cheeks—for Malkhatoun's voice was soft and plaintive as she told her artless tale.
"I would give half the years that remain to me to embrace my dear mother and brothers and sisters once more," replied Malkhatoun.
"You shall return to them—oh! you shall return to them with as little delay as possible," exclaimed Eliza. "In the course of this day I will transmit by post to you, Filippo, a draft upon my banker to supply the means for this poor girl to go back to her native land."
"And it shall be my duty, madam, to see her safely on board the first ship that sails for the Levant," said Filippo.
Malkhatoun could scarcely believe her ears; but when she saw that Eliza was really in earnest, she threw herself at the feet of her benefactress, whose hand she covered with her kisses and her tears.
Eliza hastened to raise her from that posture; and when the now happy Georgian became composed, they all three retraced their steps to the cab.
Malkhatoun and Filippo returned to London; and Eliza retraced her way to Ravensworth Hall.
Nor did she forget her promise to Malkhatoun; and two days afterwards the fair Georgian embarked at Gravesend on board a ship bound for the Levant.