CHAPTER XXXV. NEW HOPES OF LIBERTY.
The cry that Flora Meredith half gave vent to was not a cry of alarm, but joy; for a head had gradually protruded from under the couch, until the face was revealed—and the face was Zeemit Mehal’s.
“Hush, for your life!” the old woman repeated, as she revealed her presence to the astonished girl.
But, in spite of the warning, Flora seized the hands of the faithful Zeemit, and, as her heart beat violently, she whispered—
“God bless you, Zeemit. Your presence is new life to me.”
The woman rose very cautiously, and peered through the jalousies. Then she listened intently for a few moments—they almost seemed like hours to Flora, for she was burning with impatience for an explanation.
“My presence here, should it be discovered, would be death to us both,” Zeemit whispered at last.
“But what is your object?” was Flora’s anxious query.