Meanwhile, Peter the Great conducted Hester to that part of the city wall where her father was at work among the other slaves. It chanced to be the hour when the wretched creatures were allowed to cease work for a brief space in order to rest and eat.
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—”