“My father!” cried Hester, forgetting her offended dignity. “Where is he? You are alone! Peter the Great sent me here to meet him, but he did not say I should meet you.”
“Peter the Great sent you here—and alone!” exclaimed Foster, in amazement.
“Yes; he went out first to make sure that my father was coming, and then sent me to meet him that we might be alone. But Peter is close at hand.”
“Ho, yis! bery close at hand, Geo’ge!” said Peter himself, suddenly emerging from a place of concealment. “Now you come along wid me, sar, an’ let dat poo’ chile meet her fadder in private.”
“But she cannot do that, Peter, for Edouard Laronde is with him.”
“Who’n all de wurld’s Eddard Larongd?”
Before Foster could reply Hester had bounded from his side, and next moment was locked in her father’s arms.
“Come away, Geo’ge—an’ you too, Eddard La—La-whatever-it-is!” cried the negro, grasping the latter by the arm and hurrying him along the road in the direction of the seashore, while the reunited father and child knelt down together and poured out their gratitude to God.
“Dey’ll foller us in a minnit or two,” continued the negro. “What kep’ you so long, Geo’ge?”
“Couldn’t manage it sooner. But can you guess, Peter, why Ben-Ahmed behaved in the strange way he has done? He got into a rage when I attempted to tell him honestly, that I did not intend to go back to him, or to take Sommers to his house, and that I’d try to escape along with him if I could, but he would not listen or let me say a word.”