“Das mus’ be de lady you was tole me about, Peter,—Ister—Hister—w’at you call ’er?”
“Yes—Hester! Das so. De same as I tole you all about her ’scape,” answered Peter, quaking with anxiety and astonishment at the woman’s calm boldness, yet ready to fall in with any plan that her words might suggest. At the same time the gasping in the hole became more and more genuine, and the pounding more and more emphatic.
“No, massa, I don’ know of no white slabe as hab took refuge wid any ob our neighbours. Indeed I’s kite sure dat none ob de neighbours knows not’ing at all about dis Is—Es—w’at you call her? Ester! Das so, Peter?”
“Yes, das so, Missis Lilly.”
“Stop that horrible noise in the hole there! What is it?” said Osman impatiently.
“It is only one of my negro slaves,” said the master of the house. “Call her up, Lilly, and set her to something quieter until we go.”
Rendered desperate now, Peter the Great started forward with glaring eyes. “Massa,” he said, “an idea hab just struck me. Will you come out a momint? I wants to tell you somet’ing bery hard.”
The appearance, not less than the earnestness, of the negro, inclined Osman to comply with his request; but, hesitating, he said—
“Why not tell me here, Peter? We are all friends, you know.”
“Oh yes, I know dat, Massa Osman; but womans can never be trusted wid t’ings ob importance, ’specially black womans! But ob course if you not ’fraid ob Missis Lilly, I a’n’t ’fraid ob her lettin’ de secret out. I darsay she’s as good a creetur as de best ob ’um.”