cut across country
like a hunted hare, and found shelter in a neighbouring wood before the
revolt in the city was completely quelled.

Here he pulled up and set the terrified Hester down.

"You'll excuse me, miss," he said pantingly, as he wiped his brows with
the sleeve of his shirt--which garment, with a pair of canvas trousers,
a grass hat, and thin carpet shoes, constituted his costume. "I'm wery
sorry to carry you off agin' your will, but you'll thank me for it yet,
maybe, for if I had left you behind, you couldn't have helped your poor
father, and they'd have took you off for sartin to be a slave. Now,
d'ye see, if you an' I manage to escape, there's no sayin' what we may
do in the way o' raisin' ransom to buy back your father. Anyway, he has
been so anxious about you, an' afraid o' your bein' catched, an' the
terrible fate in store for you if you are, that I made up my mind for
_his_ sake to carry you off."

To this explanation Hester listened with varying feelings.

"I believe, from the honesty of your look and tone," she said, at last,
"that you have acted for the best, whether wisely or not remains to be
seen; but I thank you heartily for your intentions, and especially for
your kind feelings towards my dear father; but now I must claim the
right to use my own judgment. I will return to the city and succour my
father, or perish with him. Yet, rest assured, I will never forget the
brave seaman who has so nobly risked his life to save me. Your name
is--"

"Brown, miss--at your service."

"Well, good-bye, Brown, and God's blessing attend you," she said,
extending her black little hand.

The seaman gently took it and gave it a timid pressure, as if he feared
to crush it in his brawny hand.

"I'll shake hands with you," he said, "but I won't say good-bye, for
I'll steer back to the city with you."

"Brown, this is sheer madness. There is no reason in what you propose
to do. You cannot help me by sacrificing yourself."

"That's exactly what yer father would say to you, miss, if he was
alongside of us--`You can't help me by sacrificin' of yerself.' Then,
p'r'aps he would foller up that obsarvation by sayin', `but you may an'
can help me if you go wi' that sailor-friend o' mine, who may be rough
and ready, but is sartinly true-blue, who knows the coast hereaway an'
all its hidin'-places, an' who'll wentur his life to do me a good turn,
cause why? I once wentured my life to do him a good turn o' t