With these words we separated; the old merchant and his daughter remounted on her own horse, rode slowly away until they disappeared in the deepening shades of evening; while I remained motionless, and watching them, with a wild, sad beating in my heart, for the face of Basilia seemed yet before me, and her voice was lingering in my ear.
She was gone, but my soul went with her.
Full, round, and red as a Tartar shield, the moon rose above the Isle of Taman to light the waters of the Euxine; the mountains flung their black shadows upon each other; the lurid glow-worm glittered on the dewy grass, and the snakes began to hiss among the long reeds; while the fierce vultures hovered in the starry sky, with their keen eyes fixed on the grim banquet I had made for them; and I heard their hoarse croak of impatience, for I lingered long on the spot where Abdallah and his daughter had left me.
Several days passed away. Men spoke much of the coming struggle with the Russians; my brave brothers were as usual training their horses, tempering their weapons, casting bullets, and pointing arrows; I alone was silent, and full of soft, sad thoughts—melancholy, happy, and anxious by turns; for my whole breast was filled by the image of Basilia.
I visited her father by stealth, for this old man was one who had temporised with the Russians, and paid them a tribute that he might dwell in peace under the cannon of Soudjack; but I found him gloomy, thoughtful, and discontented; his ship had been stranded on the Isle of Serpents, in the Black Sea, and sunk with all her crew, and what was of more importance to Abdallah, with her rich bales of Indian silks, of cashmere shawls, of amber pipes, and other valuables with which she was freighted. This isle, the only one in the Euxine, is infested by serpents of enormous size, say our voyagers. These guard its boundless treasures and devour all who attempt to land; thus Abdallah ibn Obba abandoned in grief all hope of recovering a vestige of his property.
He received me morosely, and after smoking a pipe and drinking with him a cup of coffee, which we received from the white, gentle hands of Basilia, who was enveloped as before in her veil of lace, I departed, happy that I had seen but the tips of her dear fingers once again; happy that I had been under the roof of her father, and happy that for one brief hour I had shared a corner of his carpet, and breathed the same atmosphere with one so beautiful and so well-beloved as she.
Again and again I came to visit Abdallah; for alas! I no longer sighed for the unfurling of our green standard against the Russ; I only counted the days and hours till again I should visit the house of the merchant at Soudjack.
Secluded as the old man kept Basilia—for he deemed her his last and most valuable estate—a piece of property on which he could at any time realise a thousand piastres in the Stamboul market—we had nightly interviews; for what are the difficulties that love cannot surmount? I had discovered that her chamber window opened into old Abdallah's garden; its wall was easily crossed, and then three notes on my lute were the signal which brought Basilia to me; but she was beyond arm's length, and I never dared to climb, though, had the wealth of Ormuz been mine, I had given it all to have kissed but once her hand. Yet, until she was bestowed upon me by her father, what hope had I of ever doing so?
In the wild and half-civilised countries of the East, a lover invests his mistress with a thousand imaginary attributes, such as a lover of Europe or the West can never do. The seclusion in which we keep our women, the danger and risk of approaching or even speaking of them to their nearest relations, all enhance the charm, the secresy, and the romance of an Oriental love; and thus, with such a heart as mine, it became an all-absorbing and engrossing passion, in which to be without hope was to be without life. Hourly I exclaimed to myself,—
"Bismillah! oh, Osman, happy thou to win a heart like hers!" for Basilia responded as warmly as she dared, or as I could have desired.