"For thee I am ready to die, my morning-star: to thee I give my soul—not only life, my beloved!"
The sound of footsteps interrupted the lovers' talk: it was Seltanetta's attendant. All three went to congratulate the Khan, who was consoled, and unaffectedly delighted.
Ammalát related in a few words how the affair had occurred. "Hardly had I remarked that my comrade had fallen when I fired at the beast, flying, with a ball which broke his jaw. The monster with a terrific roar began to whirl round, to leap, to roll, sometimes darting towards me, and then again, tormented by the agony, bounding aside. At this moment, striking him with the butt of my gun on the skull, I broke it. I pursued him a long time as soon as he betook himself to flight, following him by his bloody track: the day began to fail, and when I plunged my dagger into the throat of the fallen tiger, dark night had fallen upon the earth. Would I or not, I was compelled to pass the night with the rocks for a bed-chamber, and the wolves and jackals for companions. The morning was dark and rainy; the clouds around my head poured their waters on me like a river. At ten paces before my face nothing could be seen. Without a view of the sun, ignorant of the country, in vain I wandered round and round: weariness and hunger overwhelmed me. A partridge which I shot with my pistol restored my strength for a while; but I could not find my way out of my rocky grave. In the evening the only sounds I could hear were the murmur of water falling from a cliff, or the whistling of the eagles' wings as they flew through the clouds; but at night the audacious jackals raised, three paces off, their lamentable song. This morning the sun rose brightly, and I myself arose more cheerful, and directed my steps towards the east. I shortly afterwards heard a cry and a shot: it was your messengers. Overcome by heat, I went to drink the pure water of the fountain by the old mosque, and there I met Seltanetta. Thanks be to you, and glory to God!"
"Glory to God, and honour to you!" exclaimed the Sultan, embracing him. "But your courage has nearly cost us your life, and even that of your comrade. If you had delayed a day, he would have been obliged to dance the Sézghinka in the air. You have returned just in time. Djemboulá't, a famous cavalier of Little Kabárda, has sent to invite you to a foray against the Russians. I would willingly buy beforehand your glory; as much as you won in your last battle. The time is short; tomorrow's sun must see you ready."
This news was by no means unwelcome to Ammalát: he decided instantly; answering, that he would go with pleasure. He felt sure that a distinguished reputation as a cavalier would ensure him future success.
But Seltanetta turned pale—bowing her head like a flower, when she heard of this new and more cruel separation. Her look, as it dwelt upon Ammalát, showed painful apprehension—the pain of prophetic sorrow.
"Allah!" she mournfully exclaimed: "more forays, more slaughter.
When will blood cease to be shed in the mountains?"
"When the mountain torrents run milk, and the sugar-canes wave on the snowy peaks!" said the Khan.
CHAPTER IV.
Wildly beautiful is the resounding Térek in the mountains of Dariál. There, like a genie, borrowing his strength from heaven, he wrestles with Nature. There bright and shining as steel, cutting through the overshadowing cliff, he gleams among the rocks. There, blackening with rage, he bellows and bounds like a wild beast, among the imprisoning cliffs: he bursts, overthrows, and rolls afar their broken fragments. On a stormy night, when the belated traveller, enveloped in his furry boúrka, gazing fearfully around him, travels along the bank which hangs over the torrent of Térek, all is terror such as only a vivid imagination can conceive. With slow steps he winds along, the rain-torrents stream around his feet, and tumble upon his head from the rocks which frown above and threaten his destruction. Suddenly the lightning flashes before his eyes—with horror he beholds but a black cloud above him, below a yawning gulf, beside him crags, and before him the roaring Térek. At one moment he sees its wild and troubled waves raging like infernal spirits chased by the archangel's brand. After them, with a shout as of laughter, roll the huge stones. In another moment, the blinding flash is gone, and he is plunged once more in the dark ocean of night: then bursts the thunder-crash, jarring the foundations of the rocks, as though a thousand mountains were dashed against each other, so deafeningly do the echoes repeat the bellow of the heavens. Then a long-protracted growl, as of massive oaks plucked up by their roots, or the crash of bursting rocks, or the yell of the Titans as they were hurled headlong into the abyss; it mingles with the war of the blast, and the blast swells to a hurricane, and the rain pours down in torrents. And again the lightning blinds him, and again the thunder, answering from afar to the splinter-crash, deafens him. The terrified steed rears, starts backward—the rider utters a short prayer.