“Lady,” said he, “we ought ere this to have sought our homeward way: the path is steep and difficult, and the shades of evening will overtake us, ere we can reach the valley.”
“Fear not, Conrin. There are no dangers we need dread,” returned Ina. “Old Kahija’s scolding is the worst that can happen to us. We mountain maids are sure of foot, and fearless as you seem, on the edge of the steepest precipice. But, as you say, it is full time we should return home; for, as it is, we shall be missed from the anderoon, and old Kahija will think that we have fled for ever from her grave rule.”
But as they looked round, doubtful on what part of the steep cliff to begin their descent, they found that to return was not so easy an achievement as Ina had pronounced it to be; for so many turnings had they taken, that they could not discover the path by which they had attained the spot where they stood.
It was difficult to say how they could have reached their present position, as in vain they searched for the path. At length, Conrin hazarded a spring to a lower ledge, from which it appeared that practicable footing was to be found, when he was startled by a scream from above; and, gazing upward, he beheld the Lady Ina in the grasp of a ferocious, wild-looking man, who was endeavouring to drag her up the steep cliff, while she resisted with all her power, calling her page to her assistance. Conrin fruitlessly attempted to reach the upper ledge, for the slender shrubs and herbage gave way in his hands as he clutched them. Trembling with agitation, he fell back to the spot from which he was strenuously trying to climb.
The man’s appearance was, in truth, ferocious. Of gigantic height, his face was almost covered with tangled dark locks hanging down from his head, on which he wore a cap of undyed brown and white goat-skin, the long hair of which, falling in front over his neck, added to the wildness of his features. His body was clothed in a tunic of the same material, and a long black cloak of goat’s hair fell from his shoulders. Rough sandals of bark were on his feet, fastened to his ankles by thongs of leather. At his back hung a bow and quiver, and in one hand he grasped a thick spear or club and a round black shield of bull’s hide; while in the other he held the slender form of Ina.
“Set me at freedom! How dare you thus insult me?” she cried. “I would seek my way homeward.”
“Not so, fair maiden,” answered the man with rough harsh tones, in a strange dialect, though Ina could comprehend it sufficiently to understand the tenor of his words. “Not so; you are a prize of too much value to be allowed to escape so easily.”
“Begone, barbarian, and loose your hold,” cried Ina, though fearful and trembling in his rude grasp, yet retaining her native dignity. “Think you to escape the vengeance of my tribe, if you should wrong me?”
“Vengeance! say you?” exclaimed the man scornfully. “Think you I fear the vengeance of any?”
“You will have cause to fear it, if you do not release me,” she answered. “Know you not what chieftain’s child I am?”