Volume Three—Chapter Six.
Perfect tranquillity reigned in the valley of Abran Bashi, far removed from the loud tocsin of war which hung round the borders, though news occasionally arrived of skirmishes with the Moscov, and sometimes a wounded warrior would come to be recovered by the care of his family.
At times, too, wailing and weeping was heard, when a family received intelligence of some dear relation having fallen in the fight; or a sad train would pass through the valley, accompanying the corpse of some noble, borne on his war-steed, who had lost his life in one of the many useless attacks which were at that time made on the Russian lines; more for bravado, and for the sake of exhibiting bravery and fearlessness of consequences—the characteristic of the Circassian warrior—than for any advantage to be gained.
Notwithstanding the predictions of the old chief, Thaddeus began to hope that the Khan, Khoros Kaloret, had foregone all farther attempts to carry off Ina; and, being ignorant by what hand his clansman had fallen, he would be unable to fix his revenge on any one. Thus all dread of evil consequences left his mind; and even Ina no longer feared to renew her rambles under his protection beyond even her former limits, though sure of receiving a severe lecture from old Kahija after each transgression.
We have as yet given but a slight sketch of her beautiful friend, the young Zara: she was like a sweet rose-bud, fresh and blooming, ere the first rays of the morning sun have dissipated the crystal dew; a complete child of nature. Brought up in that secluded valley, she knew nought of the world beyond the lofty mountains that surrounded it. Within that spot all her thoughts and hopes had been concentrated; she loved her pure streams, her verdant fields, and her shady groves, and grateful to the kind nature who placed her there; she was happy and contented, and would have felt miserable at the idea of leaving them, undazzled even by old Kahija’s descriptions of the gorgeous Stamboul. Her character was pure as her own sweet face; she seemed formed for love and tenderness alone, unfit to buffet with the cares and troubles of the world. Like a delicate plant, requiring some strong tree round which to entwine its slender tendrils, to gain strength and support from it. Her temper was sweet and amiable to all; and even old Kahija’s lectures failed to ruffle her. Dutiful and obedient to her only remaining parent, she tended him in sickness with the most gentle and unremitting care; and dearly in return did the old chief love his little Zara.
Her features were soft and feminine as her character; she was beautifully fair; her delicate auburn locks hung over her swan-like neck in rich profusion, her large eyes of purest blue were shaded by dark lashes, adding to their tender and languishing glance, while a smile playing round her ruby lips, betokened a happy and contented heart. Her figure, though equally graceful, was shorter and fuller than her friend’s; but none could deem it otherwise than perfect.
Such seemed the fair young being who had bestowed all her pure and warm affections on the gallant and youthful warrior, Alp Beg, and truly did he prize the treasured girl he had won.
He had been loved from his childhood by her grandfather for his courage and activity in all manly sports, and now gladly did the old chief accord his sanction to their union, which he had arranged with the Hadji before his departure for the camp. As yet the fair girl knew not that her hopes were to be fulfilled, for though Alp had found time to whisper his love, neither knew that their parents would give their sanction to their marriage; and often would sad forebodings for the future cross her otherwise tranquil mind, fears that their union might be forbid, or that he might be snatched from her by the cruel Urus.