distinguish whether she was on the earth, or floating in the air; changing colours flitted on her face.  At length she ventured, in a trembling voice, to ask him about his health.  One must be a Tartar—­who accounts it a sin and an offence to speak a word to a strange woman, who never sees any thing female but the veil and the eye-brows—­to conceive how deeply agitated was the ardent Bek, by the looks and words of the beautiful girl addressed so tenderly to him.  A soft flame ran through his heart, notwithstanding his weakness.

“Oh, I am very well, now,” he answered, endeavouring to rise; “so well, that I am ready to die, Seltanetta.”

“Allah sakhla-suen!” (God protect you!) she replied.  “Live, live long!  Would you not regret life?”

“At a sweet moment sweet is death, Seltanetta!  But if I live a hundred years, a more delightful moment than this can never be found!”

Seltanetta did not understand the words of the stranger; but she understood his look—­she understood the expression of his voice.  She blushed yet more deeply; and, making a sign with her hand that he should repose, disappeared from the chamber.

Among the mountaineers there are many very skilful surgeons, chiefly in cases of wounds and fractures; but Ammalat, more than by herb or plaster, was cured by the presence of the charming mountain-maid.  With the agreeable hope of seeing her in his dreams, he fell asleep, and awoke with joy, knowing that he should meet her in reality.  His strength rapidly returned, and with his strength grew his attachment to Seltanetta.

Ammalat was married; but, as it often happens in the East, only from motives of interest.  He had never seen his bride before his marriage, and afterwards found no attraction in her which could awake his sleeping heart.  In course of time, his wife became blind; and this circumstance loosened still more a tie founded on Asiatic customs rather than affection.  Family disagreements with his father-in-law and uncle, the Shamkhal, still further separated the young couple, and they were seldom together.  Was it strange, under the circumstances, that a young man, ardent by nature, self-willed by nature, should be inspired with a new love?  To be with her was his highest happiness—­to await her arrival his most delightful occupation.  He ever felt a tremor when he heard her voice:  each accent, like a ray of the sun, penetrated his soul.  This feeling resembled pain, but a pain so delicious, that he would have prolonged it for ages.  Little by little the acquaintance between the young people grew into friendship—­they were almost continually together.  The Khan frequently departed to the interior of Avar for business of government or military arrangements, leaving his guest to the care of his wife, a quiet, silent woman.  He was not blind to the inclination of Ammalat for his daughter, and in secret rejoiced at it; it flattered his ambition, and forwarded his military views; a connexion with