“Do you think,” answered he haughtily, “that on that slippery path my head would turn, or my hand tremble?  I invite you not to help me:  I invite you but to witness my combat with the tiger.  I hope you will then allow, that if the heart of an Avaretz is firm as the granite of his mountains, the heart of a Daghestanetz is tenpered like his famous boulat. [18] Do you consent?”

[Footnote 18:  A species of highly tempered steel, manufactured, and much prized, by the Tartars.]

The Avaretz was caught.  To have refused would have been shameful:  so, clearing up his face, he stretched out his hand to Ammalat.  “I will willingly go with you,” he replied.  “Let us not delay—­let us swear in the mosque, and go to the fight together!  Allah will judge whether we are to bring back his skin for a housing, or whether he is to devour us.”

It is not in accordance with Asiatic manners, much less with Asiatic customs, to bid farewell to the women when departing for a long or even an unlimited period.  This privilege belongs only to relations, and it is but rarely that it is granted to a guest.  Ammalat, therefore, glanced with a sigh at the window of Seltanetta, and went with lingering steps to the mosque.  There, already awaited him the elders of the village, and a crowd of curious idlers.  By an ancient custom of Avar, the hunters were obliged to swear upon the Koran, that they would not desert one another, either in the combat with the beast or in the chase; that they would not quit each other when wounded; if fate willed that the animal should attack them, that they would defend each other to the last, and die side by side, careless of life; and that in any case they would not return without the animal’s skin; that he who betrayed this oath, should be hurled from the rocks, as a coward and traitor.  The moollah armed them, the companions embraced, and they set out on their journey amid the acclamations of the whole crowd.  “Both, or neither!” they cried after them.  “We will slay him, or die!” answered the hunters.

A day had passed.  A second had sunk below the snowy summits.  The old men had wearied their eyes in gazing from their roofs along the road.  The boys had gone far on the hills that crested the village, to meet the hunters—­but no tidings of them.  Throughout all Khounzakh, at every fireside, either from interest or idleness, they were talking of this; but above all, Seltanetta was sad.  At every voice in the courtyard, at every sound on the staircase, all her blood flew to her face, and her heart beat with anxiety.  She would start up, and run to the window or the door; and then, disappointed for the twentieth time, with downcast eyes would return slowly to her needlework, which, for the first time, appeared tiresome and endless.  At last, succeeding doubt, fear laid its icy hand upon the maiden’s heart.  She demanded of her father, her brothers, the guests, whether the wounds given by a tiger were dangerous?—­was this animal far from the villages?  And ever and anon, having counted the moments, she would wring her hands, and cry, “They have perished!” and silently bowed her head on her agitated breast, while large tears flowed down her fair face.