I shook my head.  The Asiatic cunning, though it had saved my life, could not please me.  What confidence can I have in people accustomed to sport with their honour and their soul?  We were about to mount our horses, when we heard a groan from the mountaineer who had been wounded by me.  He came to himself, raised his head, and piteously besought us not to leave him to be devoured by the beasts of the forest.  We both hastened to assist the poor wretch; and what was Ammalat’s astonishment when he recognized in him one of the noukers of Sultan Akhmet Khan of Avar.  To the question how he happened to be one of a gang of robbers, he replied:  “Shairan tempted me:  the Khan sent me into Kemek, a neighbouring village, with a letter to the famous Hakim (Doctor) Ibrahim, for a certain herb, which they say removes every ailment, as easily as if it were brushed away with the hand.  To my sorrow, Shermadan met me in the way!  He teazed me, saying, ’Come with me, and let us rob on the road.  An Armenian is coming from Kouba with money.’  My young heart could not resist this ... oh, Allah-il-Allah!  He hath taken my soul from me!”

“They sent you for physic, you say,” replied Ammalat:  “why, who is sick with you?”

“Our Khanoum Seltanetta is dying:  here is the writing to the leech about her illness:”  with these words he gave Ammalat a silver tube, in which was a small piece of paper rolled up.  Ammalat turned as pale as death; his hands shook—­his eyes sank under his eyebrows when he had read the note:  with a broken voice he uttered detached words.  “Three nights—­and she sleeps not, eats not—­delirious!—­her life is in danger—­save her!  O God of righteousness—­and I am idling here—­leading a life of holidays—­and my soul’s soul is ready to quit the earth, and leave me a rotten corse!  Oh that all her sufferings could fall on my head! and that I could lie in her coffin, if that would restore her to health.  Sweetest and loveliest! thou art fading, rose of Avar, and destiny has stretched out her talons over thee.  Colonel,” he cried at length, seizing my hand, “grant my only, my solemn prayer—­let me but once more look on her!”——­

“On whom, my friend?”

“On my Seltanetta—­on the daughter of the Khan of Avar—­whom I love more than my life, than my soul!  She is ill, she is dying—­perhaps dead by this time—­while I am wasting words—­and I could not receive into my heart her last word—­her last look—­could not wipe away the icy tear of death!  Oh, why do not the ashes of the ruined sun fall on my head—­why will not the earth bury me in its ruins!”

He fell on my breast, choking with grief, in a tearless agony, unable to pronounce a word.

This was not a time for accusations of insincerity, much less to set forth the reasons which rendered it unadvisable for him to go among the enemies of Russia.  There are circumstances before which all reasons must give way, and I felt that Ammalat was in such circumstances.  On my own responsibility I resolved to let him go.  “He that obliges from the heart, and speedily, twice obliges,” is my favourite proverb, and best maxim.  I pressed in my embrace the unhappy Tartar, and we mingled our tears together.