“Well then, the sooner the better.  I have learned to know you. Me you know of old.  Insincerity and flattery between us are in vain.  I will not conceal from you, that I always wished to see you my son-in-law.  I rejoiced that Seltanetta had pleased you; your captivity put off my plans for a time.  Your long absence—­the rumours of your conversion—­grieved me.  At length you appeared among us, and found every thing as before; but you did not bring to us your former heart.  I hoped you would fall back into your former course; I was painfully mistaken.  It is a pity; but there is nothing to be done.  I do not wish to have for my son-in-law a servant of the Russians.”

“Akhmet Khan, I once”——­

“Let me finish.  Your agitated arrival, your ravings at the door of the sick Seltanetta, betrayed to every body your attachment, and our mutual intentions.  Through all the mountains, you have been talked of as the affianced bridegroom of my daughter:  but now the tie is broken, it is time to destroy the rumours; for the honour of my family—­for the tranquillity of my daughter—­you must leave us—­and immediately.  This is absolutely necessary and indispensable.  Ammalat, we part friends, but here we will meet only as kinsmen, not otherwise.  May Allah turn your heart, and restore you to us as an inseparable friend.  Till then, farewell!”

With these words the Khan turned his horse, and rode away at full gallop to his retinue.  If on the stupefied Ammalat the thunderbolt of heaven had fallen, he could not have been more astounded than by this unexpected explanation.  Already had the dust raised by the horse’s hoofs of the retiring Khan been laid at rest; but he still stood immovable on the hill now darkening in the shadow of sunset.

CHAPTER IX.

Colonel Verkhoffsky, engaged in reducing to submission the rebellious Daghestanetzes, was encamped with his regiment at the village of Kiafir-Kaumik.  The tent of Ammalat Bek was erected next to his own, and in it Saphir-Ali, lazily stretched on the carpet, was drinking the wine of the Don, notwithstanding the prohibition of the Prophet.  Ammalat Bek, thin, pale, and pensive, was resting his head against the tent-pole, smoking a pipe.  Three months had passed since the time when he was banished from his paradise; and he was now roving with a detachment, within sight of the mountains to which his heart flew, but whither his foot durst not step.  Grief had worn out his strength; vexation had poured its vial on his once serene character.  He had dragged a sacrifice to his attachment to the Russians, and it seemed as if he reproached every Russian with it.  Discontent was visible in every word, in every glance.

“A fine thing wine!” said Saphir Ali, carefully wiping the glasses; “surely Mahomet must have met with sour dregs in Aravete, when he forbade the juice of the grape to true believers!  Why, really these drops are as sweet as if the angels themselves, in their joy, had wept their tears into bottles.  Ho! quaff another glass, Ammalat; your heart will float on the wine more lightly than a bubble.  Do you know what Hafiz has sung about it?”