Thaddeus eagerly hastened to the spot, long ere the time he might expect the coming of his mistress; but he wished to be alone in that sacred place to commune with himself, to dwell upon the antic.i.p.ation of his bliss should his hopes of her answer be fulfilled. He wandered round the ruins of the once sacred pile; sometimes he feared she could not really love him, and a moment afterwards he felt confident of winning her. Then he threw himself beneath the shade of some tree, and anxiously watched the lengthening shadows; and next he would rise and hasten through the grove, towards the direction whence his mistress should come; but he saw her not. The sun had not yet sunk low enough in the heavens, and he regretted that he had not persuaded her to come at an earlier hour. He again returned, lest, perhaps, she might have pa.s.sed some other way.

Inspired by the solemnity of the spot, he threw himself down before the cross, and offered up his thanksgiving to heaven for his own preservation, and his prayers for future blessings. Deeply absorbed in his devotions, he thought not of the lapse of time; and, as he rose and gazed eagerly around to see if Ina was near, the sun had reached the edge of the mountain, tinging its sides with a saffron hue, and throwing a deep shade at its base. The minutes now pa.s.sed like hours; he feared something might have prevented her coming; some accident might have befallen her; he thought of the revenge of the Khan and trembled for her safety.

As despair was about taking possession of him, at length, his heart bounded as he caught sight of her, moving amid the trees like some benign spirit of the groves. At a little distance from her, followed Conrin, slowly and mournfully; who, on seeing Thaddeus, turned aside.

The young lover hastened forward to meet his mistress; he gently took her hand, which she did not withdraw, as he led her to a seat, formed of a broken architrave, beneath the cross. For some minutes neither spoke, as they sat gazing on the rich and smiling valley below them, which was clothed with a soft mellow light; a serene and solemn silence reigned over the whole scene. The lovers felt perfect happiness; they feared to speak, lest a word might break the soft enchantment.

Thaddeus turned to Ina, and, gazing on her eyes, so liquid and tender, yet so l.u.s.trous, he saw an expression there which gave him courage to speak. "Ina," he said, "I came to this land a stranger among your people. All my hopes in life were blighted. I had been an imprisoned felon, condemned to death, every instant expecting to die by the hands of my comrades, but was rescued by your brother's bravery. To him I owe all I now possess: I owe him my life, and--more far more than life--the happiness of seeing you. From the moment I saw you, I loved you; from that moment your image has never been absent from my thoughts. In the ardour of the chase, in the solitude of the night, I have thought alone of you; and oh! the rapture, when I found you were saved from the ruffian who would have torn you from me! Sweetest Ina, I love you!"

Ina gazed at him. A sweet smile irradiated her features; her eyes sparkled with animation.

"Is it possible?" she said, with an inquiring look. "That you, Thaddeus, accustomed to the magnificence of the cities, and the accomplished beauties of Frangistan, can think of a mountain maid like me, who has never pa.s.sed her native sh.o.r.es? Perhaps, you spoke but in sport; but no, you would not tamper thus with my heart."

"Ina, could words alone convince you how ardently I love you, I would speak them," answered Thaddeus; "but no language has fitting words to express my feelings. I would die to save you from harm. Dearest Ina, can you love me?"

"Love you? Blessed joy! oh yes! Perhaps, I do not love you as I ought; still I would not that any arm but yours should have saved me from him that would have torn me from you. Do you think I love you now?"

"Yes, dearest," said her lover, folding her in his arms as her head sank upon his neck. "Yes, Ina, by yonder cross I swear to guard you with my life; to love no other but you."

"Indeed 'tis bliss to hear you speak such words," answered the maid. "A short time ago I thought I loved but one--my honoured father; and then, my brother coming, shared my love; but now I feel my heart too small to hold the love I bear for you. The feelings which I bear for those dear ones I would tell to all the world; but what I feel for you is a treasured secret I would tell to none but you."

"Ina, you are my own," exclaimed Thaddeus. "Oh never deem that I could share my love for you with any other: the very thought were sacrilege.

How ardently have I longed before to say this to you--to learn from your own sweet lips, if you could feel the same for me! But still I feared that I could not be worthy of such love as yours."

We must no longer attempt to describe the words with which the young Pole told the deep feelings of his heart to the pure and gentle Ina.

Side by side they sat, nor thought how fast the hours sped. The sun had long gone down, the stars came out glittering in the dark clear blue sky, and the moon arose in pure and tranquil majesty to witness their guiltless love, throwing her silvery beams through the dark trees of the grove. Yet still they lingered, pouring into each other's ears the words of soft endearment.

At length they rose from the spot hallowed for ever in their memory, when a gentle step approached, and young Conrin stood before them. Ina thought she heard a sob. He spoke at last in low and hurried tones--

"I came to warn you that night approaches," he said. "You'll be sought for anxiously in the hamlet, and great alarm will be felt when you are missed."

"Ah, is it indeed so late?" said Ina. "I thought we had pa.s.sed but a few minutes here. We will hasten home."

"I will guard you to your home, dear Ina!" said Thaddeus, as he supported her steps.

Though both knew that they ought to hasten, yet neither felt any inclination to quicken their pace, as they pa.s.sed through the sacred grove, and chose, they knew it not, the longest road to the village.

They had yet much to say, when they found themselves at the gate of the anderoon. Young Conrin followed slowly, and again they heard that half-stifled sob; but he sought to avoid their observation.

They stopped at the gate to whisper many more endearing words; and perhaps they might have spent another hour, fancying it but a minute, had they not been startled by the harsh sounds of Kahija's voice, who had bustled out in no sweet temper at the long absence of her young charge.

"Truly, these are pretty doings for a maiden, to be staying from home at this late hour. What would have been said, had any of the inmates of old Mustapha's harem, at Stamboul, taken it into their silly heads to wander about in this way? They would soon have found themselves at the bottom of the Bosphorus, I warrant. That is the way young ladies are treated, who misbehave themselves in the only civilised country in the world--and a very proper way too. A pretty example you set my young lady, Zara. I suppose that she, who has always been so correct--thanks to my instructions--will take it into her head next, to go gadding about in the same way. But, I'll take care she does no such thing I'll promise her. I hope to see the free manners of the girls, of this country, reformed before I die. It's quite dreadful, scandalous, to see them wandering about in this independent manner, with their veils thrown off their faces to let everybody stare at them who likes. Come, Sir,"

she said, turning to Thaddeus; "I wonder you stay here. I thought you knew that the anderoon was forbidden ground to any man but my lord. I should think you had enough of my lady's company already."

But Thaddeus felt no inclination to move without speaking a word more of farewell; and old Kahija, having vented some of her wrath; and not being, in reality, ill-natured; saw it was useless opposing an affair, which was, indeed, no business of hers. She therefore turned away for a few minutes, during which time Thaddeus s.n.a.t.c.hed a parting embrace from his mistress, drawing a promise from her to meet him again on the next day.

When the old nurse returned, the intruder, much to her satisfaction, was gone. Ina then entered the anderoon, when Zara, throwing aside the embroidery she was engaged on, sprang forward to meet her.

"Dear Ina," she exclaimed, "I feared some other danger had befallen you, that you returned not before."

"No danger could happen to me where I went," answered Ina; "I was safe from every harm. So lovely an evening to wander out!" she added, with a little pardonable deceit. "I wonder you can bear to be so shut up."

"I, too, should like to wander out to breathe the air of evening,"

answered Zara; "but old Kahija will not hear of it."

"What is that you say?" said the old nurse entering. "What! are you trying to teach Zara to follow your own wild customs? But you will not succeed; she is too good a girl to wish to do any thing of the sort.

When she marries young Alp Beg, she may do what she can; but she will be shut up close enough then; and so will you, Ina, if you marry a true believer, instead of one of these heathen countrymen of ours."

Happy were the slumbers of Ina that night as she laid her face upon her pillow. She dreamed that again she trod the sacred grove with him she loved--that again she heard his voice speaking those magic words which changed her very being--she felt the pressure of his hand in hers--and she saw the moon rise amidst the trees, the witness of their love.

Volume 3, Chapter VI.

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 pa.s.s through the valley, accompanying the corpse of some n.o.ble, 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 Circa.s.sian 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 s.n.a.t.c.hed from her by the cruel Urus.

The two fair girls were seated on an ottoman in the anderoon, while Ina worked a belt with golden thread, her first gift to Thaddeus. Zara struck the cords of her lute.

How sweet and thrilling was her voice, as she sang the following simple ballad:--

The sun shone like glittering gold on the lake, While softly the breeze through the green forest play'd; The birds sang their gay notes from rock and from brake, And sweet odours sprung from each flowery glade; There was heard too a fountain's light murmuring voice, And nature in smiles seemed with glee to rejoice.

Though nature was smiling, yet sorrow was nigh, For near a pure stream, 'neath a green willow's shade, With her quick panting bosom, a bright weeping eye, There stood, trembling with fear, a fair Atteghei maid, As a gallant youth, pressing her form in his arms, Sought, with love's parting kisses, to calm her alarms.

Mid the cl.u.s.tering forest his charger stood near.

And, his streaming mane tossing, was stamping the ground; His squire was holding his buckler and spear, While from far off came booming the cannon's deep sound.

One more agonised pang, and he tore him away, And mounted his war-steed to join the affray,

But as slowly he rode through the green leafy wood, With a lingering pace he oft turned his fond gaze, To cast one more glance where his lov'd maiden stood, Till soon she was hid by the thick forest maze; Then, spurring his charger with speed o'er the lee, Soon with fear did the foemen his dancing crest see.

Like the willow which gracefully bent o'er the stream.

The maiden stood tremb'ling and drooping with grief, Like the dew of the morn did those precious drops seem, When the bright sun-beams play on the spark'ling green leaf.

Ah! cruel the war that could make her thus mourn!

Ah! sad 'twas to leave that sweet maiden forlorn!

Then rising, she clomb o'er the mountain so high, And she look'd o'er the hill and she look'd down the vale; Saw joyous in fancy his gay banner fly, When her ear caught the sound of a funeral wail.

Through the glen, as advancing with mournful slow tread, A train bore the bier of a warrior dead.