Torn now by her maiden fear, and her respect for the customs of her forefathers, now by the passion and eloquence of her lover, the innocent Seltanetta wavered, like a light cork, upon the tempestuous billows of contending emotions.  At length she arose:  with a proud and steady air she wiped away the tears which, glistened on her eyelashes, like the amber-gum on the thorns of the larch-tree, and said, “Ammalat! tempt me not!  The flame of love will not dazzle, the smoke of love will not suffocate, my conscience.  I shall ever know what is good and what is bad; and I well know how shameful it is, how base, to desert a father’s house, to afflict loving and beloved parents!  I know all this—­and now, measure the price of my sacrifice.  I fly with you—­I am yours!  It is not your tongue which has convinced—­it is my own heart which has vanquished me!  Allah has destined me to see and love you:  let, then, our hearts be united for ever—­and indissolubly, though their bond be a crown of thorns!  Now all is over!  Your destiny is mine!”

If heaven had clasped Ammalat in its infinite wings, and pressed him to the heart of the universe—­to the sun—­even then his ecstacy would have been less strong than at this divine moment.  He poured forth the most incoherent cries and exclamations of gratitude.  When the first transports were over, the lovers arranged all the details of their flight.  Seltanetta consented to lower herself by her bed-coverings from her chamber, to the steep bank of the Ouzen.  Ammalat was to ride out in the evening with his noukers from Khounzakh, as if on a hawking party; he was to return to the Khan’s house by circuitous roads at nightfall, and there receive his fair fellow-traveller in his arms.  Then they were to take horses in silence, and then—­let enemies keep out of their road!

A kiss sealed the treaty; and the lovers separated with fear and hope in heart.

Ammalat Bek, having prepared his brave noukers for battle or flight, looked impatiently at the sun, which seemed loth to descend from the warm sky to the chilly glaciers of the Caucasus.  Like a bridegroom he pined for night, like an importunate guest he followed with his eyes the luminary of day.  How slowly it moved—­it crept to its setting!  An interminable space seemed to intervene between hope and enjoyment.  Unreasonable youth!  What is your pledge of success?  Who will assure you that your footsteps are not watched—­your words not caught in their flight?  Perhaps with the sun, which you upbraid, your hope will set.

About the fourth hour after noon, the time of the Mozlem’s dinner, the Sultan Akhmet Khan was unusually savage and gloomy.  His eyes gleamed suspiciously from under his frowning brows; he fixed them for a long space, now on his daughter, now on his young guest.  Sometimes his features assumed a mocking expression, but it again vanished in the blush of anger.  His questions were biting, his conversation was interrupted; and all this awakened in the soul of Seltanetta repentance—­in the heart of Ammalat apprehension.  On the other hand, the Khansha, as if dreading a separation from her lovely daughter, was so affectionate and anxious, that this unmerited tenderness wrung tears from the gentle-hearted Seltanetta, and her glance, stealthily thrown at Ammalat, was to him a piercing reproach.