at. "Prepare yourself: you are to go with me!"

Unlucky words! Every thing good, every thing noble, which had arisen
anew in Ammalat's breast, was crushed in a moment by them. The thought
of treachery--of exile--rushed like a torrent through his whole being
"With you!" he replied, with a malicious smile--"with you, and into
Russia?--undoubtedly: if you go yourself!" and in a passion of rage he
urged his horse into a gallop, in order to have time to prepare his
arms; suddenly turned back to meet him; flew by him, and began to ride
rapidly in a circle around him. At each stride of his horse, the flame
of rage burned more fiercely within him: it seemed as if the wind, as it
whistled past him, kept whispering "Kill, kill! he is your enemy.
Remember Seltanetta!" He brought his rifle forward from his shoulder,
cocked it, and encouraging himself with a cry, he galloped with
blood-thirsty decision to his doomed victim. Verkhoffsky, meanwhile, not
cherishing the least suspicion, looked quietly at Ammalat as he galloped
round, thinking that he was preparing, after the Asiatic manner, for the
djigitering (equestrian exercises.)

"Fire at your mark, Ammalat Bek!" he exclaimed to the murderer who was
rushing towards him.

"What mark can be better than the breast of a foe?" answered Ammalat
Bek, riding up, and at ten paces' distance pulling the trigger!... the
gun went off: and slowly, without a groan, the colonel sank out of his
saddle. His affrighted horse, with expanded nostrils and streaming mane,
smelt at his rider, in whose hands the reins that had so lately guided
him began to stiffen: and the steed of Ammalat stopped abruptly before
the corpse, setting his legs straight before him. Ammalat leaped from
his horse, and, resting his arms on his yet smoking gun, looked for
several moments steadfastly in the face of the murdered man; as if
endeavouring to prove to himself that he feared not that fixed gaze,
those fast-dimming eyes--that fast-freezing blood. It would be difficult
to understand--'twere impossible to express the thoughts which rolled
like a whirlwind through his breast. Saphir Ali rode up at full gallop;
and fell on his knees by the colonel--he laid his ear to the dying man's
mouth--he breathed not--he felt his heart--it beat not! "He is dead!"
cried Saphir Ali in a tone of despair. "Dead! quite dead!"

"So much the better ... My happiness is complete!..." exclaimed Ammalat,
as if awakening from a dream.

"Happin