ess for you--for you, fratricide! If you meet happiness, the
world will take to Shaitan instead of Allah."

"Saphir Ali, remember that you are not my judge!" said Ammalat fiercely,
as he put his foot into the stirrup: "follow me!"

"May remorse alone accompany you, like your shadow! From this hour I am
not your companion."

Pierced to the very bottom of his heart by this reproach from a man to
whom he had been from infancy bound by the closest ties, Ammalat uttered
not a word, but pointing to his astounded noukers in the ravine, and
perceiving the pursuit begun, dashed into the mountains like an arrow.

The alarm soon spread through the advanced guard of the detachment: the
officers, who were in front, and the Don Kazaks, flew to the shot, but
they came too late. They could neither prevent the crime nor seize the
flying assassin. In five minutes the bloody corpse of the treacherously
murdered colonel was surrounded by a crowd of officers and soldiers.
Doubt, pity, indignation were written on all their faces. The
grenadiers, leaning on their bayonets, shed tears, and sobbed aloud:
unflattering drops poured above the brave and much-loved chief.

CHAPTER XIII.

For three days and nights did Ammalat wander about the mountains of
Daghestan. As a Mussulman, even in the villages subject to the Russian
dominion, he was safe from all pursuit among people for whom robbery and
murder are virtues. But could he escape from the consciousness of his
own crime? Neither his heart nor his reason could find an excuse for his
bloody deed; and the image of Verkhoffsky falling from his horse,
presented itself unceasingly before his eyes, though closed. This
recollection infuriated him yet more, yet more tortured him. The
Asiatic, once turned aside from the right road, travels rapidly over the
career of villany. The Khan's command, not to appear before him but with
the head of Verkhoffsky, rang in his ears. Without daring to communicate
such an intention to his noukers, and still less relying on their
bravery, he resolved upon travelling to Derbend alone. A darksome and
gloomy night had already expanded it ebon wings over the mountains of
Caucasus which skirt the sea, when Ammalat passed the ravine which lay
behind the fortress of Narin-Kali, which served as a citadel to Derbend.
He mounted to the ruined turret, which once formed the limit to the
Caucasian war that had extended through the mountains, and tied his
horse at the foot