a rainy
cloud. To her he resolved to approach, saying timidly, "Seltanetta, for
you have I committed that for which I lose you. Destiny wills it: be it
so! One thing tell me--is it possible that you, too, have ceased to love
me--that you, too, hate me?"

The well-remembered voice of the beloved pierced her heart: Seltanetta
raised her eyes glistening with tears--eyes full of woe; but on seeing
Ammalat's dreadful face, spotted with blood, she covered them again with
her hand. She pointed with her finger at her father's corpse, at the
head of Verkhoffsky, and said, with firmness, "Farewell, Ammalat! I pity
thee; but I cannot be thine!" With these words she fell senseless on her
father's body.

All his native pride, all his blood, rushed to Ammalat's heart; his soul
fired with fury. "Is it thus I am received?" casting a scornful glance
at both the women; "is it thus that promises are fulfilled here? I am
glad that my eyes are opened. I was too simple when I prized the light
love of a fickle girl--too patient when I hearkened to the ravings of an
old woman. I see, that with Sultan Akhmet Khan have died the honour and
hospitality of his house!"

He left the room with a haughty step. He proudly gazed in the face of
the Ouzdens, grasping the hilt of his dagger as if challenging them to
combat. All, however, made way for him, but seemingly rather to avoid
him than from respect. No one saluted him, either by word or sign. He
went forth into the court-yard, called his noukers together, silently
mounted into the saddle, and slowly rode through the empty streets of
Khounzakh.

From the road he looked back for the last time upon the Khan's house,
which was blackening in the darkness, while the grated door shone with
lights. His heart was full of blood; his offended pride fixed in its
iron talons, while the useless crime, and the love henceforth despised
and hopeless, poured venom on the wounds. Grief, anger, and remorse
mingled in the glance which he threw on the harem where he first saw,
and where he lost, all earthly joy. "And you, and you, Seltanetta!" he
could utter no more. A mountain of lead lay on his breast; his
conscience already felt that dreadful hand which was stretched forth
against it. The past terrified him; the future made him tremble. Where
will he rest that head on which a price is set? What earth will give
repose to the bones of a traitor? Nor love, nor friendship, nor
happiness, will ever again be his care;