th a gentle smile upon
her countenance, "let not that shadow rest upon thy brow, but rather
look with the sun on the bright side of everything. Am I not a
simple and weak girl, and yet I am cheerful and happy, while thou,
so strong, so brave and manly, art ever fearing some unknown ill."

"Only as it regards thee, Komel, do I fear anything."

"That's true, but I should inspire thee with joy, not fear and
uneasiness."

"It is only the love I bear thee, dearest, that makes me so jealous,
so anxious, so fearful lest some chance should rob me of thee
forever," he would reply tenderly.

"It is ever thus; what is there to fear, Aphiz?"

"I know not, dearest. No one feared your gentle brother's loss years
ago, and yet one day he woke happy and cheerful, and went forth to
play, but never came back again."

"You speak too truly," answered the beautiful girl with a sigh, "and
yet because harm came to him, it is no reason that it should come to
me, dear Aphiz."

"Still the fear that aught may happen to separate us is enough to
make me sad, Komel."

"Father says, that it is troubles which never happen that chiefly
make men miserable," answered the happy-spirited girl, as she laid
her head pleasantly upon Aphiz's arm.

They stood at her father's door in the closing hour of the day when
they spoke thus, and hardly had Aphiz's words died upon his lips
when the attention of both was directed towards the heavy, dark form
of a mountain-hawk, as it swept swiftly through the air, and poising
itself for an instant, marked where a gentle wood dove was perched
upon a projecting bough in the valley. Komel laid her hand with
nervous energy upon Aphiz's arm. The hawk was beyond the reach of
his rifle, and realizing this he dropped its breach once more to his
side. A moment more and the bolder bird was bearing its prey to its
mountain nest, there to feed upon it innocent body. Neither Komel
nor Aphiz uttered one word, but turned sadly away from the scene
that had seemed so applicable to the subject of their conversation.
He bade her a tender good night, but as the young mountaineer wended
his way down the valley he was sad at heart, and asked himself if
Komel might not be that dove.

So earnestly was he impressed with this idea, after the conversation
which had just occurred, that twice he turned his steps and resolved
to seek the lofty cliff where the hawk had flown, as though he could
yet release the poor dove; then remembering hi