If any one has followed my little adventures only half as carefully as I have tried to tell them, he will see that the time had now come and gone, for my second visit to St. Winifred's, otherwise Little Guinib. And I would have set forth what happened then, if it had been worth mentioning. But except for the medical treatment received, I might just as well have stayed away, for I never got a glimpse of Dariel; and her father was in such a sad state of mind, that he scarcely cared to speak at all. Being a most kind and courteous gentleman, he begged me to make due allowance for him, for this was the anniversary of the most unhappy day of his life, and in truth it would have been better for him, if he had died before he saw that day. One of the worst things of being a gentleman, or of having high-culture like Miss Ticknor, is that you must not ask questions, or even hint at your desire to know more, but sit upon the edge of curiosity in silence, although it may be cutting you like hoop-iron on the top-rail. And this feeling was not by any means allayed, when I saw the great henchman Stepan in the court hanging his head, and without his red cross; and when with the tender of five shillings' worth of sympathy, I ventured to ask him to explain his woe, his only answer was—"Me no can."

But when another week had passed, and my next visit became due, the hills, and the valley, and everything else had put on a different complexion. It was not like a sunset when the year is growing old; but as lively and lovely as a morning of the May, when all the earth is clad in fresh apparel, and all the air is full of smiling glances at it. There came to my perception such a bright wink from the west, and so many touches, on the high ground and the low, of the encouragement of heaven to whatsoever thing looks up at it, that in my heart there must have been a sense it had no words for—a forecast of its own perhaps that it was going to be pleased, far beyond the pleasure of the eyes and mind. And in that prophecy it hit the mark, for who should meet me at a winding of the path, but Dariel herself, no other? Dariel, my darling!

As yet she knew not—and I shivered with the thought that she might never care to know—in what lowly but holy shrine she was for ever paramount. But a little blush, such as a white rose might feel at the mark H. C. in an exhibition, answered my admiring gaze; and then I was nowhere in the splendour of her eyes—nowhere, except for being altogether there.

But with no such disturbance was her mind astray. Alas, it was "all there," as sharp as the wits of the last man who wanted to sell me a horse. And she did not want to sell me anything; only to keep her precious value to herself. What a shame it is to leave things so that a poor fellow never knows how to begin! But that was not her meaning. In all her lovely life, she never meant anything that was not kind.

"I am not quite assured," she began, after waiting for me to speak,—as if I could, with the tongue in such a turbulence of eyes and heart!—"it is beyond my knowledge of English society, Mr. Cran-lee, to be confident that I am taking the correct step, in advancing in this manner to declare to you the things that have come into my thoughts. But if I have done wrong, you will pardon me, I hope, because I am so anxious about very dismal things."

"I assure you," I answered, with a flourish of my hat which I had been practising upon the road, "that it is of the very best English society. If we dared, we should insist upon it upon every occasion, Mademoiselle."

"You must not call me that, sir. I am not of the French. I prefer the English nation very greatly. There has only been one name given to me by my father, and that is Dariel."

"It is the sweetest name in all the world. Oh, Dariel, am I to call you Dariel?"

"If it is agreeable to you, Mr. Cran-lee, it will be also agreeable to me; for why should you not pronounce me the same as Stepan does, and Allai?"—oh, that was a cruel fall for me. "Although I have passed most of my life in England, and some of it even in London, I have not departed from the customs of my country, which are simple, very simple. See here is Kuban and Orla too! Will you not make reply to them?"

How could I make reply to dogs, with Dariel's eyes upon me? Many fellows would have been glad to kick Kuban and his son Orla, to teach them better than to jump around emotions so far above them. But not I, or at any rate not for more than half a moment; so sweetly was my spirit raised, that I never lifted either foot. Some of Dariel's gentle nature came to strike the balance; for I may have been a little short of that.

"Good dogs, noble dogs, what a pattern to us!" I had a very choice pair of trousers on, worthy of Tom Erricker,—if his had been ever bashful,—and in another minute there scarcely would have been enough of them left to plough in.

But the joy of my heart—as I was beginning already to myself to call her—perceived at a glance the right thing to do; and her smile and blush played into one another, as the rising sun colours the veil he weaves.

"If Mr. Cran-lee will follow me, a step or two, I will show him a place where the dogs dare not to come."

"Follow thee! Follow thee! Wha wud na follow thee?" came into my head, with a worthier sequence, than ever was vouchsafed to Highlanders.

"Where the dogs dare not come"—I kept saying to myself, instead of looking to the right or left. The music of her voice seemed to linger in those words, though they have not even a fine English sound, let alone Italian. But my mind was so far out of call that it went with them into a goodly parable. "All men are dogs in comparison, with her. Let none of them come near, where ever it may be, except the one dog, that is blest beyond all others."

"Are you a Christian?" The question came so suddenly, that it sounded like a mild rebuke—but no, it was not meant so. The maiden turned towards me at a little wicket-gate, and her face expressed some doubt about letting me come in.

"Yes, I am a Christian," I answered pretty firmly, and then began to trim a little—"not a very hot one I should say. Not at all bigoted, I mean; not one of those who think that every other person is a heathen."

I had made a mull of it. For the first time I beheld a smile of some contempt upon the gentle face. And I resolved to be of the strictest Orthodoxy evermore. Feeble religious views did not suit her.

"Christian! I should think so," I proceeded with high courage. "There is scarcely a church-tower for ten miles round, that has not been built by my ancestors." Possibly this assertion needed not only a grain but a block of salt.

But Dariel was of good strong faith, without which a woman deserves only to be a man. She opened the gate, and let me in, so beautifully that I was quite afraid.

"You must not be frightened," she said, with a very fine rally of herself, to encourage mine, "it is the House of the Lord, and you have come into it with your hat on. But you did not know, because there is no roof."

No roof, and no walls, and no anything left, except the sweet presence of this young maid. I took off my hat, and tried to think of the Creed, and the Catechism, and my many pious ancestors, if there had been any. And I almost tumbled over a great pile of ruin stones.

"We will not go in there, because—because we are not thinking of it properly," she pointed, as she spoke, to an inner circle of ruins, with some very fine blackberries just showing colour; and suddenly I knew it as the sanctuary, in which I had first descried her kneeling figure. "But here we may sit down, without—without—it is a long word, Mr. Cran-lee, I cannot quite recall it."

"Desecration," I suggested, and she looked at me with doubt, as if the word had made the thing. "But you do not think it will be that, if I speak of my dear father here?"

I was very near telling her that we think nothing of such old monkish ruins, except to eat our chicken-pie, and drink our bottled beer in their most holy places; but why should I shock her feelings so? Little knows the ordinary English girl, that when she displays her want of reverence for the things above her, she is doing all she can to kill that feeling towards herself, which is one of her choicest gifts.

"Dariel, you may be quite sure of this," I replied, after taking my seat upon a stone, over against the one she had chosen, but lower, so that I could look up at her; "a place of holy memories like this is the very spot especially fitted for—for consideration of your dear father. Some of my ancestors no doubt were the founders of this ancient chapel, so that I speak with some authority, upon a point of that sort."

All content has a murmur in it, according to the laws of earth; and within a few yards of my joy, the brook with perpetual change of tone, and rise and fall of liquid tune, was making as sweet a melody as a man can stop to hearken. But the brook might have ceased its noise for shame, at the music of my Dariel's voice. She gave me a timid glance at first, not for any care of me, but doubt of unlocking of her heart; and then the power of a higher love swept away all sense of self.

"My father, as you must have learned already, is one of the greatest men that have ever lived. There are many great men in this country also, in their way, which is very good; but they do not appear to cast away all regard for their own interests, in such a degree as my father does; and although they are very high Christians, they stop, or at least they appear to stop short of their doctrines, when the fear arises of not providing for themselves. They call it a question of the public good, and they are afraid of losing commerce.

"But my father is not of that character. The thing that is recommended to him by religion is the thing he does, and trade is not superior to God's will. Please to take notice of this, Mr. Cran-lee, because it makes him difficult to be persuaded. And now he has told me quite lately a thing, which if he adheres to it as he always does, will take him away, will extinguish, and altogether terminate him."

She turned her head aside, that I might not see the tears that were springing upon either cheek, and a cloud of very filmy lace, from the strange octagonal cap she wore, mingled with the dark shower of her hair.

"Oh, no, oh, no! that shall never be," I answered, as if I were master of the world; "oh, Dariel, don't let your beautiful eyes—"

"It is of my father and not of myself we are speaking, Mr. Cran-lee. And you are surprised what reason I can have for—for inviting you to give opinion. But it is not your opinion for which I make petition, or not the opinion only, but the assistance of kind action from you, if you can indeed be persuaded. And before that can be accomplished, I must expand to you things that you may not have been informed, concerning my father, you know, do you not?"

"Nothing, or very little except what you yourself have told me. I know all about Daghestan of course,"—so I did by this time, or at least all that was in the CyclopÆdia,—"and that your father has been a very great man there; and I can see that he has been accustomed to authority and probably to wars, and that he is worshipped by his retainers, and that he has some especial purpose here and prefers a private life, but is kind enough to give me admission because of my accident; and after that, let me see, what else do I know? Why nothing at all, except that he has wonderful taste, and sense of order, and the loveliest dau—door-painting I ever beheld; and after that—"

"Door-painting of great loveliness! I do not remember to have seen that; my father has never concealed from me—I will ask him—"

"Door-nailing is what I should have said, of course, Fleur de Lis flourishes, classic patterns. But what is all that in comparison with him? A man of majestic appearance, and a smile—have you ever beheld such a smile?"

"Never!" cried Dariel, with great delight, "but I expected not that you would already be captured with that demonstrance. It shows how good he was to be pleased with you, for he is not taken in with every one. But now please to listen, while I tell you, so far as my acquaintance of your language goes with me, what the condition is of circumstances tending about my father. Only I know not the half of it myself, for he fears to make me so solicitous; and it would not be just for me to ask questions of people of the lower rank, in whom he has placed confidence; though Stepan could tell me many things if he thought proper, and I have proved to him that it is his duty.

"My father is the Prince, as they call it in most countries, though he never takes it to himself, of the highest and noblest and most ancient of the tribes belonging to the Lesghian race. The great warrior Shamyl, who contended so long against all the armies of Russia, was of the lower, the Moslem division of the ancient Lesghian race, which is of the first origin of mankind, and has kept itself lofty as the mountains.

"But when all the other tribes fell away, with treachery and jealousy, and bribery, and cowardice, and Shamyl himself was betrayed in his stronghold, my father, who had been called to take the place of his father who died in battle, at the head of the Christian and higher division of the race, could not prolong the war. Not that he was vanquished, that could never happen to him; but because all the Mohammedans, who had made what they call a holy war of it, would not go on under the command of a Christian, and they showed themselves so treacherous that they betrayed him, for money no doubt, of which they were too loving, into the hands of the Russian General. Every one expected that he would be destroyed on account of the bitterness between them, and the many times when he had been victorious. But the Russian Commander was much pleased with him, from the nobility of his manners, and treated him very gently, and finding that he was a Christian and descended from English Crusaders, according to the red cross which we always wear, as the badge of our lineage against the Moslem tribes, he obtained permission from Moscow to release him upon very generous conditions. His great extent of property was not taken from him, as was done to most of the other chiefs, who had fought so long against Russia, but was placed in the hands of a kinsman as his steward, and he was only banished for fourteen years, until there should be no chance of any further war.

"My father made the best of all these things. He collected all the relics of his patrimony, and travelled to many other lands, and then settled in England, having learned while a boy in the 'City of languages,' where he was educated, to speak the English language as well as many others, German, French, Italian, Russian, Arabic, almost every tongue, for which he has a talent not granted to his daughter. But above all, he loves his own Lesghian words; and the rest of his life, if he ever goes home, will be spent for the education of the Lesghian people. He will never conspire against Russia any more. He says that the tribes of the Caucasus are made up of every race under the sun, are always in conflict with one another, and speak, I forget how many languages, and have, I forget how many forms of religion, whenever they have any religion at all. But though he sees all these things, and is of the largest mind ever vouchsafed to a man, he is filled in his heart with perpetual longing to be among the mountains of his early days, and to finish all his wanderings in his first home. The fourteen years of his exile will expire very soon; and then what a joy there would be for him! I also long, more than it is possible to explain, to see the most noble land the Lord has ever made, though I only behold it in dreams sometimes, according to his description. For although I was born in the noblest part under the shadow of Kazbek and in the most magnificent Pass of the earth, from which my name is taken, I was but a babe when my father took me with him."

"If it must be so, if you must leave England," I asked with a very grim smile, for what on earth would become of me without her, and I did not even belong to the Alpine Club, "why should you be so unhappy about it? I fear there is no one in this country whom it would pain you much to leave. I fear that you find all English people rather dull, and cold, and uninteresting, and you will be too glad to be quit of them."

"I hear that they are cold, but I do not perceive it." Her glance as she said this was beyond interpretation; could it mean any cruel check to me? "They are the first nation of all mankind, my father has declared to me, many times; but of such matters I have not yet arrived to think. The thing that makes me full of fear about going from this safe land is, that though the people may be dull and cold, as you do describe them, among them there is law and justice, and the wicked men are hanged whenever they require it. But, alas, my father says that among his noble people, no one can be sure of that."

"Dariel," I exclaimed with amazement, having made up my mind that her nature was all softness and all sweetness, "surely you would never wish to be sure of anybody being hanged."

"I would never go to see it, as the people do in England, and I am not at all convinced that it ought to be done here. But in lands where the law of men's lives is revenge, even upon those of their own family, what else is there to prevent them from committing murder? And that which terrifies me from all pleasure of seeing the land of my birth consists of that. Our family, the highest of the Lesghian race, have not that most wicked rule of blood-revenge; but all the other tribes around them have; and I am in the most dreadful alarm that my father has done something to make him subject to that barbarous, abominable, horrible—oh, what shall I do? what shall I do?"

Once more, I made offer to administer to her the kindest and softest consolation; but she turned away sobbing, yet concealing it, as if it could be no concern of mine. And this made me feel—I should be sorry to say how.

I believe that there is a bit of sulkiness in love, even with a man; and perhaps a large lump in a woman, because they are obliged to let it grow. At any-rate I held my tongue. If her ladyship did not think me worthy of her confidence after all I felt, perhaps there was somebody else who deserved it. I knocked my stick against my trousers; and it almost seemed to me, as if I should like to whistle, if I mattered so little to the wind and sky.

"You are offended! You are angry with me!" cried Dariel turning round, as if she were the larger part of me recoiling upon all the littleness. "But I cannot tell you what I do not know. Everything is so dark to me."

Now whether it was mean of me, or noble, depends upon the right view of the case; but before she could repent of being kind, I got hold of her hand, and kissed it so as to assure her of my forgiveness. Then the loveliest colour ever seen on earth arose in her face, and in her eyes there was the sweetest light just for a moment, and then she trembled, and I was afraid of myself.

By mutual accord we dropped that point. But I knew that she felt for the first time in her heart that the whole of mine belonged to it. Crafty love and maiden fear combined to let that bide a while.

"I fear that it is too selfish of me, and too great trespass upon your good-will," she said without looking at me again, "if I ask you to help me in this matter. But you do admire my father, I think. Nobody can meet him without that."

"He is the noblest and the grandest man I have ever had the honour of speaking to. I wish that I could only do something for him. There can be no trespass on my good-will. Only tell me plainly."

"This is all I know, and I dare not ask more, for it is not considered good to tell me. There is one day in the year of great sorrow and bitterness, through something that has happened in my father's life. It is something that he himself has done, though no one could believe that he would ever commit a sin. Last year, and every year before that until now, I was away and saw nothing of it, being under education with good ladies of great learning. But now that is finished, and it was not possible for the tribulation to be concealed from me. Long before that I had known there was something of very great misfortune and calamity to us; but I have never been permitted to hear more about it; and how can I learn, of whom can I enquire? Stepan knows, I am almost sure of that; and perhaps Baboushka does—but as for telling me—it appears that with our people, the young maidens are kept out of reach of all knowledge; but I have been brought up in England, and it is not curiosity, Mr. Cran-lee, you must not be in such error as to think that I have curiosity. It is anxiety, and love of my dear father, which any one of any age or nation has a right to; and if he is to go back into that land of danger without my knowing what I have to dread, or what to save him from, how can I be of any use? He had better have no daughter."

"Shall I go and ask him all about it? He may think what he likes of me; if it will be of any good to you. No, that is not exactly what I mean. What I mean is, that I will take any row upon myself."

"I can scarcely understand what the English is of that." Oh, Dariel, can even you tell fibs? "But if it is anything, Mr. Cran-lee, of a proposal unpleasant to you, and offering unkindness to my father, it is the very last thing I would desire you to do. And what would become of you, when he regarded you, as he has the power of doing to those—to those—who show him what you call impertinence? What I was thinking of was quite different to that. And though it would give some trouble, which I have no right to seek from you, there could not be anything unbecoming in it. I thought of it last night, when I was in such sorrow that I could not sleep with any happiness. My father has one great friend in London, a gentleman known to him in our native land, and who was a great part of his coming to this country. He understands everything of our situation here, and I have seen him several times. My father has told me to make application to him, if anything should arise, beyond his own assistance. The gentleman is not of our own rank of life, because he is of commerce, which we do not understand. Nevertheless he is very wealthy, and nothing can be more respected than that point in England. He is now entitled Signor Nicolo, because it is better among the nations with whom he has dealings with the precious stones. But by birth, and of language, and the ways of thinking, he has always been an Englishman of the name of Nickols. And he is of an integrity beyond all common foreign names. He resides in the best part of London, mentioned by your great Shakespeare, and still called Hatton Garden."

"And you would like me to go and see him?" I enquired with the greatest alacrity, perceiving a good chance now of discovering many things still mysterious; "Dariel, it shall be done to-morrow. Don't talk of trouble, I beseech you."

"It is not only that," she answered, already assuming her right to my services, which women are never very slow to do; "but also the difficulty that Signor Nicolo will have to perceive in what authority you come. It is not as if you bore any message, or power of enquiry from my father, for he would not wish at all that I should so employ myself. And if you do this for me, Mr. Cran-lee, you must bear in mind that my dear father will perhaps be much displeased that it has been done; and then although he is so just and righteous, he will inflict the whole of the blame upon you, because he can never find any fault with me. And then perhaps you would never come here any more."

"Oh, that wouldn't do at all!" I exclaimed, hoping that I saw a little sadness in her eyes; "I shall put old Nickols under a frightful pledge, penalty of his very biggest diamond, never to let that cat out of the bag."

"He is not old Nickols. He is quite a young man, very clever, and very agreeable. And he has promised to do anything in the world for me. Signor Nicolo is a gentleman you would be much delighted to converse with."

"Now you must know much better than that," thought I, "the more delightful he is, the more hateful to me." However, she did not seem to catch that clue; but went on, as unconscious as the wire in the air is of its own significance.

"The last time he was here, I told him of my ancient ruby cross, the one which I wear most frequently, when I come to pray for my father here. It has been preserved in our family from the period of the Crusades; when the noble prisoners, escaping to our mountains, converted our tribe from idolatry, and married the fairest of the maidens. Signor Nicolo desires much to see it; and I will lend it to you, Mr. Cran-lee; and then he will know that you have a right to ask concerning the questions of my father. And the great question that you go to enquire of is this, whether he can go back to the land belonging to him, without the greatest peril to his own dear life."

"It is my determination," I replied, with some infection of her freely imported English, so sweet was the voice conveying it, "not to leave this matter now, until I have got to the bottom of it. Is there any other Prince, or Jeweller, or Crusader, whose ins and outs I ought to know, before I can deal with him properly?" My wrath grew as its tongue rolled on; and what tongue but our own can tell it then?

"There is another gentleman who has expressed a desire for a knowledge of our position here, and a little interview with me," she spoke as if she lived without any dogs, or walls, or river, and I resolved at once to make Kuban and Orla as savage as Grab himself was; "but him I have not as yet beheld at all. And he is a Prince, as you suppose so well, possessed of great power already, even while he is so young, because of his courage and noble appearance, and desire to die for his country. He is a cousin of mine; and I have heard—but my father is most righteous in whatever he proposes."

She dropped her beautiful eyes with a blush; and it was lucky that she did not see me grind my teeth, for verily I must have looked—however, I controlled myself. "What's the fellow's name?" was the only thing I said.

"Prince Hafer, the Chief of the Ossets," she answered, looking with great surprise at me.

"Ossets! If I don't make bones of him," I muttered; "but pardon me. Can I have the cross at once? I cannot go to see your dear father to-night. Important business—I had quite forgotten. But yours shall be the first attended to. Oh, Dariel, Dariel, I must be off, before I say anything to vex you. Send Allai to-morrow night, and you shall hear of that young Nickols."

Probably she thought I was mad, and she was not far wrong, if she did so. She gave me the cross, to get rid of me perhaps; and I snatched her hand and kissed it, and was out of sight in no time.