"It was late of an October afternoon, when my heart, which had been low with hunger, hardship, and long weariness, began to glow with hope and love, as I stood at the bottom of our Karthlos steep. There was no fusilier on guard; and the granite steps and groins were choked with snow; but I sent my followers to their homes, as was only fair to them, with orders to come to a sheep-and-goat supper, if their appetites remained, when they had embraced their families. Then I sounded the great horn, fogged with cob-webs, hanging above the lower gate, and with only my faithful milk-brother Stepan, and one other trooper who belonged to our old tower, breasted the rugged and crooked ascent.

"'How wild with delight will my Oria be!' I thought, as I laboured through the drifts, for there had been no opportunity of sending any letter. 'How lonely she must have been, sweet soul, and trembling with hope of a word from me!'

"But when we reached the upper gate, there was no one even there on guard. The brazen cannon once kept so bright were buried in winding sheets of snow; and even the terrace before the door, which it was a point of hospitality to keep clean-swept for travellers, was glittering with untrodden drift. We were all in such a ragged and savage state of body, that I had ordered my two men to go round to the entrance for the maidens, and meant to do the same myself, unless my darling met me. But now, in my fierce anxiety, I thrust the main doors open, and stood in the hall, which was cold and empty. No sound of my wife's step, no patter of little feet, no welcome, no answer, no gladness anywhere.

"Doubt and terror kept me standing there; but I shouted, in hope of some great mistake—'Oria, my wife, my wife!' And then, upon the chance that she might be out—'Orry, my little son, my boy!'

"My call rang along the passages on either side, and up the stairs, and shook the plumes of mountain-grass, which she had placed in the vases; but neither wife nor child appeared; and in my famished and haggard state I fell upon a chair, and my heart began to beat, as if it would leap out of me. Then I saw a tall and stately lady, in a dress of velvet, and with a serpent of white fur wound beneath her jewelled bosom, coming down the gray stone staircase, with her eyes fixed on me, but not a word of speech.

"My voice failed me, as it does in a dream, when a sword is pointed at one's throat; but the lady came and stood before me, and a child was clinging to her dress. She looked at me with some surprise, and contempt for my ragged condition, but spoke as if she had never known a tear.

"'Imar, art thou not in haste to embrace thy twin sister Marva? The wrong thou hast done should not destroy all memory of the early days, when hers was thine, and thine was hers. I am prepared to forgive thee, Imar, in this time of tribulation.'

"'To forgive! I never harmed thee, Va;' I answered, using her childish name, as I always did in thoughts of her. 'But none of that now. Where is my wife? Hath any one dared to injure her?'

"Weak as I was, I leaped up from the chair, and it would have gone ill with Marva—for what is a sister compared to a wife?—if she had showed signs of flinching. But she gazed at me with a quiet disdain, as if I could not command myself.

"'I have not touched thy precious wife. I have not even set eyes on her. She hath done the injury to me, that is worse than theft of goods and cattle. Yet have I come hither, to do the duty she hath forsaken, and comfort her deserted husband from his mad adventures, while his treasure of a wife, his Royal Princess Oria, heiress to a hundred thrones, is enjoying herself at the hot springs in the world of fashion and luxury, with my noble husband Rakhan.'

"What I said, or did, or thought, I know not—perhaps, nothing. The world was all in a whirl with me, and perhaps I fainted, in my worn-out state. It does not matter what I did. From the strongest man in the Caucasus, I was struck to the level of the weakest child. Even my twin sister, with a woman's petty spite inflamed by jealousy and bitter wrong, had some of the echoes of childhood roused, and thought of the time when she loved me.

"'It is the part of a fool,' she said, meaning it for large comfort, 'to be so wild about a woman, and the phantasy that they call love. When I was a child, I believed in it; and to what has it brought me? To cast away my life upon a man, who swore that I was all the world to him, and believed it perhaps, while I was new. But lo, in a year he was weary of me, because I made too much of him. Hath Princess Oria done that? Nay, or thou wouldst be weary of her. Tush, what careth she for her lord? And why should he take it to heart like this? There are plenty of women in the world, my brother; and the more their husbands make of them, the less will they return it. I am the one that should lament, not thou. For I have lost a man, but thou a woman only. My husband will come back to me when he is weary of thy Georgian doll; and I shall be forced to welcome him. But thou, such is the law, thou hast it at thy pleasure to be free.'

"'Talk not to me,' I said, for this was salt rubbed into my gashes; 'go and get me food, that I may recover a little of my strength. And then, thou also shalt be free.'

"Many a time have I wondered whether she knew what I meant by those last words. If she knew it, she said nothing, but marched away in her stately style, dragging by the hand her child, who had been staring at my face all the time, as if he had never seen a man before. Marva's own servants brought me food, and I knew not what it was, but took it, not for life so much as death—for death of Rakhan, the adulterer.

"Some sleep as well was needful to me, before I could accomplish that,—sleep to restore the power of thought which seemed to have left me imbecile, as well as the vigour of my jaded body. No further would I enter my own house, but collected some rugs and bearskins—for we had not even a bourka left—and was about to throw myself on a couch, when Marva's little boy came dancing, half in fright and half in glee at his own self-importance, with a crumpled letter for me. That she should send it by such hands is enough to show how she was changed. I saw that it was from my enemy, and by the light of the one lamp they had brought me read the words that follow:—

"'Beloved brother Imar,—As thou hast given me to wife a beggar, and a shrew to boot, it is but just that I should have a share of thine to comfort me. She is soft and young and fair; and I have taken such affection for her, and she for me, as the nature of women is, that I will not charge thee for her clothes and lodgings for at least a twelvemonth. Then if she hath a son, she shall remain another twelvemonth; for Marva's child, though strong and stout, is dumb from birth, and cannot be accepted therefore as Chief Prince of Ossets. Son of Dadian, this relieves thee of the cares that oppress thee most—the lust of money (which hath made thee play the rogue), the peril of subservience to thy wife, which overtaketh weak mankind, and the fear of having more children than thine avarice would make welcome. Thou hast robbed me of good substance; I relieve thee of light stuff. And even that, if thou carest to lay claim, thou shalt have again without any charge. Thy sister I leave to thy care meanwhile. She hath never had share of her father's goods; and even thy greed cannot deny her meal and milk, till her tongue grows mild. Her raiment is with her, and will last until I am ready for her again. Unless thou dost relax of the robbery thou hast rejoiced in for five years now, and givest her the garments of her mother, as well as the third part of her father's goods. Thy wife sends her duty to thee, and bids me say that she likes thee still, but loves the man who hath his arm around her, and doth not leave her to pine alone. We shall pass a month at Patigorsk where the hot springs tend to warmth of love. And then if thou hast aught to say, we shall not shut thee out again, after doing this for thy benefit. Thy good brother Rakhan, Prince of the ancient Ossets.'"