e than usually animated. The sun
poured his floods of gold on the dark walls of the flat-roofed saklas,
clothing them with fantastic shadows, and adding beauty to their forms.
In the distance, crawling along the mountain, the creaking arbas[16]
flitted among the grave-stones of a little burial-ground ... past them,
before them, flew a horseman, raising the dust along the road ... the
mountain crest and the boundless sea gave grandeur to this picture, and
all nature breathed a glow of life.

[16] A kind of rude cart with two wheels.

"He comes, he comes!" was murmured through the crowd; all was in motion.
The horsemen, who till now had been chattering with their acquaintance
on foot, or disorderedly riding about the meadow, now leaped upon their
steeds, and dashed forward to meet the cavalcade which was descending to
the plain: it was Ammalat Bek, the nephew of the Shamkhal[17] of Tarki,
with his suite. He was habited in a black Persian cloak, edged with
gold-lace, the hanging sleeves thrown back over his shoulders. A Turkish
shawl was wound round his arkhaloukh, which was made of flowered silk.
Red shalwars were lost in his yellow high-heeled riding-boots. His gun,
dagger, and pistol, glittered with gold and silver arabesque work. The
hilt of his sabre was enriched with gems. The Prince of Tarki was a
tall, well-made youth, of frank countenance; black curls streamed behind
his ears from under his cap--a slight mustache shaded his upper lip--his
eyes glittered with a proud courtesy. He rode a bright bay steed, which
fretted under his hand like a whirlwind. Contrary to custom, the horse's
caparison was not the round Persian housing, embroidered all over with
silk, but the light Circassian saddle, ornamented with silver on a black
ground; and the stirrups were of the black steel of Kharaman, inlaid
with gold. Twenty noukers[18] on spirited horses, and dressed in cloaks
glittering with lace, their caps cocked jauntily, and leaning affectedly
on one side, pranced and sidled after him. The people respectfully stood
up before their Bek, and bowed, pressing their right hand upon their
right knee. A murmur of whispered approbation followed the young chief
as he passed among the women. Arrived at the southern extremity of the
ground, Ammalat stopped. The chief people, the old men leaning upon
their sticks, and the elders of Bouinaki, stood round in a circle to
catch a kind word from the Bek; but Ammalat did not pay them any