again, but act upon what I say,
as if they were my dying words. God bless you, Nicaeus! No murmuring. For
once let the physician, indeed, command his page. Gentle lady, commend
me to your father. Would I had such a daughter in Epirus, to head my
trusty brethren if I fall. Tell the great Hunniades my legacy to him is
my country. Farewell, farewell!"

"I will not say farewell!" exclaimed Iduna; "I too can fight. I will
stay and die with you."

"See they come! Believe me I shall conquer. Fly, fly, thou noble girl!
Guard her well, Nicaeus. God bless thee, boy! Live and be happy. Nay,
nay, not another word. The farther ye are both distant, trust me, the
stronger will be my arm. Indeed, indeed, I do beseech ye, fly!"

Nicaeus placed the weeping Iduna in her saddle, and after leading her
horse over the narrow and broken bridge, mounted his own, and then they
ascended together the hilly and winding track. Iskander watched them as
they went. Often Iduna waved her kerchief to her forlorn champion. In
the meantime Iskander tore off his Armenian robes and flung them into
the river, tried his footing on the position he had taken up, stretched
his limbs, examined his daggers, flourished his scimitar.

The bridge would only permit a single rider to pass abreast. It was
supported by three arches, the centre one of very considerable size, the
others small, and rising out of the shallow water on each side. In many
parts the parapet wall was broken, in some even the pathway was almost
impassable from the masses of fallen stone, and the dangerous fissures.
In the centre of the middle arch was an immense key-stone, on which was
sculptured, in high relief, an enormous helmet, which indeed gave, among
the people of the country, a title to the bridge.

A band of horsemen dashed at full speed, with a loud shout, down the
bill. They checked their horses, when to their astonishment they found
Iskander with his drawn scimitar, prepared to resist their passage. But
they paused only for a moment, and immediately attempted to swim the
river. But their exhausted horses drew back with a strong instinct from
the rushing waters: one of the band alone, mounted on a magnificent
black mare, succeeding in his purpose. The rider was half-way in the
stream, his high-bred steed snorting and struggling in the strong
current. Iskander, with the same ease as if he were plucking the ripe
fruit from a tree, took up a ponderous stone, and hurled it with fatal
p