my bride I will lay a heart which
once I reckoned more precious than the throne-cushion[25] of the
Persian Padishah. Wonderful destiny!... Innocent girl!... You will be
the cause of an unheard of deed. Kindest of beings, for you friends will
tear each other like ferocious beasts--for you and through you--and is
it really for you alone--with ferocity--with ferocity only! Verkhoffsky
said, that to kill an enemy by stealth, is base and cowardly. But if I
cannot do it otherwise? But can he be believed?... Hypocrite! He wished
to entangle me beforehand; not my hands alone, but even my conscience.
It was in vain.

[25] This cushion is embroidered with jewels, and is invaluable.

... I have loaded my rifle. What a fine round barrel--what admirable
ornaments! The rifle I received from my father--my father got it from my
grandfather. I have heard of many celebrated shots made with it--and not
one, not one was fired by stealth.... Always in battle--always before
the whole army, it sent death; but wrong, but treachery, but you,
Seltanetta!... My hand will not tremble to level a shot at him, whose
name it is afraid even to write. One loading, one fire, and all is
over!...

One loading! How light, but how heavy will be each grain of powder in
the scales of Allah! How far--how immeasurably will this load bear a
man's soul? Accursed thou, the inventor of the grey dust, which delivers
a hero into the hand of the vilest craven, which kills from afar the
foe, who, with a glance, could have disarmed the hand raised against
him! So, this shot will tear asunder all my former ties, but it will
clear a road to new ones. In the cool Caucasus--on the bosom of
Seltanetta, will my faded heart be refreshed. Like a swallow will I
build myself a nest in a stranger land--like a swallow, the spring shall
be my country. I will cast from me old sorrows, as the bird sheds its
feathers.... But the reproaches of conscience, can they fade?... The
meanest Lezghin, when he sees in battle the man with whom he has shared
bread and salt, turns aside his horse, and fires his gun in the air. It
is true he deceives me; but have I been the less happy? Oh, if with
these tears I could weep away my grief--drown with them the thirst for
vengeance--buy with them Seltenetta! Why comes on the dawn of day so
slowly? Let it come! I will look, without blushing, at the sun--without
turning pale, into the eyes of Verkhoffsky. My heart is like iron--it is
locked against m