t powerless to abate the other; and
the eyes that weep over the pathetic strains of "Lochaber" can gaze
without a tear upon the death-agonies of a slaughtered friend.

CHAPTER XIII

THE AWFUL "MISTA KOSEK"

The terrible sacrifice marked the end of the light season. The dark
season had now begun, which would last for half the coming year. No
more sunlight would now be visible, save at first for a few joms,
when at certain times the glare would be seen shooting up above the
icy crests of the mountains. Now the people all moved out of the
caverns into the stone houses on the opposite side of the terraces,
and the busy throng transferred themselves and their occupations to
the open air. This with them was the season of activity, when all
their most important affairs were undertaken and carried out; the
season, too, of enjoyment, when all the chief sports and festivals
took place. Then the outer world all awoke to life; the streets were
thronged, fleets of galleys came forth from their moorings, and the
sounds of labor and of pleasure, of toil and revelry, arose into the
darkened skies. Then the city was a city of the living, no longer
silent, but full of bustle, and the caverns were frequented but
little. This cavern life was only tolerable during the light season,
when the sun-glare was over the land; but now, when the beneficent and
grateful darkness pervaded all things, the outer world was infinitely
more agreeable.

To me, however, the arrival of the dark season brought only additional
gloom. I could not get rid of the thought that I was reserved for some
horrible fate, in which Almah might also be involved. We were both
aliens here, in a nation of kind-hearted and amiable miscreants--of
generous, refined, and most self-denying fiends; of men who were
highly civilized, yet utterly wrong-headed and irreclaimable in their
blood-thirsty cruelty. The stain of blood-guiltiness was over all the
land. What was I, that I could hope to be spared? The hope was
madness, and I did not pretend to indulge it.

The only consolation was Almah. The manners of these people were such
that we were still left as unconstrained as ever in our movements, and
always, wherever we went, we encountered nothing but amiable smiles
and courteous offices. Everyone was always eager to do anything for
us--to give, to go, to act, to speak, as though we were the most
honored of guests, the pride of the city. The Kohen was untiring in
his effo