I went to the garden; and in that same hop arbor where the first confession had taken place between Selim and Hania, I cried, as after the death of some dear one. In truth, the former Hania had died for me, or rather, my love had died; and in my heart there remained merely emptiness and pain, as if from an incurable wound, and a memory that presses tears from the eyes. I sat long and long. The quiet autumn evening began to flush in the twilight on the tree-tops. They looked for me in the house; at last my father entered the hop arbor. He looked at me and respected my sorrow. "Poor boy!" said he, "God has visited thee grievously; trust in Him. He knows always what He does." I rested my head on my father's breast, and for some time we were both silent. "Thou wert greatly attached to her," said my father, after a while. "So tell me, if I were to say to thee, Give her thy hand for a lifetime, what wouldst thou answer?" "Father," replied I, "love may fly from me, but honor never. I am ready." My father kissed me heartily, and said,-- "May God bless thee! I recognize thee, but it is not thy duty, not thy obligation; it is Selim's." "Will he come here?" "He will come with his father. His father knows everything now." In fact, Selim came about dusk. When he saw Hania, he grew red, and then as pale as linen. For a while a great struggle between his heart and his conscience was evident on his face. It was clear that from him too that winged bird, whose name is love, had flown. But the noble youth conquered himself. He rose, stretched out his arms, fell on his knees before Hania, and cried,-- "My Hania! I am always the same; I will never desert thee,--never, never!" Abundant tears were flowing down Hania's face; but she pushed Selim away gently. "I do not believe, I do not believe that it is possible to love me now," said she; then covering her face with her hands, she cried,-- "Oh, how kind and noble you all are! I alone am less noble, more sinful; but now all is ended. I am another person." And in spite of the insistence of the old Mirza, in spite of Selim's prayers, she refused her hand. The first storm of life had broken that beautiful flower when it had barely opened. Poor girl! She needed now after the tempest some holy and peaceful harbor, where she could pacify her conscience, and bring her heart to rest. She found that quiet and holy harbor. She became a Sister of Charity. Later on, new events and one terrible storm caused me for a long time to lose sight of her. But after a number of years I saw her unexpectedly. Peace and calm were depicted on those angelic features; all traces of the terrible disease had disappeared. In the black robe and white head-dress of the cloister she was beautiful as never before; but it was a beauty not of earth, beauty more angelic than human. TARTAR CAPTIVITY. FRAGMENTS FROM THE CHRONICLE OF A NOBLE, ALEXIS ZDANOBARSKI. CHAPTER I.