The frame of mind usual before a meal slowly gained the ascendancy. And when the pieces of savoury meat were taken from the cauldron, everyone had quite forgotten to be sad. Then Seltichan, forsaken by his listeners, became depressed at once, and Miore, watching his father attentively, grew gloomier still. Unable to restrain himself longer, the lad burst forth angrily to Oltungaba, as he approached: 'I can see that you really want to make away with the old man.' The latter regarded him with angry surprise. 'You are young and ignorant--' 'But nothing shall come of this,' Miore answered, and withdrew, shaking his head. This short conversation did not escape other people's attention. By the end of the banquet Seltichan had regained his usual amiability, as became a host who was entertaining the second day running without regard to his herds. But on returning to his tent he no longer concealed his anxiety, and sat meditatively before the fire, paying no heed to anything; he did not even see the supper his wife placed before him. 'Eat, Seltichan; do not grieve, my lord; I am your faithful servant!' she said at last, shaking him by the shoulder and looking at him affectionately. The old man turned enquiringly towards his wife, and smiled. He ate heartily and with relish, for, according to Tungus ideas, no event in life is great enough to deprive a fat reindeer of its savouriness. The following morning Seltichan awoke earlier than the rest, and possibly for the first time since becoming head of the family, he did not stir the half-extinguished fire, but, without waking anyone, quietly escaped from the tent. The sun was shining, although it had not yet risen above the mountains. The dawn had disappeared, and it was broad daylight. Here and there golden lines bordered the blue shadows of the clefts in the snow-clad mountains. But meanwhile in the valleys, man and Nature were still asleep:--the wood slept, wreathed in mist; the embers glowed faintly on the cool hearths; the reindeer lay on the moss in the bushes, chewing the cud. The only sounds were the gurgle of the river, and the chuckle of the mountain pheasants, which were leaving their hidden roosting places, and flying to the tree tops. The old man gazed at the familiar valley long and attentively. Suddenly he trembled. He could see a man standing before one of the tents in the distance; he also seemed to be looking at the surrounding country. Seltichan's keen glance recognized Oltungaba, but the tent, before which he was standing, belonged to the Kniaź. The old man's face clouded, and he went home. 'Get up, children!' he cried. 'Heh! Chun-Me! light the fire! You've had enough sleep for a day like this!'