"Then he must die. We must make an example of all deserters," said the General, "or we shall find our ranks completely empty before long. What with the desertion of these rascally slaves we have sent there as soldiers, these cursed fevers which sweep off so many, and the atrocious daring of these barbarous mountaineers, we have lost more men already than we can spare. Had I my own way, I would overwhelm these Circassians at one fell swoop, and exterminate them from the face of the earth." "I agree with you, General, this is the only way to treat them," answered the Count. Volume 3, Chapter VIII. With light and bounding heart, young Alp urged on his steed towards the smiling valley of Abran Bashi, as from the summit of the last mountain he espied amid the trees the habitation of his young and beloved Zara. He wore a Persian suit of the finest chain armour, a gift from his uncle, Achmet Beg, over which was thrown a cloak of blue cloth, trimmed with gold. A belt of Turkish leather, richly embroidered in gold, (the prized gift of his mistress, worked by her own fair hand), bound his waist, holding his jewelled dagger; and at his side hung a well tempered Damascus blade. Boots also of Turkish leather, and worked by the same loved one, covered his feet. On his head, instead of the warlike helmet, he wore a cap of cloth, trimmed with a narrow border of dark fur, overshadowed by a plume of white feathers. He looked indeed a noble bridegroom, worthy of the love of Circassia's lovely daughters, the pride of his gallant old father. By his side rode his tried and sworn friend, the son of the brave and sturdy chief, Ali Beg, his companion in many a wild and daring adventure, when they were boys together; and lately, in the sterner and sanguinary scenes of warfare. He too was in his most gallant array, his arms furbished to their utmost polish, his coat and steel almost concealed by a gay-coloured vest, and by the cloak which hung from his shoulders. He had been selected by his friend for the honourable and important post of bridesman, to escort the bride to the house of her destined lord. In the meantime, young Zara was counting the hours, as they seemed to crawl by, ere he came; and in spite of all old Kahija's notions of propriety, stole often and furtively to the wicket of the enclosure surrounding the anderoon, to throw many a searching glance up the valley to the summit of the hill, over which she knew her knight must pass. Then she would run back again, and pretend to be busily engaged in her work, her ear anxiously intent to catch the sounds of his horse's hoofs, as her eye was to search for his graceful figure. Then she would persuade herself and her friend that she had a head-ache, and that a little more fresh air would wonderfully benefit her; and she would seize Ina's arm, and hurry off. Her friend fully comprehended the reasons of her constant visits to the gate.