In the back-ground, and drawn far up on the beach, lay their vessel, with its large angular sail stowed on deck; the yard struck, and the mast and rigging covered by green pine branches, the better to elude the observation of scouts, and to blend its outline with the surrounding trees, while heaps of branches, with dry leaves spread over all, were piled against the sides. But over the gunnel we saw several Circassian girls sitting very quietly, gazing at those rough and noisy guardians, who were to convey them to that brilliant Stamboul, which they had been taught to believe was an earthly paradise. On that little deck, and apart from all the rest, sat one who did not seem to share the placidity of her companions, or to share their joyous anticipations. Her form was enveloped in her veil, and her head was bowed upon her hands, her eyes were sad, and fixed on vacancy. My breath came thick and fast. There was a swelling in my throat, as if my heart was there, for I knew that lonely weeper was Basilia. As thirty or forty girls are usually deemed a good cargo and only ten were visible, it was evident to us that the Turks had no intention of putting to sea for some days; thus my sergeant, who had frequently been on expeditions of this kind, politely suggested--as we had ridden a long way--the expedience of sleeping quietly for that night, and slaughtering the Turks at our leisure in the morning; but my impatience would brook of no delay. Again we mounted: I divided my party into two troops, and ascending the valley of Mezip for a mile or so, descended from different points towards the head of the Bay. "Spur and sabre!" was the cry. There was a brief but sharp discharge of pistols, a gleaming of knives and flashing of sabres, and in five minutes the surrounded Turks were all trampled under hoof, shot and headless beside the fire which had lit the scene of their jollity, not one of them escaping save their deformed messmate, who dashed his lute at the head of Selim, sprung into the sea, and disappeared. The captain I sabred with my own hand; but not before he gave me this wound by a pistol shot, which grazed my left cheek like a hot iron. Inspired anew by love and triumph I sprang up the side of the vessel, and sought the lonely figure--it was as my heart divined--Basilia. I knelt before her, and took her hand in mine, trembling as I did so, for never until that moment had I touched even the hem of her garment. My soul was in my tongue, and weighed it down with words of love and joy, but one alone found utterance,-- "Basilia!" She gave a cry of wonder, and as she gazed at me, her large black eyes dilated and flashed with anger. "Basilia," said I, "do you not remember me?" "No," replied she, while trembling; "who are you?" "Osman, the son of Mostapha, your own Osman, who saved you at Anapa."