the eremite rose with the sun; and while he was yet at matins, was joined by iduna, refreshed and cheerful after her unusual slumbers. after performing their devotions, her venerable host proposed that they should go forth and enjoy the morning air. so, descending the precipitous bank of the river, he led the way to a small glen, the bed of a tributary rivulet, now nearly exhausted. beautiful clumps of birch-trees and tall thin poplars, rose on each side among the rocks covered with bright mosses, and parasitical plants of gay and various colours. one side of the glen was touched with the golden and grateful beams of the rising sun, and the other was in deep shadow.
“here you can enjoy nature and freedom in security;” said the eremite, “for your enemies, if they have not already given up their pursuit, will scarcely search this sweet solitude.”
“it is indeed sweet, holy father,” said iduna; “but the captive, who has escaped from captivity, can alone feel all its sweetness.”
“it is true,” said the eremite; “i also have been a captive.”
“indeed! holy father. to the infidels?”
“to the infidels, gentle pilgrim.”
“have you been at adrianople?”
“my oppressors were not the paynim,” replied the eremite, “but they were enemies far more dire, my own evil passions. time was when my eye sparkled like thine, gentle pilgrim, and my heart was not as pure.”
“god is merciful,” said iduna, “and without his aid, the strongest are but shadows.”
“ever think so,” replied the eremite, “and you will deserve rather his love than his mercy. thirty long years have i spent in this solitude, meditating upon the past, and it is a theme yet fertile in instruction. my hours are never heavy, and memory is to me what action is to other men.”
“you have seen much, holy father?”
“and felt more. yet you will perhaps think the result of all my experience very slight, for i can only say unto thee, trust not in thyself.”
“it is a great truth,” remarked iduna, “and leads to a higher one.”
“even so,” replied the eremite. “we are full of wisdom in old age, as in winter this river is full of water, but the fire of youth, like the summer sun, dries up the stream.”
iduna did not reply. the eremite attracted her attention to a patch of cresses on the opposite bank of the stream. “every morn i rise only to discover fresh instances of omnipotent benevolence,” he exclaimed. “yesterday ye tasted my honey and my fish. to-day i can offer ye a fresh dainty. we will break our fast in this pleasant glen. rest thou here, gentle youth, and i will summon thy brother to our meal. i fear me much he does not bear so contented a spirit as thyself.”
“he is older, and has seen more,” replied iduna.
the eremite shook his head, and leaning on his staff, returned to the cavern. iduna remained, seated on a mossy rock, listening to the awakening birds, and musing over the fate of iskander. while she was indulging in this reverie, her name was called. she looked up with a blush, and beheld nic?|us.
“how fares my gentle comrade?” inquired the prince of athens.
“as well as i hope you are, dear nic?|us. we have been indeed fortunate in finding so kind a host.”
“i think i may now congratulate you on your safety,” said the prince. “this unfrequented pass will lead us in two days to epirus, nor do i indeed now fear pursuit.”
“acts and not words must express in future how much we owe to you,” said iduna. “my joy would be complete if my father only knew of our safety, and if our late companion were here to share it.”
“fear not for my friend,” replied nic?|us. “i have faith in the fortune of iskander.”
“if any one could succeed under such circumstances, he doubtless is the man,” rejoined iduna; “but it was indeed an awful crisis in his fate.”
“trust me, dear lady, it is wise to banish gloomy thoughts.”
“we can give him only our thoughts,” said iduna, “and when we remember how much is dependent on his life, can they be cheerful?”
“mine must be so, when i am in the presence of iduna,” replied nic?|us.
the daughter of hunniades gathered moss from the rock, and threw it into the stream.
“dear lady,” said the prince of athens, seating himself by her side, and stealing her gentle hand. “pardon me, if an irrepressible feeling at this moment impels me to recur to a subject, which, i would fain hope, were not so unpleasing to you, as once unhappily you deemed it. o! iduna, iduna, best and dearest, we are once more together; once more i gaze upon that unrivalled form, and listen to the music of that matchless voice. i sought you, i perhaps violated my pledge, but i sought you in captivity and sorrow. pardon me, pity me, iduna! oh! iduna, if possible, love me!”
she turned away her head, she turned away her streaming eyes. “it is impossible not to love my deliverers,” she replied, in a low and tremulous voice, “even could he not prefer the many other claims to affection which are possessed by the prince of athens. i was not prepared for this renewal of a most painful subject, perhaps not under any circumstances, but least of all under those in which we now find ourselves.”
“alas!” exclaimed the prince, “i can no longer control my passion. my life, not my happiness merely, depends upon iduna becoming mine. bear with me, my beloved, bear with me! were you nic?|us, you too would need forgiveness.”
“i beseech you, cease!” exclaimed iduna, in a firmer voice; and, withdrawing her hand, she suddenly rose. “this is neither the time nor place for such conversation. i have not forgotten that, but a few days back, i was a hopeless captive, and that my life and fame are even now in danger. great mercies have been vouchsafed to me; but still i perhaps need the hourly interposition of heavenly aid. other than such worldly thoughts should fill my mind, and do. dear nic?|us,” she continued, in a more soothing tone, “you have nobly commenced a most heroic enterprise: fulfil it in like spirit.”
he would have replied; but at this moment the staff of the eremite sounded among the rocks. baffled, and dark with rage and passion, the prince of athens quitted iduna, and strolled towards the upper part of the glen, to conceal his anger and disappointment.
“eat, gentle youth,” said the eremite. “will not thy brother join us? what may be his name?”
“nic?|us, holy father.”
“and thine?”
iduna blushed and hesitated. at length, in her confusion, she replied, “iskander.”
“nic?|us,” called out the eremite, “iskander and myself await thee!”
iduna trembled. she was agreeably surprised when the prince returned with a smiling countenance, and joined in the meal, with many cheerful words.
“now i propose,” said the eremite, “that yourself and your brother iskander should tarry with me some days, if, indeed, my simple fare have any temptation.”
“i thank thee, holy father,” replied nic?|us, “but our affairs are urgent; nor indeed could i have tarried here at all, had it not been for my young iskander here, who, as you may easily believe, is little accustomed to his late exertions. but, indeed, towards sunset, we must proceed.”
“bearing with us,” added iduna, “a most grateful recollection of our host.”
“god be with ye, wherever ye may proceed,” replied the eremite.
“my trust is indeed in him,” rejoined iduna.
