Nicaeus chose the track which he considered least tempting to
pursuit, and towards sunset they had again entered a ravine washed by a
mountain stream. The course of the waters had made the earth fertile
and beautiful. Wild shrubs of gay and pleasant colours refreshed their
wearied eye-sight, and the perfume of aromatic plants invigorated their
jaded senses. Upon the bank of the river, too, a large cross of
roughly-carved wood brought comfort to their Christian hearts, and
while the holy emblem filled them with hope and consolation, and seemed
an omen of refuge from their Moslemin oppressors, a venerable Eremite,
with a long white beard descending over his dark robes, and leaning on
a staff of thorn, came forth from an adjoining cavern to breathe the
evening air and pour forth his evening orisons.
Iduna and Nicaeus had hitherto prosecuted their sorrowful journey almost
in silence. Exhausted with anxiety, affliction, and bodily fatigue,
with difficulty the daughter of Hunniades could preserve her seat upon
her steed. One thought alone interested her, and by its engrossing
influence maintained her under all her sufferings, the memory of
Iskander.
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