Since she first met him, at the extraordinary interview in
her father's pavilion, often had the image of the hero recurred to her
fancy, often had she mused over his great qualities and strange career.
His fame, so dangerous to female hearts, was not diminished by his
presence. And now, when Iduna recollected that she was indebted to him
for all that she held dear, that she owed to his disinterested
devotion, not only life, but all that renders life desirable, honour
and freedom, country and kindred, that image was invested with
associations and with sentiments, which, had Iskander himself been
conscious of their existence, would have lent redoubled vigour to his
arm, and fresh inspiration to his energy. More than once Iduna had
been on the point of inquiring of Nicaeus the reason which had induced
alike him and Iskander to preserve so strictly the disguise of his
companion. But a feeling which she did not choose to analyse struggled
successfully with her curiosity: she felt a reluctance to speak of
Iskander to the Prince of Athens.
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