sun was setting over the vast plain, covered
partially with forest beyond the river. The
land around, as far as the eye could reach,
was dotted by small groups of men, driving
in the cattle that had strayed towards a kind
of field enclosed on two sides by the winding
stream, and on the other by the straggling
camps. Tents, if such they could be called,
were scattered here and there. Piles of
luggage formed pillows lor weary men, who had
supped, and were smoking their pipes.
Fires, fed by half-dried shrubs, hastily
collected, smouldered rather than blazed: at
intervals sending up columns, as it were,
to support the canopy that was gathering
overhead.

The Mokan looked with pride at certain
vast bulls that hustled unwieldily by, some
raising up their horns as if to avoid doing
damage, others going head down, and goring
right and left in their hurry to avoid the
goad—the kindly and the egotistical of the
herd. He knew that those splendid animals
bore his marks; and from much association
with Turks, could not repress the self-
congratulatory exclamation of "Mashallah!"
The word was scarcely out of his mouth,
when a sharp cry of pain or fear came across
the river. He turned somewhat listlessly in
that direction, and beheld upon a slip of
level land on the opposite side, a number
of forms moving rapidly. They were
horsemen galloping; but the sound which
had attracted his attention must have come
from a nearer point than that at which they
had arrived when he first saw them. A lad
who had drawn nigh to give an account of
the bulls, now directed his attention to
something that was struggling in the water just
in front. It was a swimmer vainly endeavouring
to make head against the current. The
light was down, but Michal, who had good
eyes, exclaimed, "By my saint, 'tis a child
hunted by some robbers—or perhaps an
escaped serf! I have been hunted too,
before now." So away went the sheepskin
cloak, and a portion of the other
garments, and out plunged Michal into the
stream—hand over hand—now rising to look
about him, making obliquely to the place
where the current would probably carry the
weak swimmer. Before long he saw a face
glance upwards not far from his; but it went
down, and then the arm only was cast into
the air. He caught the wrist of the swimming
child, and raised its head above the
water. "Holy Virgin!" he muttered, "'tis
a girl." Though confused with her plunge,
the girl had not lost her consciousness, and
assented, if she heard what he said, with a
wild smile. Michal was swimming powerfully
back, when something struck the water
sharply close by, making a sound like a
pebble on a window-pane. Again and again the
same sound was repeated. "As i live,' said
Michal to himself, "I heard that before. The
villains are shooting at us. If I make the
bank, then I shall be riddled to a certainty.
Girl, are you afraid to dive?"

The girl whispered that she was not. So,
just as several shots were fired at once, they
both went under water, to rise many yards
down the stream. As it was now nearly
dark, this was quite sufficient; but to make
matters sure, they dived once more, and at
length came up under the shadow of a
Wallachian willow that drooped from the bank.
Michal caught one of the long, strong
branches, and soon got ashore.

"Now," said he, sitting down, and not
heeding the shouts that were passing to and
fro across the lines, between the pursuing
party and the Mokan herdsmen, who, in great
alarm, were asking what this attack meant:
"Now tell me, child, the story of thy misfortunes?
Hast thou done anything wrong? I will protect thee
all the same."

His heart was overflowing with the
recollection of his own escape, and he made as if
he would embrace the child; but the gesture
with which she repelled him and moved a
little further off on the grass—whilst, in sign
of friendship, she still left her hand upon his
arm—showed that he was mistaken as to her
age.

"My name is Floriora (the Little Flower),"
she replied. "My father's name is Lagir. My
mother is dead. I am the slave of the Lord
Bibiano. He has sold me to the Pasha, and
I have run away. Is this wrong?"

It was not necessaiy in that country to
relate any further incidents. Michal
understood the story at once; it is one of the singular
parts of his character, and one of the incidents
of his life which made him a hero among the
people, that immediately, without any fatal
delays, he determined to abandon the property
he had spent arduous years in amassing, in
order to be enabled to save this young girl—
who already owed her life to him—from
misery and shame. He knew that if he
returned with her to the camp, all his
companions, however much their feelings
might prompt otherwise, would insist that
the fugitive slave should be returned to
her owners; otherwise they were in danger,
not only of the loss of their permission
to graze, but of confiscation of all their
property. He did not wish to involve a tribe
by whose kindness alone he had grown rich,
in a dangerous dispute with the authorities
of the country; and the idea of giving up
the little Flower never occurred to him.

There was no time to lose. The pursuers,
who had lighted torches, were going up the
river to a spot where was a ferry-boat, and
they would soon be down to search for the
girl, alive or dead. Besides, probably in
obedience to orders or threats from the other
side, a number of the herdsmen were coming
along the great hedge of bushes and trees
that lined the river at that place, calling for
Michal, and telling him to bring out the
slave. They knew his powers of swimming,