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. In the meantime Nicaeus himself was
not apparently very anxious of conversing upon the subject, and after
the first rapid expressions of fear and hope as to the situation of
their late comrade, they relapsed into silence, seldom broken by
Nicaeus, but to deplore the sufferings of his mistress, lamentations
which Iduna answered with a faint smile.

The refreshing scene wherein they had now entered, and the cheering
appearance of the Eremite, were subjects of mutual congratulation; and
Nicaeus, somewhat advancing, claimed the attention of the holy man,
announcing their faith, imprisonment, escape, and sufferings, and
entreating hospitality and refuge. The Eremite pointed with his staff
to the winding path, which ascended the bank of the river to the
cavern, and welcomed the pilgrims, in the name of their blessed
Saviour, to his wild abode and simple fare.

The cavern widened when they entered, and comprised several small