ing a murderous weapon—a long, keen surgeon's knife, the blade of which was besmeared with blood.
Was I dreaming? I again asked myself. No, it was not a visionary illusion, for I saw it plainly with my eyes wide open.
So great a fascination did this strange visitant possess over me, that I had been suddenly overcome by a terrible dread that had deprived me of the power of speech. My tongue clave to the roof of my mouth.
I felt more than ever convinced that there must be something supernatural about the silent masquerader.
In the dim light the puff of grey smoke from the revolver slowly curled before my eyes, hiding for a few seconds the singularly beautiful countenance.
When, however, a moment later, the veil had cleared, I was amazed to discover that the figure had vanished.
My hand had been unsteady.
Grasping my revolver firmly, I sprang to my feet and rushed out of the tent. While gazing quickly around, a Cossack sentry, whose attention had been attracted by the shot, ran towards me.
"Has a woman passed you," I asked excitedly, in the best Russian I could muster.
"A woman! No, sir. I was speaking with Ivan, my comrade on duty when I heard a pistol-shot; but I have seen no one except yourself."
"Didn't you see an officer?"
"No, sir," the man replied, leaning on his Berdan rifle and regarding me with astonishment.
"Are you positive?"
"I could swear before the holy ikon," answered the soldier. You could not have seen a woman, sir. There's not one in the camp, and one could not enter, for we are exercising the greatest vigilance to exclude spies."
"Yes, yes, I understand," I said, endeavouring to laugh. "I suppose, after all, I've been dreaming"; and then, wishing the man good morning, I returned to the tent.
It was, I tried to persuade myself, merely a chimera of a disordered imagination and a nervous system that had been highly strained by constant fatigue and excitement. I had of late, I remembered, experienced curious delusions, and often in the midst of most exciting scenes I could see vividly how peaceful and happy was my home in London and how anxiously yet patiently my friends and relatives were awaiting my return from the dreaded seat of war.
On entering the tent, I was about to fling myself down to resume my rest, when it occurred to me that my wounded comrade might require something. Apparently he was asleep, and it seemed a pity to rouse him to administer the cooling draught the surgeon had left.
Bending down, I looked into his face, but could not see it distinctly, for the light was still faint and uncertain. His breathing was very slight, I thought; indeed, as I listened, I could not detect any sound of respiration. I placed my hand upon his breast, but withdrew it quickly.
My fingers were covered with blood.
Striking a match and holding it close to his recumbent figure, my eyes fell upon a sight which caused me to start back in horror. The face was bloodless, the jaw had dropped; he was dead!
