He was happy, very happy; happy in the possession of the radiant, beauteous creature he could now call his own, and from whose sparkling eyes love and devotion, ardent and sincere, shone forth; he was happy in the evident sympathy and admiration of all his associates, and he was happy in the consciousness that his future was secure and that he was destined to a brilliant and distinguished career. Very faint and dim, indeed, were now the images of the ghostly past, and they did not affect his actions in the slightest; but somehow or other they would not forsake him, and he often found himself wondering with a peevish sort of dissatisfaction and impatience, why they did not leave him to enjoy undisturbed the pleasures and honors of his present station. Shortly after his marriage the Crimean war broke out. Russia was engaged in a titanic struggle with the Western Powers, and Colonel Pavlowitz was among those summoned to defend the fatherland. The parting from his young wife was marked by tears and sobs; but still he heard the summons to war with stern joy, for, like a true soldier, he longed to display in actual combat the qualities he had gained in theoretic instruction; and then he longed for action—intense, stirring action—to drive away the shadowy, reproachful faces which tortured him by their constant recurrence. He was one of the commanders in charge of the defence of Sebastopol. He was personally engaged, and displayed the greatest gallantry in many of the desperate conflicts of that bloody campaign. At Balaklava he was in command of a part of the artillery, which received the world-renowned charge of the Light Brigade; and it was while fiercely beating off that attack that an unexpected blow of a British sabre took off his right arm near the shoulder. For three months our hero lay in the hospital, the object of universal sympathy and interest, for the good-will which had been previously entertained toward him had been greatly heightened by the splendid bravery and skill he had displayed in the war and the cruel wound he had received. The Emperor himself had sent several times to inquire concerning his condition, and the visits and inquiries of lesser personages were innumerable. As soon as he was able to resume his active duties, the Emperor ordered a review of the entire army. It was a glittering spectacle, a sea of brilliant uniforms, shining bayonets, swords and cannons, interspersed with magnificent bands of music, an ocean of deeply interested onlookers. Our hero rode at the head of his regiment on a splendid black charger, his empty sleeve hanging useless at his right side. As he passed the grand stand where stood the Emperor and his brilliant retinue of officers and aides, His Majesty ordered the parade to halt. Then in the presence of the army and the serried throngs of spectators, the Emperor addressed him as follows: