"He has been snuffing away ever since," added the doctor, "so perhaps he was right, for his leg was almost too crushed to belong to him. We took it off at once; but now gangrene is setting in and if he is to be saved we must have it off higher up. And the others won't risk it. He is old--heart weak--and they say won't stand chloroform. I am going to try. I've told him and he will take the risk. A good old chap, worth saving. I don't believe he is a Russian. I think he is a Pole, and blood is thicker than water." Marrion's first look at the patient as he lay propped up by pillows in the small room whither he had been carried made her agree with the doctor. It was a fine old face, curiously reminiscent of someone she had seen somewhere, with its hint of ruddiness beneath the grey of the hair and its bold bright daring look. And he was very tall; his long length almost outstretched the trestle bed. "Good morning, doctor!" he said, with a courteous salute which included Marrion, and with a perfect English accent. "You have brought your nurse, I see. Are we to begin at once?" There was no anxiety in his voice; only gentle raillery. "Not quite yet, General," replied Dr. Forsyth. "I want you to have a rest and sleep first. You are looking a bit tired; and your pulse"--he stopped to feel it--"is tired, too. So I've brought Nurse Paul to sit with you. She is a curiously soporific person. I shall be back before very long," he added, more to her than to the patient. Left alone, Marrion went up to the bed, smoothed the rough pillows, straightened the coarse blanket, which was all the bedding Balaklava could produce, and said quietly-- "Now, if you will close your eyes I believe you would sleep." But those sea-blue eyes--whose did they resemble?--someone she had seen somewhere--remained wide, and watched her narrowly as she returned to seat herself in the only chair. It was set full in the sunlight, which showed her tall, slender, yet strong in her dark stuff dress, a white handkerchief almost hiding her bright hair and pinned to place by the little brilliant brooch beneath her chin. Truly those keen eyes were over-watchful, and she was about again to suggest sleep when his voice, full of insistent command, startled her. "Where did you get that brooch?" She replied at once with the truth. "It belonged to my father." "Indeed--who was he?" "He was a valet; but if you would only close your eyes I think you would go to sleep." "Do you think so? I don't." His eyes showed more awake than ever; there was a hint of a smile on the handsome old face. Still there was silence for full five minutes, and Marrion was just about to make further suggestion of sleep when once more the voice rose-- "Will you please give me my snuff-box?--it is under my pillow somewhere." She drew it out. A plain gold box with--her startled eyes caught the old face--