Night fell, and for hours I knelt beside him, trying to alleviate his agony. The surgeon had dressed the wound, and the officer lay writhing and groaning, while by the meagre light of an evil-smelling oil-lamp I scribbled my dispatch. At last the wounded man became quieter, and presently slept; while I, jaded and worn, wrapped my blanket about me, placed my revolver under my saddle, and lay down to snatch an hour's repose. How long I slept I scarcely know; but I was awakened by a strange rustling. The flap of the tent was open, and I saw against the faint grey glimmering of the wintry morning's struggling dawn a figure stealthily bending over the wounded man who lay asleep at my side. The intruder wore the heavy greatcoat and round cap of a Cossack officer, and was evidently searching my comrade's pockets. "Who are you? What do you want?" I cried in Russian, clutching my revolver. The man started, withdrew his hand, and stood upright, looking down upon me. For a moment I fixed my eyes upon the statuesque figure, and gazed at him amazed. I am not by any means a nervous man, but there was something weird about the fellow's appearance. Whether it was due to the suddenness with which I had discovered him, or whether some peculiar phenomenon was caused by his presence, I was unable to determine. I remember asking myself if I were really awake, and becoming convinced that I was in possession of all my faculties. "Speak!" I said sternly. "Speak--or I'll fire!" Raising the weapon, I waited for a moment. The figure remained motionless, facing the muzzle of the pistol unflinchingly. Again I repeated my challenge. There was, however, no reply. I pulled the trigger. In the momentary flash that followed I caught a glimpse of the face of the intruder. It was that of a woman! She was young and beautiful. Her parted lips revealed an even row of tightly-clenched teeth, her dark eyes had a look of unutterable horror in them, and her cheeks were deathly pale. It was the most lovely face I had ever gazed upon. Its beauty was perfect, yet there was something about the forehead that struck me as peculiar. The thick dark hair was brushed back severely, and high up, almost in the centre of the white brow, was a curious mark, which, in the rapid flash of light, appeared to be a small but _perfectly-defined bluish-grey ring_! As I fired, the arm of the mysterious visitor was raised as if to ward off a blow, and in the hand I saw the gleam of steel. The slender fingers were grasping 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.