"Well, brother Alánin, it'll be some time before you dance and make merry again," said Lieutenant Rosenkranz coming up with a smile. He probably intended these words to sustain the handsome ensign's courage; but as could be easily seen from the coldly mournful expression in the eyes of the latter, these words did not produce the wished-for effect. The captain also came up. He gazed earnestly at the wounded young fellow, and his always cold, calm face expressed heartfelt pity. "How is it, my dear Anatoli Ivánuitch?" said he in a tone which rang with a deeper sympathy than I had expected from him: "we see it's as God wills." The wounded lad looked up; his pale face was lighted with a mournful smile. "Yes, I disobeyed you." "Say rather, it was God's will," replied the captain. The doctor, who had now arrived, took from his chest, bandages, probes, and other instruments, and, rolling up his sleeves with a re-assuring smile, approached the sufferer. "So it seems they have been making a little hole through you," he said in a tone of jesting unconcern. "Let us have a look at the place." The ensign listened, but in the gaze which he fixed on the jolly doctor were expressed surprise and reproachfulness which the latter did not expect. He began to probe the wound and examine it from all sides; but at last the sufferer, losing his patience, pushed away his hand with a heavy groan. "Let me be," he said in an almost inaudible voice: "it makes no difference; I am dying." With these words he fell on his back; and five minutes later when I joined the group gathered about him, and asked a soldier, "How is the ensign?" I was told, "_He has gone._" XII. It was late when the expedition, deploying in a broad column, entered the fortress with songs. The sun had set behind the snow-covered mountain crest, and was throwing its last rosy rays on the long delicate clouds which stretched across the bright pellucid western sky. The snow-capped mountains began to clothe themselves in purple mist; only their upper outlines were marked with extraordinary distinctness against the violet light of the sunset. The clear moon, which had long been up, began to shed its light through the dark blue sky. The green of the grass and of the trees changed to black, and grew wet with dew. The dark masses of the army, with gradually increasing tumult, advanced across the field; from different sides were heard the sounds of cymbals, drums, and merry songs. The leader of the sixth company sang out with full strength, and full of feeling and power the clear chest-notes of the tenor were borne afar through the translucent evening air. THE WOOD-CUTTING EXPEDITION. (_Rúbka L'ýesa._) _THE STORY OF A YUNKER'S[1] ADVENTURE._ I.