All that night we remained in the cold and dreary tomb, which before morning some of our poor companions exchanged for an actual grave, for they died of their undressed wounds; but about sunrise, we were drawn out by the Cossacks, who truncheoned us with their lances, driving us like a herd of cattle; and then their pioneers proceeded to dig a grave under the dome, which was the resting-place of an ancient king, a proceeding which we beheld with horror, for every strict Mussulman deems sacred for ever the little spot of earth which forms the last resting-place of a departed being. Then the sound of muffled drums rolled upon the wind and the wail of the Muscovite dead march, as the funeral of Archipp Ossepoff approached; the solemnity of the scene impressed us deeply, and we forgot that it was by the mingled treachery and stern devotion of this determined soldier we had lost Mikhailov and our liberty together. Six grenadiers of the Tenginski Regiment bore on their shoulders the coffin, the lid of which was off; a veil of fine linen covered the body, which was dressed in uniform, with cross-belts, boots, gloves, epaulettes of red worsted and copper medals. The head was borne forward, not the feet, as in other countries. Then came four soldiers, bearing the coffin lid, on which lay the leather helmet, the musket, and knapsack of the deceased; then followed the regiment of Tenginski Grenadiers, marching with their arms reversed, and preceded by a grand military band of brass trumpets and muffled drums. In front of all marched a priest of the Russian Greek Church, attired in magnificent vestments of muslin, gold, and embroidery. His aspect was venerable; his white beard was full and flowing; he chaunted as he went, and sprinkled frankincense upon the path. A prayer, a roll upon the drums, and a flourish of instruments with three volleys closed the ceremony, and there lies Archipp Ossepoff in the tomb of a Circassian prince; but his memory as a brave grenadier is still cherished, as I have related, by the orders of the emperor, and in the traditions of his comrades. God rest that gallant spirit; he died for his country, even as I would have died for mine. Pining for freedom and for the presence of Basilia, dreading I scarcely knew what--but banishment to Siberia more than anything else, for that had been but a living death and a separation for ever from my country and my love--three dreary months rolled over me, and with my two brothers I still found myself a prisoner with the Russian army of the Caucasus, which marched along the left bank of the Kuban towards the Sea of Azov, and consequently nearer to my home. One day Colonel Carlovitch sent for me, and again his face wore that deep and cunning smile which so closely resembled a leer; for his eyes were cold and snaky, even as his heart was stern and cruel.