More of the Results of War.  
I need not trouble the reader with an account of the meeting with my faithful servant. While we were still engaged in questioning each other, I noticed that the countenance of our friend the scout wore an anxious and almost impatient expression.
 
“Anything wrong, Dobri?” I inquired.
 
“God knows!” he replied in a solemn tone, which impressed me much. “A rumour has come that the Circassians or the Bashi-Bazouks—I know not which, but both are fiends and cowards—have been to Venilik, and—”
 
He stopped abruptly.
 
“But that village was in the hands of the Russians,” I said, at once understanding his anxiety.
 
“It may be so, but I go to see without delay,” he replied, “and have only stopped thus long to know if you will go with me. These brutes kill and wound women and children as well as men. Perhaps your services may— Will you go?”
 
He spoke so earnestly, and his face looked so deadly pale, that I felt it impossible to refuse him. I was much exhausted by the prolonged labours of the day, but knew that I had reserve strength for an emergency.
 
“Give me a few minutes,” said I,—“just to get leave, you know. I can’t go without leave.”
 
The scout nodded. In ten minutes I had returned. Meanwhile, Lancey had prepared my horse and his own. Swallowing a can of water, I vaulted into the saddle. It was very dark, but Petroff knew every foot of the country. For several hours we rode at a smart gallop, and then, as day was breaking, drew near to Venilik. As we approached, I observed that the bold countenance of the scout became almost pinched-looking from anxiety. Presently we observed smoke against the sky, and then saw that the village had undoubtedly been burned. I glanced at Petroff nervously. There was no longer a look of anxiety on his face, but a dark vindictive frown.
 
He increased his pace to racing speed. As we followed close at his heels, I observed that he drew a knife from his belt, and with that as a spur urged on his jaded steed. At last we reached the outskirts of the village, and dashed through. Blackened beams, ruined houses, dead men and women, met our horrified gaze on every side.
 
At the well-known turn of the road, where the bypath joined it, Dobri vaulted from his horse, and let the animal go, while he ran towards his dwelling. We also dismounted and followed him. Then a great and terrible shout reached our ears. When we came to the cottage we found the scout standing motionless before his old home, with his hands clasped tightly, and his eyes riveted to the spot with a glare of horror that words cannot describe.
 
Before him all that had been his home was a heap of blackened ashes, but in the midst of these ashes were seen protruding and charred bones. It did not require more than one glance to show that recognition of the remains was impossible. Everything was reduced to cinders.
 
As we gazed an appalling cry rang in our ears, and next moment a young woman darted out from behind a piece of the blackened walls with a knife in her hand.
 
“Hah! are you come back, you devils?” she shrieked, and flew at Dobri, who would certainly have been stabbed, for he paid no attention to her, if I had not caught her wrist, and forced the knife from her grasp. Even then she sprang at him and fastened her fingers in his neck while she cried, “Give me back my child, I say! give me my child, you fiend!”
 
She stopped and looked earnestly in his face, then, springing back, and standing before him with clenched hands, she screamed—
 
“Ha, haa! it is you, Dobri! why did you not come to help us? traitor—coward—to leave us at such a time! Did you not hear the shrieks of Marika when they dragged her from your cottage? Did you not see the form of little Dobri quivering on the point of the Circassian’s spear? Were you deaf when Ivanka’s death-shriek pierced my ears like—. Oh! God forgive me, Dobri, I did not mean to—”
 
She stopped in the torrent of her wrath, stretched both arms convulsively towards heaven, and, with a piercing cry for “Mercy!” fell dead at our feet.
 
Still the scout did not move. He stood in the same half-shrinking attitude of intense agony, glaring at the ruin around him.
 
“Dobri,” said I at last, gently touching his arm, and endeavouring to arouse him.
 
He started like one waking out of a dream, hurled me aside with such violence that I fell heavily to the ground, and rushed from the spot at full speed.
 
Lancey ran after him, but soon stopped. He might as well have chased a mountain hare. We both, however, followed the track he had pursued, and, catching our horses, passed into the village.
 
“It’s of no use to follow, sir,” said Lancey, “we can’t tell which way ’e’s............