tever it might be the scout declined promotion
or reward. His object was to seek what he styled honourable death in
the front of battle. Strange to say, he led a sort of charmed life, and
the more he sought death the more it appeared to avoid him. Somewhat
like Skobeleff himself, he stood unhurt, many a time, when balls were
whistling round him like hail, and comrades were mown down in ranks and
heaps around him.

In all armies there are men who act with heroic valour and desperate
daring. Some are urged thereto by calm contempt of danger, coupled with
a strong sense of duty. It was something like this, probably, that
induced Skobeleff to expose himself so recklessly on almost all
occasions. It was simply despair, coupled with natural lion-like
courage, that influenced the wretched scout.

Nicholas Naranovitsch had also acquired a name among his fellows for
that grand sweeping fervour in attack which we are wont to associate
with the heroes and demigods of ancient story. But Nicholas's motive
was a compound of great physical strength, hot-blooded youth, and a
burning desire to win distinction in the path of duty.

One consequence of the scout's return to headquarters was that he
frequently met Nicholas, and felt an intense drawing towards him as
being one who had shown him sympathy and kindness in that home which was
now gone for ever. Deep was the feeling of pity which Nicholas felt
when the scout told him, in a few sternly-uttered sentences, what had
occurred at Venilik; and when Dobri expressed a desire to attach himself
to Nicholas as his servant, the latter was only too glad to agree. Each
knew the other well by report, and felt that the connection would be
mutually agreeable.

At last one of the greatest events of the war approached. Plevna had
been so closely hemmed in by Russian troops, and cut off from supplies,
that the garrison was reduced to starvation. In this extremity, as is
well known, Osman Pasha resolved on the desperate attempt to cut his way
out of the beleaguered position.

Snow had fallen heavily, and the ground was white with it--so were the
huts of the Russian soldiers, who, welcoming the snowfall as a familiar
reminiscence of home, went about cooking their food and singing
joyously. The houses of Plevna, with blue lines of smoke curling above
them, were faintly visible through the driving snow. Now and then the
sullen boom of a great gun told of the fell work that the forces ha