The rosy hue of sunset was fading to a clear green, and in the midst of a cloudless sky, Jupiter--very near the earth at that time--shone intense, and brilliant like a lamp.

It was an evening such as only Russia and the great North lands ever see, where the sunset is almost in the north and the sunrise holds it by the hand.

Over the whole scene there hung a clear, transparent night, green and shimmering, which would never be darker than an English twilight.
The two living men carried the nameless, unrecognizable dead to a resting-place beneath a stunted pine a few paces removed from the road.
They laid him decently at full length, crossing his soil-begrimed hands over his breast, tying the handkerchief down over his face.
Then they turned and left him, alone in that luminous night.

A waif that had fallen by the great highway without a word, without a sign.

A half-run race--a story cut off in the middle; for he was a young man still; his hair, all dusty, draggled, and bloodstained, had no streak of gray; his hands were smooth and youthful.