There were a few mouthfuls of spirits left in a flask of vodka he had found in the Russian's overcoat.

He bathed his father's face, forced a few drops of the strong spirit down his throat, and the old man opened his eyes.

In the flickering light he caught sight of the green cap and coat.
"Curse you," he whispered.
"My father!" cried the young officer.

"It is I." "My son!" "What has happened ?" "The Cossacks--I fought for the honor of your sister.

Where----" the old man's voice faltered.
"She is dead yonder," answered the son.
"Thank God," came the faint whisper from the father.