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Updated: May 21, 2025
Day by day his strength returned, until at last he was dismissed cured. But it must not be supposed that Dobri was "himself again." He stood as erect, indeed, and became as sturdy in appearance as he used to be, but there was many a deep-seated injury in his powerful frame which damaged its lithe and graceful motions, and robbed it of its youthful spring.
He stopped abruptly, swayed a moment to and fro, then fell heavily forward with his head on the bosom of his friend. "Take some more water, Dobri," said Nicholas anxiously. "Quick, before you lose consciousness. I have not power to move a limb to help you. Dobri!" He called in vain, the scout had fainted.
"Oh, Dobri," said Marika, as in an angle of the inn-yard she bade her husband farewell, "don't forget the Saviour Jesus our one hope on earth." "God bless you, Marika; I'll never forget you," returned Petroff, straining his young wife to his heart. He had already parted from the children.
Just then a fresh body of Turkish infantry charged, led by the Nubian, Hamed Pasha, whose horse had been killed under him. Dobri Petroff and Hamed rushed at one another instantly; each seemed at once to recognise the other as a worthy foeman.
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?
Amongst the girls present, there sat a remarkably pretty young woman, whom the others endeavoured to urge to some course of action, to which she at first objected. After a little persuasion, however, she appeared to give in, and, rising, left the circle. Soon after she returned with a magnificent specimen of humanity, whom she pushed into the ring with evident pride. It was Dobri Petroff.
She sprang forward and leaped into the man's outstretched arms. Ay, it was Dobri Petroff himself or rather his attenuated shadow, with apparently nothing but skin and sinew left to hold his bones together, and not a symptom of blood in his whole body. The little blood left, however, rushed to his face, and he found sufficient energy to exclaim "Thank the Lord!" ere his senses left him.
The shopman spoke in the Bulgarian tongue, which, being a kindred dialect of the Russian language, I understood easily. "Too dear," said Petroff, as he turned over the article, a piece of calico, with a good-humoured affectation of contempt. Dobri Petroff was a young man, apparently not more than twenty-five, tall, broad, deep-chested, small-waisted a perfect study for an Apollo.
"You seem to be enjoying yourselves here," said a voice at that moment; and, looking round in surprise, the men caught sight of a head covered with a mass of white hair, that stood up like bristles round an angular forehead, and a pair of lovely brown eyes. It was the priest who had opened the door softly and had stuck his head in. "Let me see, who are you all? Mr. Böhnke, dobri wieczor."
The scout turned to the prisoner, who was sitting on the ground with eyes dilated to the uttermost, and mouth wide open. He sat perfectly speechless. There was just light enough to make darkness visible. Petroff looked close in to the face of the man whom he had been about to stalk. "Lancey!" he exclaimed. "Dobri Peterhuff," gasped the other.
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