Ever and anon the moon shines out from amid the fast-flying clouds then as though it has seen enough, hides itself again under the ghostly mist. The sighing of the wind through the forest is like the trembling of fever-stricken nature. In the stillness of night through the pathless forest, rides a troop of horsemen. Their little long-maned horses sniff their way with low, sunk necks by the shaggy fur caps of their riders and their long lances hanging far back at their sides, they are to be recognized as a party of Don Cossacks.
