"Dorogaya (dearest)," he faltered, hardly knowing that he used the word--"these English girls are not like ourselves. They are selfish and grasping. They think of their own feeling, the gratifying of their own desire. They do not think of what a man may suffer in their cruel hands." He had grown very white. The girl's face, trustful, uncomprehending, was very near his own lips. He turned, with a supreme effort of strength, and seated her in a chair near. "The comfort of knowing that I have your sympathy," he muttered, brokenly. Miss Forester, watching, thought she had seldom seen anything more delicate, more touching, than his handling of the situation. Nadia was very young, and her whole heart went out to the man who thus wonderfully responded to her inmost feeling. She let her hand lie in his hold, while she leant languidly back in her chair and let him talk to her of Felix--of the young man's excellencies, and his own hopes and fears. Then suddenly she started up. "My friend," she said, with a beautiful earnestness and confidence, "I have a vision--I have a presentiment. Your son, whom you love so much, is safe! He is safe! I know it! He will come back to you--my father will restore him to you safe and sound! Will you share my faith?" Vronsky, who had been kneeling by her chair, rose slowly to his feet. His wondering eyes were fixed upon her glowing, kindled face. "Yes," he said, slowly, "I will share your fine faith. I will not despair, since you--you, Nadia Stepanovna, tell me to hope." The girl turned impulsively to where a huge and beautifully carved Eikon hung upon the wall. Side by side, Vronsky and she knelt before it, and their united prayer for Felix arose in the deep silence which followed. CHAPTER XX WHAT IS THIS LOVE? Elle songeait--"C'en est fini de la vie heureuse!--Quelle est donc cette loi cruelle qui régit le monde? Pourquoi l'homme ne peut il vivre avec la femme ou même la voir simplement sans la convoiter? Qu'est-ce que cette nourriture misérable dont ne peuvent se passer les cœurs, ce pain de l'amour, toujours pétri de larmes et quelquefois de sang?"--ANATOLE LE BRAZ. Aunt Bee awaited with a good deal of humorous anticipation the return of the picnic party from Newark. She had, as she well knew, shot an arrow into the heart of the slowly-moved Denzil by suggesting to him the imminent departure of Rona under certain circumstances. She felt almost sure that upon this hint he must realize what was the matter with him, and speak. She eyed the various members of the party with some care during the evening, and became pretty certain that something had happened, for Denzil was unusually flushed; and the heaviness of Rona's eyelids seemed to suggest that she had been weeping.