Again it was long, very long, before the young man's eyes closed; and then he fell so soundly asleep, that he exceeded his usual six hours, and it was past four o'clock when at last he awoke. That evening they came to a forest. It is the only one upon the route; and it makes a grateful change from the endless waste of treeless steppe. Felix had been awake for the past hour, seated with his chin propped upon his hands, gazing before him with white face and glittering eyes. It was now within two hours of sunset, and the rose-colored rays from the west burnt in among the foliage of the graceful birches, till they seemed like trees of silver and gold, seen in vision. One of the horses of their troika had been going badly for some time; and when they were in among the trees the driver turned to Felix and said something to him. Felix turned to Rona, who, since he awoke, had been deeply immersed in her book, and said, in a manner which suggested an apology for addressing her, "The man thinks that unless we rest the horse a bit, it will not make the next stage. Do you mind stopping for an hour in this wood? We could eat our supper while we wait." "Of course not. It is lovely," she said. He gave an order, they stopped, and he helped her down--with great care to avoid shaking her. Then he turned to the driver, and gave his help in unspanning and rubbing down the ailing horse. Rona stood a while watching, then, turning, roamed away a little distance into the fairy wood. It was indeed like an enchanted land. The Siberian stag-horn moss curled and furled itself about the roots of delicate fern, and the slanting sun-rays gilded it with effulgence indescribable. She sat down upon the warm, fragrant couch it made. The passion of sadness which too much beauty brings mixed with the feelings in her distracted heart. She had played both brothers false. She had said she loved Denzil--and she did not. She had said she did not love Felix--and she did!--Ah, she did! She could not stop to ask why. She knew that it was so. She had not loved him, but now she did--now she knew what love was. She felt herself near to breaking down, and, remembering the way in which she had given way and wept on the day of the picnic at Newark Abbey ruins, she fought to keep herself from tears. But the long strain of the journey, the shock of her accident the evening before, and the strange influence of the desert place, all combined to overcome her control. She was obliged to weep, the tears flooded her eyes and streamed down her cheeks, and for a while there was nothing for it but to give way. Her surrender was short--a few minutes only; but her little handkerchief was soaked through and through. The knowledge that she must very soon go back and face Felix with a composed aspect, availed to call her to order speedily. Just as her sobs began to die down, she heard his distant voice calling her through the wood.