blew at the same time pleasant thoughts to her brain. She
is not an orphan, then, in this world, since she has here at her
side one strange, unknown guardian, and still another, known
and beloved, who is caring for her. He will not desert her,
he will take her for good; and he is a man of iron, stronger
and mightier than those rising against her in that hour.

The steppe rustled sweetly; from the flowers came odors
---strong and intoxicating; the ruddy tops of the thistle spread
out their purple bunches; the white pearls of the mikalief
and the feathers of the steppe grass bent toward her, as if
recognizing a maiden sister in that Cossack, with long
tresses, milk-white face, and red lips. They bent toward her
as if wishing to say: "Cry not, O beautiful maiden! we too
are in the care of the Lord." A calm, increasing every
moment, came to her from the steppe. Pictures of death
and pursuit were blotted from her mind, and straightway
a sort of weakness seized her, but a sweet one; slumber be-
gan to close her eyelids; the horses went slowly, the move-
ment lulled her. She dropped asleep.