noon
Below them still in darkness lay the land of their dream , but hitherto it had always faded at dawn . Now hills put up their heads one by one through films of mist ; woods showed , then hedges , and afterwards fields , greyly at first and then , in the cold hard light of morning , becoming more and more real . The sight of the land so long sought , at moments believed by Morano not to exist on earth , perhaps to have faded away when fables died , swept their fatigue from the wanderers , and they stepped out helped by the slope of the Pyrenees and cheered by the rising sun . They came at last to things that welcome man , little shrubs flowering , and -- at noon -- to the edge of a fir wood . They entered the wood and lit a merry fire , and heard birds singing , at which they both rejoiced , for the great peaks had said nothing . They ate the food that Morano cooked , and drew warmth and cheer from the fire , and then they slept a little : and , rising from sleep , they pushed on through the wood , downward and downward toward the land of their dreams , to see if it was true . They passed the wood and came to curious paths , and little hills , and heath , and rocky places , and wandering vales that twisted all awry .