Then they sat silent all four; and thereafter Birdalone arose and did off her sallet, and kissed and embraced Gerard and his sons, and bade them farewell, and she and the young men wept. Then she armed herself and gat to horse, and went her ways towards Greenford, having nought with her but the raiment and arms that her body bore, and her horse, and some gold pieces and gems in a little pouch. So rode she; and the others turned back sadly toward the Five Crafts.



CHAPTER VII. BIRDALONE COMETH TO GREENFORD, AND HEARS OF THE WASTING OF THE CASTLE OF THE QUEST



Now came Birdalone riding into Greenford an hour before sunset on a day of the latter end of May; and she had no doubt but to go straight to the hostelry, and that the less as she had not abided there before, as hath been told. To them that served her she told the tale of her vow, that she might not do off her sallet that seven days; and some trowed her, and some deemed her a woman, but whereas she seemed by her raiment to be of condition none meddled with her. Moreover, as she told her intent to ride on betimes in the morning, it mattered the less unto them: withal she gave out that she came from foreign parts, as sooth it was.

In the evening she sat in the hall, and with her were three chapmen travelling with their wares, and two good men of the town sitting; and they were talking together, and were courteous and blithe, and amidst their talk they threw many a glance at the slim and fair young squire, as Birdalone seemed, and were fain to speak unto him, but refrained them for courtesy's sake. For her part, Birdalone longed sore to ask them somewhat of the Castle of the Quest, but the words clave to her throat for very fear; and she sat restless and ill at ease. However at last said a townsman to a chapman: Art thou for the Red Hold, Master Peter, when thou art done here? Birdalone turned very pale at that word; and Master Peter spake: Yea, surely, neighbour, if the folk leave aught in my packs for others to buy. He spake in a jovial voice, as if he were merry, and the others all laughed together, as though they were well pleased and in good contentment. And now, deemed Birdalone, would be her time to speak if she would learn aught; so she constrained herself at last, and spake, though in a quavering voice: Meseems then, masters, this good town is thriving as now? This I ask because I am a stranger in these parts this long while, and now I am come back hither fain were I to find the land in good peace; for I may chance to take up my abode hereby.

The goodmen turned to her and smiled kindly when they heard the sweetness of her voice; and one of them said: Sir of the sallet, ye shall be content with the peace in this land, and the thriving of its folk; the very villeins hereabout live as well as franklins in most lands, and the yeomen and vavassours are clad as if they were knights of a good lord's household. Forsooth their houses are both goodly and easy to enter; and well is that, whereas there lacks never good meat and drink on the board therein. And moreover their women are for ever seeking whatso is fair and goodly, whatso is far-fetched and dear-bought, whereof we chapmen also thrive, as thou mayst well deem. Ah! it is a goodly land now!

The others nodded and smiled. But Birdalone spake, hardening her heart thereto for very need: Belike then there is a change of days here, for when I last knew of the land there was little peace therein. And that will not be so long agone, said a townsman, smiling, for I doubt we should see no grey hair in thine head if thy sallet were off it. Birdalone reddened: It will be some five years agone, said she. Yea, yea, said the townsman, we were beginning to end the unpeace then, and it was the darkest hour before the dawn; for five years agone we and the good knights of the Castle of the Quest were lying before the walls of the Red Hold. Forsooth we cleared out that den of devils then and there. What betid unto it after ye won it? said Birdalone, and she trembled withal. Said the townsman: Heard ye never of the Black Squire, a very valiant knight, since thou sayest that thou hast known this country-side? She bowed a yeasay, for this time she found it hard to speak.

Well, said the townsman, we held garrison in the Red Hold for some three months, and thereafter we craved of him to come and be our captain therein; for, even after the Hold was won, there was yet a sort of runagates that haunted the country-side, men who had no craft save lifting and slaying. And forsooth we knew this Lord Arthur for the keenest and deftest of men-at-arms; so he yeasaid our asking, and did all he might herein, and forsooth that was all there was to do; for he was ever in the saddle, and at the work. Forsooth he was not a merry man, save when he was at his busiest; and little he spake in hall or chamber, else had he been better beloved. But at least by no man better might the land have been served.

There was silence a little, and Birdalone waxed deadly pale; then she strove with herself and said: Thou sayest he was and he was; is he dead then? Said the townsman: Not to our knowledge. When he had brought the land into good peace, which is some three years and a half agone, he went his ways from the Red Hold all alone, and we saw him no more. But some folk deem that he hath entered into religion.

Birdalone's heart sickened, and she thought to herself that now all was to begin again; yet she felt that the worst was over since he was not dead, and she was able to think what she should do. So she said: Mayhappen he hath gone back to the Castle of the Quest? Nay, nay, said the townsman, that may not be; for waste is that house now; there is none dwelleth there, save, it may be, now and again a wandering carle or carline abideth there a day or two. Said Birdalone: How hath that befallen? or where is gone Sir Hugh, the Green Knight? Said the townsman: We knew the Green Knight well; frank and free and joyous was he; all men loved him; and his lady and speech-friend, none ever saw a lovelier, and as kind as was he. But we might not keep them with us; they are gone into their own country. Sir Hugh left the Castle of the Quest some three months after the Black Squire came to us for captain, and he gave over the castle to Sir Geoffrey of Lea, an old and wise man of war. But not many months thereafter we heard that he also had departed, leaving it ungarnished of men; and we deem that the cause thereof is that something uncouth is seen and heard therein, which folk may not endure. Is it not so, my masters?

They all yeasaid that, and the talk went on to other matters. As for Birdalone, though her hope to come amongst friends was so utterly overthrown, yet she saw not what to do save to go her ways to the Castle of the Quest, and see if perchance she might find any tidings there. And she said to herself, that if the worst came to the worst, she would herself dwell there as an hermit of love; or, maybe, to face those uncouth things and see if any tidings might be compelled out of them.



CHAPTER VIII. BIRDALONE COMETH TO THE CASTLE OF THE QUEST, HEARETH THE TALE THEREOF FROM LEONARD, AND DEPARTETH THENCE BY THE SENDING BOAT



She arose betimes on the morrow, and was out of Greenford so soon as the gates were open, and at first made all speed that she might toward the Castle of the Quest; and nothing hindered her, for the land was verily in good peace, and she might have come there if she would before sunset, for all whom she met furthered her. But as the day waned her courage waned with it, so that at last she stayed some six miles short of the house, and craved shelter at a yeoman's stead there, which was granted her with all kindness; and they made much of her, and she told them her vow of the sallet, and they deemed nought save that she was a young man.

She departed early in the morning with their God-speed, and while the day was yet young came into the meadows before the castle, and saw the towers thereof rising up before her: then she checked her horse, and rode on no faster than a foot's pace; yet as slow as she might ride, needs must she get to the gate while the day was yet young.

So came Birdalone by that bower wherein she had slept that first night she came to the castle; and she reined up to look on it; and as she sat there gazing, came a man out from it clad as a man of religion; and her heart beat quick, and she was like to fall from her horse, for there came into her mind what the townsman had said, that the Black Squire had gone into religion. But the hermit came towards her with a cup of water in his hand, and he cast his hood aback from him, and she saw at once that it was Leonard the priest, and though it was not the friend whom she sought, yet was she glad that it was a friend; but he came and stood by her, and said: Hail, wayfarer! wilt thou drink of our well and rest thee a while? So she took the cup and drank of the water, looking kindly on him, while he wondered at the beauty of her hand, and misdoubted him. Then she gave him back the cup and lighted down off her horse, and took the sallet from her head, and spake: I may not pass by a friend without a word; think if thou hast not seen me before?

Then he knew her, and might not refrain him, but cast his arms about her and kissed her, weeping; and she said: It is sweet to me to find a friend after what I have been told of yonder house. Yea, said he, and art thou going up thither? Certes, said she, and why not? Said he: They are gone, and all gone! How and whither? said she. But I must full certainly go thither at once; I will go afoot with thee; do thou tether my horse till thou comest back.

He said: But wilt not thou come back? I know not, she said: I know nought save that I would go thither; let it be enough that I suffer thee to go with me, and on the way thou shalt tell me what thou canst of the tale.

Then went Leonard and tethered the horse, and they went together afoot to the gate; and Birdalone told what she had heard of Arthur and Hugh; and Leonard said: This is true, and there is not much else to be said. When the Black Squire came back from the leaguer of the Red Hold, and had heard before of thy departure, he was heavy of mood and few-spoken, and wandered about as one who might find no rest; yet was he not stern with Atra, who for her part was no less heavy- hearted: soothly a sad company we were, and it was somewhat better when my Lord Arthur went his ways from us; and indeed eager he was to be gone; and it could be seen of him that he was fain of the toil and peril which they of Greenford offered him. Then in some four months spake my lord Hugh that he also would be gone to a place where were both a land and folk that would look friendly on him; so he went with my lady Viridis and my lady Aurea, and they had Atra also with them; and me also they would have had, but my heart failed me to leave the place where I had been so glad and so sorry with thee; death had been better; wherefore in yonder bower as in an hermitage I serve God and abide my time. But though I wot nought of where is gone the Black Squire, I know whereto those four are gone, and it is but a seven days' ride hence, and the land is goodly and peaceable, and if they be not dead, most like they be there yet. How sayest thou then, thou dearest and kindest, wilt thou thither to them? For if so, I may well lead thee thither.

Birdalone shook her head. Nay, she said, I deem that I am drawn elsewhither, but soon I shall tell thee. Lo now the gate. But ere we enter, tell me of Sir Geoffrey of Lea, and why it was that they might not abide the uncouth things, or if there were any such. Spake Leonard: Things uncouth there were, and I was called upon to lay them, and I did as biddeth Holy Church in all wise, but prevailed not against them, and still were they seen and heard, till folk might endure it no longer.

And what like were these things? said Birdalone, and are they yet seen and heard? Said Leonard: Strange it is, but last night I went into the great hall where they mostly betid, and laid me down there, as whiles I do, for I fear them not, and would see if they yet appear; but all night came nothing at all. As to the likeness of them . . . Then he stopped, but said presently: Hard it is to tell thee of them, but needs must I. There be two of these things; and one is an image of a tall woman of middle-age, red-haired, white- skinned, and meagre, and whiles she has a twiggen rod in her hand, and whiles a naked short sword, and whiles nought at all. But the voice of her is cursing and blaspheming and ill-saying.

Said Birdalone: This is then a fetch of my witch-mistress of whom I told thee erst, and the image of her; what is the other? Said Leonard: I were fain not to tell thee. Yet needs must thou, said Birdalone. Dear lady, said Leonard, the other is an image of thee, and even most like unto thee; but whiles clad in a scanty grey coat and barefoot, and whiles clad in a fair green gown goodly broidered, and broidered shoon; and whiles all mother-naked.

And what voice cometh from mine image? said Birdalone, smiling, yet somewhat pale withal. Said Leonard: One while a voice of sweet singing, as of a bird in the brake, and that is when thou art clad; and again, when thou art naked, a voice of shrieking and wailing, as of one enduring torments.

Spake Birdalone: And when did these wonders begin? Said he: Not till after Sir Hugh and thy she-friends were gone hence.

Pondered Birdalone a little; then she said: I see herein the malice of my witch-mistress; she would not send these fetches while Hugh was here, lest he should turn to seeking me with all his might. But when they departed, she would have the castle waste, and then she sent them, wotting that thereby she would rid her of Sir Geoffrey of Lea; while, on the other hand, I was nought so much unto him that he would spend all his life seeking me. But now I deem I know so much of her that I may bid thee to look on her as dead if these fetches come not again within a little while. Then mayst thou send and do Sir Geoffrey to wit thereof, and belike he will come back again; and fain were I thereof for it will be merrier if the Castle of the Quest be dwelt in once more.

Yea, verily, said Leonard; but far merrier yet wert thou to dwell there. Nay, she said, but now I see that it is not fated for me. Let us go in, for I would get to what I would do.

So therewith they passed under the shadow of the archway, and Birdalone stayed not but went straightway into the hall, and through it; and the priest, who lagged somewhat behind her speedy feet, cried out unto her: Whither wilt thou? what chamber wilt thou visit first? But she stayed not, and spake to him over her shoulder as she went: Follow me if thou wilt; I have but one place only to come to ere I leave the Castle of the Quest, save I must needs turn back on my footsteps.

Then Leonard came up with her, and she went her ways out of the hall, and out on to the waterswale of the castle, and so to the little haven of the water-gate. There Birdalone looked about her eagerly; then she turned to Leonard and pointed with her finger and said: Lo thou! there yet lieth my ferry of old time, the Sending Boat; now wot I wherefore I was drawn hither. And her eyes glittered and her body quivered as she spake.

Yea forsooth, said Leonard, there it lieth; who of all folk in the castle had durst to touch it? But what hath it to do with thee, O kindest lady?

Friend, she said, if this day weareth, and I am yet within these walls, then meseemeth there must I abide for evermore; and there perchance shall I meet that seeming of myself, maybe for this night, maybe for ever, till I die here in this castle void of all that I love, and I over-young for it, friend. And I know now that there is hope within me; for I bethink me of a dear friend over yonder water of whom I have never told any, nor will tell thee now, save this, that she is the wisdom of my life.

Wherefore now I will try this ferry and wot if the wight thereof will yet obey the voice of the speaker of the spell, who has shed of her blood to pay therefor. Put not forth a hand therefore nor speak a word to let me, but take this farewell of me, with my pity and such love as I may give thee, and let me go, and think kindly of me.

Then she went up to him, and laid her hands upon his shoulders, and kissed him, and turned about without more ado and stepped into the boat; then she sat down and stripped her arm of its sleeve, and drew forth a knife and let blood of her arm, and then arose and smeared stem and stern therewith, and then sat down with her face to the stern and sang:

The red raven-wine now Hast thou drunk, stern and bow; Wake then and awake And the Northward way take: The way of the Wenders forth over the flood, For the will of the Senders is blent with the blood.

Then she abode a little, while Leonard stood staring on her speechless with grief and blinded with his bitter tears, till the boat began to move under her, and presently glided out of the little haven into the wide lake; then she turned her face back unto him and waved her hand, and he knelt down and blessed her, weeping. And so she vanished away from before him.



CHAPTER IX. BIRDALONE FINDETH THE ISLE OF NOTHING GREATLY BETTERED, AND IS KINDLY ENTREATED THERE



Now it was scarce noon when she departed, and the dark night came upon her in the midst of the water; and she fell asleep in the boat ere the night had grown very old, and woke up in the morning, not exceeding early, maybe about six o'clock; then she looked ahead and thought presently to see the ill-favoured blotch of the Isle of Nothing on the bosom of the blue waters, whereas it was a fair and cloudless morning of latter May. Sure enough she saw land ahead, and it lay low down on the water, but she deemed from the first that it was green of hue, and as she neared it she saw that it was verily as green as emerald. Thereat she was a little troubled, because she thought that mayhappen the Sending Boat had gone astray, and that if the wight thereof were not wending the old road, maybe he was not making for the old haven. For now indeed she told herself right out that her will was to go back again to the House under the Wood, and see what might betide there, and if she and the wood-mother together might not overcome the witch.

But whatever might happen nought could she do but sit in her place and wend as the Sending Boat would; and in an hour's space she was right under the lee of the land, and she saw that it was shapen even as the Isle of Nothing had been aforetime. But this made her wonder, that now the grass grew thick down to the lip of the water, and all about from the water up were many little slim trees, and some of them with the May-tide blossom yet on them, as though it were a fair and great orchard that she was nearing; and moreover, beyond all that she saw the thatched roofs of houses rising up.

Presently then the Sending Boat had brought her to the land, and she stepped ashore, but was wary, and gat her bow bent and set an arrow thereto she began to go up from the water. Yet she thought within herself, it will be nought ill if I be come amongst folk, so long as they be peaceful, or else how might I live the journey out to all the isles and so home to the House under the Wood?

So she turned her face to where she had seen those roofs, which now she saw no longer because of the thick leaves of the little trees, and so went along a narrow path, which grew to be more and more closely beset with trees, and were now no longer apple and pear and quince and medlar, but a young-grown thicket of woodland trees, as oak and hornbeam and beech and holly.

At last as she went she heard voices before her, so she stole warily to the edge of the copse, finger on shaft; and presently could see clear of the saplings and out on to a wide space of greensward, beyond which was a homestead of many houses and bowers, like unto that of a good yeoman in peaceful lands, save that the main building was longer, though it were low. But amidst the said greensward was a goodly flock of sheep that had been but of late washed for the shearing, and along with the sheep four folk, two carles and two queans, all of them in their first youth, not one by seeming of over a score and two of summers. These folk were clad but simply, man and woman, in short coats of white woollen (but the women's coats a little longer than the men's), without shoon or hosen; they had garlands of green leaves on their heads, and were wholly unarmed, save that one of the men bore an ashen wand in his hand. As for their bodies, they were goodly of fashion, tanned indeed by the sun's burning, but all sweet of flesh were they, shapely and trim, clean- made, and light and slim.

Birdalone's heart yearned toward them, and she stepped straightway from out of the cover of the coppice, and the sun flamed from her sallet and glittered in the rings of her hauberk, so that the folk might not fail to see her; the sheep fled bundling from her past their keepers, who stood firm, but seemed somewhat scared, and moved not toward Birdalone. She gave them the sele of the day and stood still herself; but the man with the ash-wand said: Hail, thou man; but we would have thee come no nearer a while, though thy voice be sweet: for we know what things they be which thou bearest, and that thou art a warrior. Wilt thou hurt us?

Birdalone laughed as sweetly as the blackbird sings, and she did off her sallet and shook the plenteous hair down over her, and then drew forth her sword and dagger and cast them to earth, and laid her bow and quiver of arrows upon them, and said: Now will I come to you, or ye shall come to me, whereas I am unweaponed, and no warrior, but a woman, and ye are four to one, and two of you carles; wherefore now ye may bind me or slay me if you will; but in any case I pray you first to give me a mouthful of meat.

When she had done her speech, she went up to the fairest of the women and kissed her; but the two carles made no more ado but came to Birdalone and kissed her one after other, and that as men who needed nought to compel them therein, and each thereafter took a hand of her and held it and caressed it. But the other woman had run into the house as soon as Birdalone spoke, and came back again with a treen bowl full of milk and a little loaf, not white but brown; and there blundered about her legs as she came a little lad of some three winters old, naked and brown, who was shy of the gleaming new-comer, and hid him behind the woman one while, and the other while came forth to see the new thing. But the woman said: Dear woman, here is for thee some of the ewes' milk, and a bite of bread, and a little deal of cheese; the said milk is yet warm, so that it is not yet clottered; but if thou wilt come with us thou mayest speedily drink cows' milk, and we be now at point to go milk them.

Birdalone thanked her with a heart full of content, and was not ill- pleased to get her hands free from the two carles; so she sat down and ate her breakfast while they talked with her, and told her of diverse work of theirs; as to how their trees were waxing, and new tillage they had done the past spring, and how it befell to the kine and the goats; of their children also they spake, and how there were already four thereof, and one of the women, the meat-bringer, already quickened with child once more. So that ere we die, quoth the carle who was speaking, we look to see many grandchildren, and shall have some stout carles and queans here. And by that time will some of the trees be well grown, so that we may fell timber and make us some keel that will wend the lake, and help us a-fishing; or we may go to other lands; or whiles folk may come to us, even as thou hast, thou dear- handed, sweet-voiced woman. But wilt thou abide here ever?

Yea, said the other, but that is looking forward a long while, that building of ships. What is nearer and well to think of is, that these apple and pear trees be so well fruited, small as they be, that this harvest we shall be able to make us cider and perry; yea, and no little deal thereof. But art thou minded to abide with us ever? That were dear to us; and belike thou wouldest bear us children, thou also.

Then spake the meat-fetching woman and laughed withal: Nay, thou also lookest aloof a pretty deal; whereas what is now to do is to go milk the kine, and to take this guest with us, so that she may drink somewhat better than ewes' milk though the cider be not ready to hand. But tell me, our dear guest, art thou verily going to abide with us a long while? that were sweet to us, and we will do all we may to pleasure thee.

Nay, said Birdalone, it will no better be but that I depart on the morrow; and all thanks do I give you for your kindness.

The woman kissed her, and she arose, and all they went together to the milking of the kine some half mile inland; and they passed through much of orchard, and some deal of tillage, wherein the wheat was already growing high; and so came they to a wide meadow through which ran a little stream, and therein was a goodly herd of kine. So they fell to the milking, and made Birdalone drink of the sweet cows' milk, and then went and lay down under the shade of the little young trees, and talked and were merry together. But the men were both of them somewhat willing at first to kiss Birdalone and toy with her, but when she let them know that she desired it not they refrained them without grudging.

All this while of their talk they asked Birdalone nought of whence and whither, and she would not ask them, lest it might stir their asking, and then she would have to tell them some deal of her story; and telling it was now become unto her somewhat weary work.

In a while they arose all, and the men and one woman went their ways to deal with the acre-land, but the meat-fetcher went back with Birdalone into the house; and she showed her all that was therein, which was for the more part, forsooth, the four babes aforesaid. The others came back in the eventide, bearing with them foison of blue hare-bells, and telling joyously how they had found them anigh the coppice edge in such a place: and thereafter they were merry, and sang and talked the evening away, and showed Birdalone at last to a fair little chamber wherein was a bed of dry grass, where she lay down and slept in all content.



CHAPTER X. OF BIRDALONE'S FLITTING FROM THE ISLE OF NOTHING



On the morrow Birdalone arose betimes, and would not tarry despite all the kindness of that folk and the change which had come over the Isle of Nothing; so the friends saw her down to the boat all together, and bore down with them a deal of bread and cheese and late apples of the last year, for her provision on the road, and a pail of milk withal; and men and women they kissed her at departure, and the meat-fetcher said: If by any means thou mayst find a keel which will carry thee hither, at some time, I would thou wouldst come; for even if thou be old, and we passed away, yet here shall be our children or our grandchildren to welcome thee; and we will tell them the tale of thee that they remember it and long for thee.

Then Birdalone kissed her again, and made much of her, and so stepped into the boat, and fell to her sacrifice to the wight thereof; and those others stared at her and wondered, and spake nought unto her till she was gone gliding over the face of the waters; but as they walked back to the house, they spake amongst themselves that this must be some goddess (for of Holy Church they knew nought) who had come to visit them in her loveliness; and in after times, when this folk waxed a many, and tilled all the isle and made ships and spread to other lands and became great, they yet had a memory of Birdalone as their own very lady and goddess, who had come from the fertile and wise lands to bless them, when first they began to engender on that isle, and had broken bread with them, and slept under their roof, and then departed in a wonderful fashion, as might be looked for of a goddess.

But as for Birdalone, she came not back ever, nor saw that folk again, and now she sped over the water toward the Isle of Kings.



CHAPTER XI. COMING TO THE ISLE OF KINGS BIRDALONE FINDETH THERE A SCORE AND TWO OF FAIR DAMSELS WHO WOULD FAIN HAVE HER COMPANY



Birdalone came ashore at the said isle at the day-dawn, and saw but little change in the isle when it grew light, and still the castle stood looking down awfully on to the meadows. But when she had set foot on the land, she handled her bow lest the worst might befall, and looked about her, deeming that this time she would not go her ways to the dread show that was arrayed in the castle, if forsooth those dead folk yet abode there.

So now as she looked across the meadow, she saw one with light and fluttering raiment come forth from the trees, and look toward her whereas she stood flashing and gleaming in the sun like an image of the God of Love turned warrior. Now Birdalone deemed for sure that this was a woman; she saw her come a little nigher to her, and then stand looking at her under the sharp of her hand; then she turned about and ran back to the brake whence she came; and presently Birdalone heard the sound of voices coming thence, and in a little while thereafter came forth from the said brake a rout of women (one score and two as they were told thereafter) and walked over the meadow straight unto her. She stood where she was, so as to be nigh unto her ferry in case they willed her unpeace; for though they were weaponless by seeming, they were a many.

When they were come near they stood about her in a half ring, whispering and laughing each to each. Birdalone saw that they were all young, and that none of them might be called ungoodly, and some were full fair. They were bright and fine of array. Most bore gold and gems on fingers and neck and arms; they were clad in light, or it may be said wanton raiment of diverse colours, which had only this of their fashion in common, that they none of them hid over-much of their bare bodies; for either the silk slipped from the shoulder of her, or danced away from her flank; and she whose feet were shod, spared not to show knee and some deal of thigh; and she whose gown reached unsheared from neck to heel, wore it of a web so thin and fine that it hid but little betwixt heel and neck.

Birdalone stood gazing on them and wondering, and she had a mind to think that they were some show sent by her old mistress the witch for her undoing, and she loosened her sword in its sheath and nocked an arrow.

But then ran forward two of the damsels and knelt before her, and each took an hand of her and fell to kissing it, and she felt their hands that they were firm and their lips that they were soft and warm, and they were doubtless alive and real. Then spake one of them and said: Hail our lord! How can words say how we rejoice in thy coming this happy morn! Now do all we give ourselves to thee as thy slaves to do as thou wilt with. Yet we pray thee be merciful to us and our longings.

Therewith all the sort of them knelt down on the grass before Birdalone and joined their hands as praying to her. And Birdalone was full ill at ease, and wotted not where she was. But she said: Hail! and good days and fulfilment of wishes unto you, fair damsels! But tell me, is this the Isle of Kings, as I deemed; for strange it is for me to see ye womenfolk here?

Said she who had spoken afore: Yea verily this is the Isle of Kings; but long ago are the kings dead, and yet they sit dead in the great hall of the castle yonder, as thou mayst see if thou, who art a man and a valiant warrior, durst follow up yon mountain path thereto; but we, weak women and little-hearted, durst not go anigh it; and we tremble when whiles a-nights cometh down thence the sound of clashing swords and clattering shields, and the cries of men in battle. But, praise be to the God of Love, nought cometh down from thence unto us. Therefore do we live peaceful lives and pleasant here, lacking nought but thee, lord; and lo now thou hast come unto us, and we are happy in our inmost hearts.

Now was Birdalone perplexed and knew not what to do; but at last she said: Gentle maidens, I pray you pardon me, but I must depart straightway; for I have an errand, and life or death lieth on it. In all else than my abiding here may ye have your will.

Therewith did she move a little way toward her ferry; but forthwith all they brake out weeping and wailing and lamenting, and some of them came up to Birdalone and cast themselves down before her, and clasped her knees, and took hold of her skirts, and besought her piteously to abide with them. But she put them aside as well as she might, and stepped aboard the Sending Boat, and stood amidst it waiting on their departure; but they went not, and stood along on the lip of the land crying out and beseeching with much clamour.

Then Birdalone waxed somewhat wrath at their noise and tumult, and she drew forth her knife and bared her arm and let blood from it. But when they saw the whiteness and roundness of it, and how fine and sleek it was, straightway they changed their tune, and cried out: A woman, a woman, a fool of a woman! and they laughed in scorn and mockery. And the speaker of them said: Now there is but one thing for thee to do, and that is to come forth from thy boat and strip off thy stolen raiment, and we shall make thee as fine as ourselves, and thou shalt come with us, and with us abide the coming of our lord. Nay, thou art so fair and lovely, that thou shalt be the Lady and Queen of us, and we will do after thy commands, and thou mayst chastise us if we fail therein. But now if thou wilt not come forth of the boat uncompelled, we shall pluck thee forth of it.

And therewith she set her foot on the gunwale of the boat, and two or three others did the like. But now had Birdalone her sword naked in her hand, and she waxed as red as blood, and cried out: Forbear I bid you! Yea verily I am a woman; but I will not take this offer either, whereas I have an errand, as I told you. And so stern it is, that if ye now let my departure I will not spare to smite with this sword whoso first cometh aboard my ferry, and though I be not a man, yet shall ye find that in this matter I shall be little worse, whereas I am armed and ye be naked.

Then they drew back and stood gibing and jeering at her; but she heeded it no whit, but reddened stem and stern of the Sending Boat, and sang her spell, and forth glided the ferry, while the damsels stood and stared astonished. As for Birdalone, as she sped on her way she might not refrain her laughter. Thus she wended the wet highway.



CHAPTER XII. BIRDALONE COMETH AGAIN TO THE ISLE OF QUEENS, AND FINDETH A PERILOUS ADVENTURE THEREIN



It was not yet daybreak when Birdalone came ashore again, and the moon was down, and it was dark; wherefore she durst not go up on the land, but lay down in the ferry and fell asleep there. When she woke again it was broad daylight, the sun was up, and a little ripple was running over the face of the water. She stepped ashore straightway, and looked up the land and to the right hand and the left, and saw at once that it was indeed the Isle of Queens, and the house stood trim and lovely as of old time; then she longed somewhat to tread the green meadow a little, for yet young was the day, and she saw nought stirring save the throstle and a few small beasts. However, she said to herself that she would go nowhere nigh to the goodly house wherein abode those images of death. Yet her body longed so sore for the springtide freshness of the grass, and was so bewooed of the flowery scent thereof, that though she durst not go unarmed, she did off her footgear and went stealing softly barefoot and with naked legs over the embroidered greensward, saying aloud to herself: If run for the ferry I needs must, lighter shall I run so dight.

Nonetheless, she had gone but a little way ere a terror took hold of her, though she saw no child of Adam anigh, and she turned and ran back swiftly to her old place and sat down under a twisted oak-tree hard by the Sending Boat, and abode there panting and quaking, and scarce daring to look up from the grass for a while. Then her heart came back to her, and she laughed, and said to herself: I am a fool, for I need fear nought on this Isle of Queens save women like myself.

Yet she sat there a little while longer without stirring; then she stood up and looked keenly around, and, as aforesaid, exceeding far- sighted she was; but still she saw neither man nor maid nor suckling child.

Then her eyes sought the lips of the lake, and rested on a little bight some stone's throw ahead of the Sending Boat, where, a little back from the water, slim willows made a veil betwixt the water of the meadow; and she looked, and saw how pleasant a place it were for a one to stand and look on the ripple just left, while the water dripped from the clear body on to the grass. And her bare feet fell to telling her clad sides of the sweet coolness of the water, and waited for no naysay, but lightly bore her toward the willowy bight. And when she was there, she did off her sallet and ungirt her, and laid her sword on the grass, and did off her surcoat and hauberk, and so was a woman again in one white coat above her smock. Then she looked heedfully betwixt the willow-boughs, and saw no more than before, nought but a little whitethorn brake, now white indeed with blossom, some fifty yards landward from where she stood. So she laughed, and did off her other raiment, and slid swiftly into the water, that embraced her body in all its fresh kindness; and as for Birdalone, she rewarded it well for its past toil by sporting and swimming to her full.

Then she came forth from the water, and clad herself in no great haste, and did on her hauberk and sallet and sword, and so went back to her place, and sat down and began to do on her foot-gear.

But as she looked up from her work a moment, lo! a tall man coming toward her, and just about the willows whereby she had bathed. Her heart beat quick and her face changed, yet she hastened, and was shod and stood up in knightly array by then he stayed his steps some five paces from her, and gave her the sele of the day in courteous wise; and she strove to think that he had not seen her, or at least noted her otherwise dight; yet her heart misgave her.

He was a grizzled-haired man of over fifty summers by seeming, but goodly enough and well-knit; he was clad in a green coat more than a little worn, but made after the fashion of knighthood; he had nought on his head but an oak-chaplet, and no weapons but a short sword by his side and a stout staff in his hand.

She gave back his greeting in a quavering voice; and he said: Welcome again, young man. Art thou come to dwell with us? Truly thou art trim now, but ere some few months thine attire will be not so much fairer than ours, and thine hauberk will be rusted, for here be no joyous tiltings nor deeds of arms, and no kind ladies to give the award of honour, so that if we fight amongst ourselves it will be because we have fallen out, and spitefully. Yet (and he laughed, mockingly, as she thought) thou mayst bring us luck, and draw some fair damsels unto us, for that is what we await in this isle, which is barren of their fair bodies, despite of its deceitful name.

Thereat Birdalone reddened, deeming that he divined her womanhood, but she enforced her to speak hardily, and as manly as she might, and said: Yea, fair sir, and if I be the God of Love, as thou deemest, and not merely a poor squire (Louis Delahaye, at thy service), how many damsels shall I send thee if there must needs be one to each man of you? Quoth he: Thou must make up the tale to a score or more, or some of us must lack. Sooth to say, at this time thou needest not haste overmuch for all the tale, whereas there is but one other of the company near at hand, a mere foolish young man; the others are gone to the leeward side of the isle, to fetch us venison and fish, both of which are more plenty there than here; wherefore are we two somewhat lonesome in this stead, all the more as we be over-nigh to the sorcery in the great house, which we durst not enter; for though nought cometh out thence down unto us, yet hear we a-night-tides, first songs, and then cries and shrieking, come out therefrom.

Then he stayed his speech, and drew a little nigher to Birdalone, and then grinned, and said: Forsooth we can spare him, we twain. And he looked on her hard, and the colour came into her cheeks, and she laughed uneasily, as a dainty lady when she heareth some unmeet tale.

But again the old carle drew nigher to her, and said: Thou seemest to have a good bow and store of arrows; if thou wouldst lend them to me for a little, and come with me into the wood hard by, I might shoot thee some venison with little toil to thee; whereas, forsooth, thou lookest scarce like one who is meet for over-much toil. Again she reddened, and spake nought this time; and he said: Deem not there be no deer this end of the isle because I said that the others were gone to fetch home venison; only the deer be tamer there and more, and we have but evil shooting-gear, whereas thou art well found therein. Wilt thou not come? we shall have merry feast after the hunt.

Now had Birdalone come to her wits again, and she answered like a merry youth, with a flavour of mockery in her speech: Fair sir, thou shalt not deem that I need much help in slaying the dun deer; for I do thee to wit that I shoot not ill in the bow; neither am I heavy- footed. But I will not hunt in your park to-day, for I have an errand which calleth me away, so that I shall depart hence presently. Besides, wise elder, there is thine errand to see to; and if I be the God of Love, as thou sayest, I must not keep thee and thy valiant fellows languishing mateless; so with thy leave I will now depart, that I may send you a score of fair damsels for your company.

And she turned about and made a step toward her boat; but the carle drew nearer, laughing; and he said: Truly sayest thou that thou art not heavy-footed, for never saw I feet lighter or fairer than glided over the meadow e'en now; nor a fairer body than came like rosy- tinted pearl fresh out of the water while I lay hidden in yonder thorn-brake that while. Wherefore trouble not thyself to bring any more damsels than thyself, fairest Goddess of Love, for thou art enough for me.

And therewith he ran forward, and stretched out a hand to her; but in that nick of time had she her sword naked in her hand, and the carle drew back before the glitter thereof, and cried out: Ho, ho! is it to be battle, my mistress? Deemest thou that thou wilt slay me as lightly as the dun deer, and thou with thy bow unstrung at thy back? Now shall I show thee a trick of fence; but fear not that I shall hurt thee to spoil thee.

He advanced on her with his staff aloft, and her heart failed her, and she quaked, and lightly he beat down her guard and did the sword out of her hand; and again he turned on her to take her, but she sprang aside and ran from him, but ran landward perforce, as he was betwixt her and the boat; and he followed heavily, and had nought to do in the race.

But she had not gone a two-score yards ere she heard a great shout, and another man came running over the meadow; a slim young man was this, and worse of attire than the old carle, for so tattered was his raiment that he was half naked; but he was goodly of fashion, fresh- coloured and black-haired. Birdalone stayed her feet when she saw him, for though she doubted not to outrun him, yet whither should she run, since her ferry was behind her?

So the young man came up to her, and the old carle met him all panting, and the young man said: How now, Antony! what battle is this? and wherefore art thou chasing this fair knight? And thou, fair sir, why fleest thou this grey dastard?

Said Antony: Thou art but a young fool, Otter, this is no man, but a woman, and I have taken her, and she is mine.

Well, said Otter, I say she is as much mine as thine; nay, more, if she will give herself unto me. But if she will not, she shall go whither she will in thy despite. Or art thou a woman?

Yea, yea, said Birdalone; and I pray thee, by thy mother's head, suffer me to depart; for heavy and full of need is the errand that I am about.

Go thou shalt then, said Otter; lead back to thy place, and I will walk with thee. So did they: and Birdalone went beside the young man quaking; but he put out no hand unto her; and sooth to say, she deemed that she had seldom seen so fair a young man, but it were Arthur or Hugh.

Now he, as Antony, was girt with a short sword, but he let it be in its sheath; and as they went, Antony drew his blade again, and hove it up to smite Otter, but as it befell Birdalone saw him, and turned round sharp upon him and gat hold of his wrist, and therewith Otter turned also, and caught the old carle by the nape as he turned away, and put a foot before his and shoved mightily, so that he went noseling to the earth.

Then turned Otter about again, laughing, and he said to Birdalone: By Saint Giles! thou art well-nigh too valiant for a woman, and I would that we two might be together; and then between us we might achieve the adventure of the dead ladies up yonder. She hung her head, and said: Fair sir, it may not anywise be; yet I thank thee, I thank thee.

So came they to the water-side and the Sending Boat, and Birdalone stayed her feet there, and the young man said: What is this keel, that seemeth unto me as if it were a ferry for malefactors wending to a death of torment, so grey and bleared and water-logged and sun- bleached as it is, and smeared over with stains of I know not what?

Said Birdalone: Such as it is, it is my ferry over the water to where I would be. Strange! said Otter; to my mind it is like to our fortunes on this isle, we who were once knights and merry squires and are now as gangrel men, and of ill conditions, thinking of nought save our first desires, even those which we share with the wolf and the kite.

She said: But art thou of evil conditions, thou who hast just delivered me from trouble? He smiled grimly: Damsel, said he, I have not delivered thee yet from me, though I have from him. But tell me, art thou a sorceress? Not a black one, said Birdalone; but I will tell thee at once that I have been bred by a witch most mighty, and some deal of lore have I learned. And therewith she told him of the Sending Boat, and how she would have to speed it on the way.

He looked on her a little and then turned away, and saw her sword lying on the grass; so he went to it and picked it up and brought it to her, and said: Thou mayst yet need this keen friend. So she took it and thrust it back into the scabbard, quaking somewhat because of him; so feeble and frail as she felt before him. Then he said: If thou deemest thou hast somewhat to reward me for, I have a boon to ask of thee, and granting that, we shall be quits again. Yea, she said faintly, and what is the boon? He said: Art thou pressed to depart now, this minute? Nay, said Birdalone, not for an hour if there be no peril here from other men, and . . . and . . . And if I be true to thee and will let thee go? said he, laughing; hah! is that not thy word? fear not, I swear by thine eyes that thou shalt depart whenso thou wilt. Now then, the boon I crave is, that thou wilt sit down here beside me and tell me the tale of thy life that has been. Said she: It wearies me to think thereof; yet hast thou a right to crave somewhat of me, and this is not hard to grant.

And she sat down by him; but he said: Do this also for me, take off thine headpiece, since now that we know thee for a woman it serveth thee nought. So did she, and began her tale straightway, and told him all thereof, save as to the wood-wife, and he sat hearkening and watching her face; and when she had made an end, he said: Now shall I ask none other boon of thee, though I long sore for it; but best it is that we sunder straightway, else maybe I might yet be for hindering thee.

Therewith he stood up, and Birdalone also, and he looked on her eagerly, and said: I am now to bid thee farewell, and it is most like that I shall never see thee again, wherefore I will ask thee yet to let one thing come from thy mouth; for I deem thee the dearest of all women I have ever seen. What shall I say? said Birdalone, smiling on him kindly; must thou needs put the word in my mouth? Thou hast been friendly with me here when need was to me of friendliness; wherefore I say, I would I might see thee again, and thou better bestead than now thou art.

The young man's face brightened, and he said: Spake I not that thou wert the dearest of all? This was even the word I would have put in thy mouth. But now see thou, one goeth on from one thing to another, and I must now ask thee, is there aught which thou hast a mind to give me ere I depart, some keepsake which I durst not ask for?

She flushed red and said: I will with a good heart give thee my bow and arrows for a keepsake; whereas the old carle told me that ye be ill furnished of shooting-gear.

And she would have taken her bow from her back, but he laughed aloud, and said: Nay, nay, I will not have that; for there be those who gird them to a sword and know not how to use it, but few will cumber their shoulders with bow and quiver who cannot shoot therewith; I deem it like that thou art a fell bowman. Keep thy bow therefore, and if thou wilt go without any other gift, even so be it.

And he made as if he would turn away; but she put forth both her hands and took his in them, and lifted up her face and kissed him kindly, and then turned away to her ferry; while Otter stood still and said in a merry voice: Now is it better than well, for thou art in all ways what I would have thee, and there is nought like unto thee. And therewith he turned away and departed ere Birdalone had stepped into the Sending Boat, and she blushing like a rose the while. Then she did due sacrifice to the wight of the witch-ferry, and sped on her way without any hindrance.



CHAPTER XIII. COMING TO THE ISLE OF THE YOUNG AND THE OLD, BIRDALONE FINDETH IT PEOPLED WITH CHILDREN



Midst all this had worn some hours, but yet it was barely noon; wherefore it was yet dark by then Birdalone made the Isle of the Young and the Old; so she stepped out of the boat, and lay down on the grass and abode the dawn sleeping. And she awoke with the clatter of shrill voices, and she rose up and looked, and lo a multitude of children all about her, both men and women children, and, as it seemed, from five years old upward to fifteen. They cried and crowed merrily when they saw her stand up, and pressed on her to see her the nearer and to touch her hands or her raiment. They were but little clad, and the younger ones not at all, but were goodly younglings and merry. So great was the noise they raised, that loud were the thunder which had not been hushed thereby; and Birdalone stood looking on them, smiling, and knew not what to do. Anon she turned to a tall thin lad of some fifteen winters, and said unto him: Wilt thou now take me unto the house, and the place where dwelleth the old man? Quoth he: I neither know of an old man, nor rightly what it means, the word. Am not I old enough for thee? I am the oldest of these here. But belike thou art hungry; wherefore if thou come to the place where we sleep a-nights, and where we shelter us from the storm and the rain when need is, I will give thee to eat; for we have both bread and milk and cheese, and raisins of the sun.

So he took her hand and led her along, and asked her by the way concerning her armour and weapons, and of the fashion of battle, and she told him thereof what she would.

Thus came they to the place where erst had been the cot under the ruin of the great ancient house; but now was gone all that ruin and the great grey walls, though the cot was left; and all about it were low bowers built of small wood and thatched undeftly. But the lad smiled when he saw it, as if the sight thereof made him happy; and he said: All these have we made since I have dwelt here, and no other home have I known.

And he led her into the cot, and set her down to eat and to drink, and through the open door she could see the children swarming, and they that were nighest thrusting each other this way and that to catch a sight of her.

Now she said: Fair child, how gattest thou this victual if there be no older folk to help you? Said he: We dig the ground and sow it, and the wheat comes up, and we reap it in harvest, and make bread of it; and we have goats and kine, and we milk them, and turn the milk with a little blue flower, which is fair to see. And there are in this isle little hills where the grapes grow plenty; and some we eat and some we dry for store. Lo thou, such be our ways for victual. But tell me, said he, thou sayest old, and I know not the word; art thou old? She laughed: Not very, said she, yet older than thou.

Said the lad: Thou art fair and dear to look on, and thy voice is sweet; wilt thou not abide with us, and teach us what it is to be old? Nay, said she, I may not, for I have an errand which driveth me on; wherefore I must be gone within this hour.

Forsooth, she was growing eager now to be done with her journey and come to the House under the Wood, whatever should befall her there. Moreover she deemed it would not be restful to her to abide among all these restless children, with their ceaseless crying and yelping: if rest she might, she would rest, she deemed, in the Isle of Increase Unsought, if there were no ill things abiding there.

Wherefore now she arose, when she had sat hearkening the sound of the lad's prattle for a while, for as to the sense thereof she might not heed it over-much. The youngling would not leave her, but led her, holding her hand, down to her ferry again; she kissed him in thanks for his meat, and he reddened thereat but said nought. All the whole rout of little ones had followed her down to the water, and now they stood, as thick as bees on a honeycomb, on the bank, to watch her departure. But if they were keen to see her doings before, how much keener were they when it came to the baring of her arm and the smearing of the Sending Boat. To be short, so keen were they, and pushed and shoved each other so sturdily, that more than one or two fell into the water, and Birdalone was frighted lest they should drown; but they swam like ducks, and got on to the land when they would, which was not so very soon, for some of them hung unto the gunwale of the boat, and hove their faces up to look over into it, and left not hold till the ferry was fairly under weigh and beginning to quicken its speed.

So left Birdalone the isle, and nought befell her on the way to the Isle of Increase Unsought.



CHAPTER XIV. THE SENDING BOAT DISAPPEARETH FROM THE ISLE OF INCREASE UNSOUGHT, AND BIRDALONE SEEKETH TO ESCAPE THENCE BY SWIMMING



It was as before that Birdalone came to the shore of the isle while it was yet night; but the wizard keel was so loathsome to her, that she stepped out of it and laid her down on the land for what was left of the night; yet hard she found her bed, and neither grassy nor flowery.

For all that, she slept, for she was weary, and it was broad day and not very early when she awoke. She stood up trembling, for she foreboded evil, so near as she was to the dwelling of her old mistress; and she looked up to where in time past was the fair and wicked house, and saw that all was changed indeed; for no longer was the isle goodly with meadow and orchard and garden, but was waste and bare, and nought grew on it save thin and wiry grass, already seeding even ere June was born, and here and there hard and ugly herbs, with scarce aught that might be called a flower amongst them. Trees there were yet, but the most of them stark dead, and the best dying fast. No beasts she saw, nor fowl; nothing but lizards and beetles, and now and again a dry grey adder coiled up about a sun-burned stone. But of great carrion flies, green and blue, were there a many, and whiles they buzzed about her head till she sickened with loathing of them. All this she found on her way as she went up toward the place where erst was the great perron. But when she came to the top there was no sign either of the stairs or the house, or aught that ever was builded; there was nought but the bare bent top, ungrassed, parched by wind, scorched by sun, washed by rain.

She wandered about the isle, to places where she had not been herself, but which she deemed she might have known by the telling of the Green Knight's tale, had there been no change since those days; but now was all changed, and the whole isle was a mere waste, and withal poisonous of aspect to her mind, as if many corpses lay underneath the wretched stones of it. Nevertheless, though it seemed so evil unto Birdalone, she lingered on it, wandering about till she was to-wearied, for she had no will to depart at such time as she would be like to come to her old abiding-place by night and cloud; wherefore she dallied with the time, and came not back to the haven of her ferry till it was nigh sunset, and the westering sun was in her eyes when she came there; and she said to herself that this was the cause why she might not see the Sending Boat.

So she cleared her eyes and looked on the thin grass awhile, and then down over the edge of the land, and still she saw not her boat. She turned pale, and a pang of anguish went to her heart; but she walked a little east, deeming that perchance she had erred as to the place of the haven on that dull and empty shore; but yet there was no boat. Then she turned back wild with terror, and sought where erst she had missed it, and found neither boat nor the world's end. And she deemed that there might be some devilish malice of the wight of the Sending Boat, to torment her with fear, and she walked along the land's edge up and down, and down and up, further each time, and still there was no boat.

Then she stood still and strove to think, and might not, nor might she do aught, but spread abroad her hands and moaned in her agony; for now indeed she felt herself in the trap; and she said that all her past life of hope and desire and love and honour was all for nought, and that she was but born to die miserably in that foul ruin of an isle envenomed with the memories of bygone cruelty and shame.

But in a little while she came somewhat to herself, and she said: At least this hideous land shall not mock my dying anguish; I will give myself to the water and let it do with me as it will.

Therewith she cast off her helm and hauberk first, and her weapons, and her pouch with the treasure that could buy nought for her now, and thereafter all her raiment, till she was as naked as when she first came aland there that other time. Again she moaned, and put up her hand to her bosom and felt a little gold box lying there betwixt the fragrant hills of her breasts, which hung to a thin golden thread about her neck; and a thought came into her mind, and she stooped adown and drew from her pouch flint and fire-steel, and then opened the said golden box and drew thence the tress which Habundia the wood-wife had given to her those years agone, and all trembling she drew two hairs from it, as erst she did on the Isle of Nothing, and struck fire and kindled tinder and burnt the said hairs, and then hung the golden box with the tress therein about her neck again; and she said: O wood-mother, if only thou couldst know of me and see me, thou wouldst help me!

Thereafter she sought along the bank for bread which she had taken from her store that morning, and she found it, and compelled herself to eat of it for the strengthening of her body, and then she stood and abode tidings; and by then the sun had just sunk below the rim of the lake, and the stars began to twinkle, for the night was cloudless, and exceeding fair, and very warm.

No visible token came to her, but her heart grew stronger, and she seemed to see herself yet alive and in hope on the other side of the water; and she said: Who wotteth what Weird may do, or where the waters may bear me? and there is no swimmer stronger than I.

So then without more ado Birdalone slipped into the water, which lay before her as calm and plain as a great sheet of glass, and fell to rowing with her arms and her legs as though she were but swimming from Green Eyot to the mainland, as so oft she had done in the other days.



CHAPTER XV. BIRDALONE LACKETH LITTLE OF DROWNING, BUT COMETH LATTERLY TO THE GREEN EYOT



On swam Birdalone, not as one who had a mind to drown her for the forgetting of troubles, but both strongly and wisely; and she turned over on to her back, and looked on the stars above her, and steered herself by them thitherward whereas she deemed was the land under the wood. When she had been gone from the evil isle for an hour or so, there rose a fair little wind behind her, which helped her forward, but scarce raised the water more than a little ripple.

Still she swam on, and it was some three hours she began to weary, and then she floated on her back and let the wind and water have its way with her; and now the night was as dark as it would be ere dawn.

Thus it went for another hour, that whiles she swam on and whiles she floated; and now her heart began to fail her, and the great water was no longer unto her a wet highway, but a terrible gulf over which she hung fainting.

Nevertheless she did not give up doing what she might: she floated supine a long while, and then, when she had gathered a little strength, turned over again and struck out, still steering her by the stars. But she had scarce made three strokes ere her arms met something hard and rough; and at first in her forlornness she deemed she had happened on some dread water monster, and for terror of it she sank down into the deep, but came up presently blinded and breathless, and spread abroad her arms, and again they came on the thing aforesaid, and this time found that it was nought alive, but the bole of a tree sitting high out of the water. So she clomb up on to it with what might she had left, and sat her down, and saw in the dim light that it was big, and that there was a fork betwixt two limbs reaching up into the air, and she thrust herself in between these two limbs and embraced one of them, so that she might scarce tumble off; and a great content and happiness came over her that she had thus escaped from the death of the deep; but therewithal weariness overcame her, and she slept, whether she would or not; and the bole went on over the waters no slower than might have been looked for, whether it were by the pushing on of the south wind, or by the hand of Weird that would not have her die.

Long she slumbered, for when she awoke it was broad day and the sun was shining high in the heavens, and she cleared her eyes and looked around, and saw before her the land, but yet blue in the offing. And the tree-bole was yet speeding on towards the shore, as if it were being drawn there by some bidding of might.

Now indeed grew Birdalone happy, and she thought if any had helped her it must have been the wood-mother once again; and she said to herself that she should soon meet with that helper; nor heeded she that she was naked and unfurnished of any goods, whereas she deemed indeed that it was but to ask and have of her friend.

For a while indeed she knew not whither she was wending, and if her face were verily turned toward the land under the wood; but as the morning wore the blue distance began to grow green, and then she saw that a great wood was indeed before her, and thereafter, as it cleared yet more, she knew the land she was nearing for the meadows of the House under the Wood, and it was not long thence ere she saw clear and close Green Eyot and Rocky Eyot, though the house was yet hidden from her by the green shores of the first of those two isles.

Shortly to tell it, her tree-bole floated with her past the outer ness of Green Eyot, and came ashore in that same sandy bight where erst she was wonted to make her body ready for the water. She stepped ashore all glad to feel the firm warm sand underneath her foot-soles, and as one drunk with joy she was when the tall flowery grass of the latter May was caressing her legs as they shook the seed-dust off the bents, and smote the fragrance out of the blossoms; and she might scarce at first lift her eyes from their familiar loveliness. Glad she was indeed, but exceeding worn and weary with the long voyage, and all the longing and fear and hope which had encompassed her that while. She lifted up her eyes but once, and saw the witch's house standing where it was wont, but no shape of man moving about it; then she turned aside to a little brake of thorn and eglantine in the meadow hard by, and laid her down on the grass in the shade thereof, and almost before her head touched the ground she fell asleep, and slept there long and peacefully.



CHAPTER XVI. BIRDALONE FINDETH HER WITCH-MISTRESS DEAD



It was some while after noon when she wakened, and the sun was shining bright and hot. Somewhat she felt the burden of fear upon her, even before she was fully come to herself, and knew not what it was that she feared; but when she called to mind that it was even the meeting with her old mistress, her flesh quaked indeed with the memory of bygone anguish, but valiantly she arose and faced the dwelling of the witch despite her naked helplessness. As she went she looked up unto it, and saw no smoke coming from the chimney, but marvelled little thereat since it was not yet cooking-time and the weather hot. She drew nigher, and saw someone sitting on the bench without the door whereas the witch was wonted; and her heart beat quick, for she saw presently that it was none other than her mistress. Moreover, near to her stood three of the milch-kine lowing uneasily and as in reproach, even as such beasts use when their udders be full and they desire to be milked.

Birdalone stayed a minute, and her legs nigh failed her for fear, and then because of the very fear she hastened on till she came within ten paces of the said witch; and sore she missed her bow and arrows, and the cutting blade of her feigned squirehood, lest the carline should arise and come raging and shrieking at her.

Then spake Birdalone in no feeble voice, and said: Dame, I am come back unto thee, as thou seest, in even such plight as I fled from thee; and I have a mind to dwell in this land: what sayest thou? The witch neither moved nor spake at her word; and the kine, who had held silence when she first came up, and had turned from her, fell to their peevish lowing again.

Birdalone drew a step nigher, and said: Dost thou hear me, dame, or art thou exceeding wroth with me, and art pondering what vengeance thou wilt take on me? Still no answer came from the carline, and the kine kept on lowing now and again. Once more Birdalone drew nigher, and spake loudly and said: Tell me at least, is it peace between us or unpeace?

But now when she looked she saw that the eyes of the witch were open and staring, and her lips white, and her hands hard writhen; and she cried out and said: Is she dead? or will she waken presently and beat me? surely she is dead. And she put forth her hand and touched her face, and it was stone-cold; and she found that she was dead beyond any question.

Then was a great weight lifted off her heart, and she turned about and looked on the meadows and up to the trees of the wood and down to the rippling stream before her, and fair and sweet and joyous were they gotten unto her; and she looked at the kine who were drawing up towards her, and she laughed merrily, and went to the out-house hard by and took forth a milking-pail and a stool and fell to milking them one after the other, and the beasts went off down the meadow lowing in a changed voice, for joy to wit, this time. But Birdalone knelt down and drank a long draught of the sweet warm milk, and then arose and went swiftly into the house, and saw nought changed or worsened so far as she could see. There was her own bed in the corner, and the mistress's, greater and much fairer, over against it; and the hutch by the door wherein the victual was kept: she opened it now, and found three loaves there on the shelf, and a meal-tub down below, and she took a loaf and broke it and fell to eating it as she walked about the chamber. There was her bow standing in a nook beside the hutch, and the quiver of arrows hanging on the wall above it. There was the settle lying athwart from the hearth; and she smiled, and fitted her wrists to the back of the carven bear which made its elbow, whereto the witch was wont to tie them when she chastised her.

Then she went to the coffers that stood against the wall behind it, and threw up the lid of one of them, and found therein a smock or two of her own, yellowed by the lapse of time, and her old grey coat, ragged as it was when last she wore it, and now somewhat moth-eaten withal; and she drew forth both smocks and coat and laid them on the settle. Then she opened another coffer, and therein were gay and gaudy gowns and gear of the witch's wear; but lying amongst them, as if the witch had worn them also, her green gown and shoon which her own hands had broidered. But she said: Nay, ye have been in ill company, I will wear you not, though ye be goodly, at least not till ye have been fumigated and hallowed for me.

Therewith she turned back to the settle and did on her her old smock and her ragged grey coat, and said: To-day at least will these be good enough for to-day's work. And she knit her brow withal, and walked with a firm step out-a-doors and stood a while gazing on the dead corpse of her enemy; and she thought how that here was that which once was so great a thing unto her for the shaping of her life- days, and which so oft came to her waking thoughts after she had escaped from her hands, (though, as aforesaid, she seldom dreamed of her a-night-time), and moreover an hour ago she yet feared it so sore that she scarce might stand for the fear of it; and now it was nought but a carven log unto her.

But she told herself that the work was to be done; so she dragged the body away thence, and across the brook, and a little way into the meadow, and then she went back and fetched mattock and spade from the outhouse, where she knew they lay, and so fell to digging a grave for the corpse of her dead terror. But howso hard she might toil, she was not through with the work ere night began to fall on her, and she had no mind to go on with her digging by night. Wherefore she went back into the house, and lighted candles, whereof was no lack, and made her supper of the bread and the milk; and then sat pondering on her life that had been till the passion arose in her bosom, and the tears burst out, and long she wept for desire of others and pity for herself. Then she went to the bed she had been erst wont to, and laid her down and fell asleep.

And her mistress walked not, nor meddled with her peace; nor did Birdalone so much as dream of her, but of her mother and Master Jacobus in the fair city of the Five Crafts; and in her sleep she wept for thinking of them.



CHAPTER XVII. BIRDALONE LAYETH TO EARTH THE BODY OF THE WITCH, AND FINDETH THE SENDING BOAT BROKEN UP



When morning was, Birdalone awoke, and felt a weight upon her heart, and called to mind the task which lay before her. So she arose and clad herself, and went straight to the grave begun, and toiled hard till she had digged it out deep, and sithence she dragged the witch thereinto and heaped the earth upon her. Then she bathed her in the nighest pool of the brook, and went back into the house and made her breakfast on the bread and milk, and it was then about mid-morning. Thereafter she went about the house, and saw to the baking of bread, and so out to the meadow to see to the kine and the goats, and then stored the milk for making butter and cheese, and did in all wise as if she were to dwell long in that stead; but thereafter she rested her body, whiles her thought went wide about. But she said to herself that she would not go up to the Oak of Tryst to meet the wood-mother that day, but would abide the night, in case aught befell that she should tell her.

But when the sun was getting low she roused herself and went out, and walked about the meadow, and hearkened to the birds' song, and watched the kine and the goats as they fed down the pasture; and now a soft content came over her, that all this was free unto her to hold in peace, and to take her pleasure in, as much as one lone child of Adam might do.

At last she wandered down to the sandy bight of the lake and stood gazing on Green Eyot, where the osiers and willows were grown wild and long in all these years, and she said that she would swim over to it on the morrow. But now her feet took her eastward thence toward the haven of the Sending Boat amongst the alders; for in her heart she would fain know if there were any tidings for her.

So she went softly along the path by the water, where she had sped so swiftly that last time, and came at last to the creek-side, and looked down on to the water somewhat timorously. There then she saw what she deemed was the very boat itself lying as she had known it; but when she looked again she saw that it lay from stem to stern all loose staves with the water betwixt, and the thwarts and ribs all sundered and undone, so that never again might it float upon the waves. Then she said in a soft voice: Art thou dead then, as thy mistress is dead? was it not so that thou wert at the point of death, and she also, when thou failedst me at the Isle of Increase Unsought? No voice came to her as she spake; and she said again: Must I then bury thee as I have buried thy mistress? Nay, that will I not until thou compellest me; belike in a short while little of the staves of thee shall be left now that the life is out of thee. Let thy ghost and hers foregather if ye will.

As she spake the last word, she saw a stir about the stern which lay furthest in up the creek, and while she quaked with failing heart, lo! a big serpent, mouldy and hairy, grey and brown-flecked, came forth from under the stern and went into the water and up the bank and so into the dusk of the alder-wood. Birdalone stood awhile pale and heartsick for fear, and when her feet felt life in them, she turned and stole away back again into the merry green mead and the low beams of the sun, pondering whether this evil creature were the fetch of the wight who drave the ferry under the blood of the sender.

So she hastened back again to the house, and lit a fire on the hearth, and fell to cooking her somewhat of grout to her supper; and she watched the fire, thinking withal: Now if some poor soul be abroad, they may see the smoke and seek hither, and I may comfort them with food and shelter and converse; or when night darkens, they may see the litten windows and come to me; wherefore shall the fire burn yet and the candles be lighted, for as warm as is the evening, even as if it were Yule-tide and the snow deep without, and the wind howling in the woodland trees. And therewith she wept for longing of them that she loved.

But in a little she dried her tears, and reproached herself for her much softness; and she ate her supper when she had lighted a candle (for it was now dark), and again sat looking at the hearth, till she said: Now am I getting soft again, and who knows but my softness may tempt the ghosts to come in to me. I will give my hands somewhat to do.

Therewith her eye caught sight of the rents and rags of her old grey gown, and she smiled somewhat ruefully as she called to mind her gallant knight's array, which lay now on the shore of the evil and ruined isle; and her goodly attire of the days of the Five Crafts; and the rich raiment wherein her friends of the Castle of the Quest had clad her. Then she arose and sought needle and thread and some remnants of green cloth, and did off the ragged coat and fell to patching and mending it, and so sat at her work in smock-sewing till the night was old and she was weary and sleep overcame her, and she lay down in her bed and slept dreamlessly till the sun was high next morning.



CHAPTER XVIII. THE WOOD-MOTHER COMETH TO BIRDALONE AND HEARETH HER STORY



Now Birdalone arose and bathed her and broke her fast, and then went about her work with the beasts and the dairy; but all that time seemed long to her till she had bow in hand and quiver on back, and was wending her way to the Oak of Tryst; and swift were her feet and her heart beat quick with hope of pleasure.

Forsooth no long tarrying had she, for scarce had she set her down beneath the oak, ere the wood-mother came forth from the thicket even as the first time when Birdalone saw her, and presently she had her arms about Birdalone and was kissing and clipping her. Then they sat down together in the shade of the great tree, and the wood-mother made much of her friend with few words and those but simple, while Birdalone wept for joy.

At last spake Birdalone: Wood-mother, my dear, I look in thy face, and I see thee that thou art nowise changed, so that thou callest to my mind the Birdalone that met thee here when she was straying from the House of Captivity like to a bird with a string to its leg.

Habundia smiled on her and said: So it is that now thou lookest older than I. Rounder and fuller is thy body, and thy limbs greater and fairer, and thy flesh sleeker; lovelier art thou in all wise, and such as I have thought of thee during these years, save that thy face is grown wiser and sadder than might be looked for. Mother, she said, I am grown older than I should be by the tale of the years, for I have had joy and grief, and grief and joy, and grief again; and now that the years have worn, the grief abideth and the joy hath departed, save this joy of thee and the day of the meeting I have so often thought of.

Said the wood-wife: Were I to hear the story of thee, I deem it most like that I would fain buy thy joy with thy grief, both that which has been and that which is to come. And now I will ask thee right out to tell me all thy tale, as much as thou canst; and all thou canst tell to me, who am thine other self: and I wot moreover that thou hast not told of me to any whom thou hast met in the world since we were last together: is it not so? In faith and in troth so it is, said Birdalone. Said Habundia, after she had looked hard on Birdalone a while: Now there is this I find in thee, that though thou callest me wood-mother still, thou art not my daughter as thou wert erewhile, nor I thy mother; and I know not whether to be glad or sorry thereof, since thou art even as much my friend as ever thou wert. But much do I rejoice herein that thou hast not told any one soul of me.

Said Birdalone: I must tell thee that part of the tale I shall tell thee is how I have found my mother in the flesh, and loved her sorely; and then I lost her again, for she is dead.

Quoth the wood-wife, smiling on her lovingly: Then should I be even more thy mother than erst I was: there will be something else in thy tale, sweetling.

Then Birdalone flushed very red, and she smiled piteously in Habundia's face; but then she put up her hands to hide the change therein which the anguish of longing wrought, and her shoulders shook and her bosom heaved, and she wept bitterly; but the wood-wife still looked on her smiling, and said softly at last: Yea, how sweet it were to be grieved with thy pain.

But in a while Birdalone grew calm again and the very smile blossomed out in her face, and they kissed together. Then Habundia rose up and looked on her, and said at last and laughed out withal: One thing I must needs say, that thou hast not fetched thee raiment of price from the knighthood and the kings' houses; or have I not seen thy grey coat of old time, while thou wert living amidst the witch's cruelty? Yea forsooth, said Birdalone; thou needest not to ask this. Verily not, said Habundia, nor why thou art not clad in the fair green gown which thou didst broider; for whiles I have seen the witch flaunting it on the wooden ugly body of her, and thou wouldst not wear it after she had cursed it with her foulness. Is it not so? Yea, it is even so, said Birdalone; dost thou love me the less therefor? Habundia laughed again: Were I a man of Adam's sons, said she, I might make thee many words on the seemliness of thy short coat, and the kindness of it, that it will be for ever slipping off one or other of thy shoulders. But now am I at least enough thy mother, and thou art dwelling even so much in my house, that the next time we meet (and that shall be to-morrow) I shall fetch thee raiment which shall make us forget that thou camest back again to this land as naked as thou didst depart thence.

Birdalone reddened and hung down her head, but the wood-mother sat down beside her and kissed her and said: But now forget all save thy tale, and tell all as closely as thou mayest, for I would lose nought thereof. Yea, said Birdalone; and where shall I begin? Said Habundia: I know nought thereof save the beginning, that thou fledst away naked and escaped the witch; and the ending, to wit, that the Sending Boat failed thee at the last of the Wonder Isles, and that thou calledst on me not wholly in vain, whereas the witch was dead, and therefore there was nought to stay me from sending thee one of my trees and the wight thereof (whom belike I may show to thee one day) to save thee from the bottom of the deep water.

At that word Birdalone threw herself on the wood-wife and clipped and kissed her, and thanked her for the helping with all the dearest words she might. But the wood-mother laughed for joy, and stroked her cheeks and said: Now I deem thee my daughter again, whereas thou thankest me with such sweet passion for doing to thee as a kind mother needs must without any thought thereof. And I bid thee, my dear, never again to go so far from me as that I may not easily help thee and comfort thee from out of my realm wherein I am mighty. And now tell me all in thy dear speech.

Therewith Birdalone began her story without more ado, even as ye have heard it afore. Yea and many more things than we can set down did she tell, for full filled she was with the wisdom of the wood. And between whiles the wood-mother fed her with dainty meat and drink, such as Birdalone had never erst tasted the like of. And by then she had got so far as her flight from the Isle of Increase Unsought, the sun was set and the twilight begun. And the wood-wife said: Now shalt thou go home to thine house; and have no fear of witch or evil thing, for I am not far from thee and will watch over thee. Sweet is thy tale, my daughter, and dear are thy she-friends; and if ever it may be that I may do them any pleasure, fain were I; and that especially to thy Viridis, who meseemeth is both sweet and wise even as thou thyself art. Nay, dost thou begrudge my loving her? Nay, nay, said Birdalone, laughing; but I rejoice in it. And hereafter when I tell thee how sorely they paid for helping me, I will bid thee to love them yet more than now thou dost. Therewith they parted, and Birdalone came to her house; and on the way she made as it were a feigned tale in mockery of her old trouble, that there would be the witch-mistress awaiting her to whip her. So that when she came to the door she was half frighted with her own mock, lest the witch might now at last have taken to walking.

But all was quiet when she entered with the last of the twilight, and she rested that night in all peace, as in the best of her days in the Five Crafts.



CHAPTER XIX. HABUNDIA HIDETH BIRDALONE'S NAKEDNESS WITH FAERY RAIMENT



Next morning Birdalone tarried about the house as little a while as she might, and then went hastening up to the wood; and when she came within sight of the Trysting Tree, lo! there was Habundia before her, and the hands of her busy turning over goodly raiment, so that it was well-nigh as if the days had gone back to the time of the Captivity, and the sitter under the oak was Birdalone herself dealing with her half-finished gown.

Joyously they met and embraced each other, and then spake the wood- wife: Now, thou darling of the world, I have been no worse than my word, and if thou durst wear web of the Faery thou shalt presently be clad as goodly as ever thou wert down there amongst the knighthood; and then thy tale, my dear, and, if it may be, the wisdom of the barren wood-wife set thereto.

And therewith she laid on Birdalone's outstretched arms the raiment she had brought with her, and it was as if the sunbeam had thrust through the close leafage of the oak, and made its shadow nought a space about Birdalone, so gleamed and glowed in shifty brightness the broidery of the gown; and Birdalone let it fall to earth, and passed over her hands and arms the fine smock sewed in yellow and white silk, so that the web thereof seemed of mingled cream and curd; and she looked on the shoon that lay beside the gown, that were done so nicely and finely that the work was as the feather-robe of a beauteous bird, whereof one scarce can say whether it be bright or grey, thousand-hued or all simple of colour. Birdalone quivered for joy of the fair things, and crowed in her speech as she knelt before Habundia to thank her: then in a twinkling had she done off her beggar's raiment, and then the smock clung about her darling nakedness, and next the gown was shimmering all over her, and the golden girdle embraced her loins as though it loved them worthily; and Birdalone looked to the wood round about her and laughed, while Habundia lay in her place and smiled upon her with gentle loving- kindness.

But in a little while was Birdalone sobered; for the thought of how fair she should look to the eyes of her beloved when she was shown unto him on the day of days, thrust her light and eager pleasure aside; and she took up her shoes from the ground (for she had not done them on), and sat down beside the wood-wife and fell a-toying with the marvel of them; and thus without more ado began her tale again, whereas she had left it last even, when she had told of how the Sending Boat was speeding her over the waters toward the Isle of the Young and the Old.



CHAPTER XX. BIRDALONE TELLETH HABUNDIA OF HER LOVE FOR ARTHUR, AND GETTETH FROM HER PROMISE OF HELP THEREIN



Long they sat there that day, and until the sun was down, and by then had Birdalone little to tell of her story, for she was gotten therein to the days of the Five Crafts. Many times had she wept and turned to Habundia for solace as she told, not without shame, but without any covering up, all the tale of her love for Arthur the Black Squire, and how she was surprised by the love of him, and of his wisdom and grace and loveliness. And the wood-mother was ever as sweet and kind unto her as could be; yet might another than a lover have seen that much of all this was strange unto her, and she looked upon Birdalone as a child who has broken her toy, and is hard to comfort for the loss of it, though there be a many more in the world. But when it grew dusk as aforesaid, and it was time to part, she spake to Birdalone, and said: True it is, my child, that thou hast lived long in these six years time; neither do I wonder at the increase of thy beauty, and the majesty thereof; for fair is the life thou hast lived, although thou hast been grieved and tormented by it at whiles. And now I know what it is for which thou longest; and herein again will I play the mother unto thee, and seek about to fetch thee that thou wouldst have; so be not over-anxious or troubled; and thou mayest be good herein, as my fair child should be; for this I have noted in thee, that Love is not so tyrannous a master but that his servants may whiles think of other matters, and so solace their souls, that they may live despite of all.

Now was Birdalone arisen, and stood before her friend confused and blushing. But Habundia put her two hands on her shoulders and kissed her, and said: Go home now and sleep, and come again to-morrow and let us hear the last of thy tale; and when that is done, maybe I shall be able to do something for thine avail.

So they parted, and on the morrow Birdalone came again and told the remnant of her story, which was not so long now that the Black Squire was out of it. And when she had done, Habundia kept silence awhile, and then she said: One thing I will tell thee, that whereas erewhile it was but seldom indeed that any son of Adam might be seen in the woodland here, of late, that is, within the last three years, there be many such amongst us; and to our deeming they be evil beasts, more pitiless and greedy than any bear; and but that we have nought to do with them, for they fear us and flee from us, we should have destroyed them one and all. And now that I have heard all thy story, it seemeth unto me not so unlike but these may be the remnants of the bands of the Red Hold, and that they have drifted hither fleeing before the might of thy friends of the knighthood. Wherefore now, trust me that I will look into this, but I must needs be away from here for a little; so hold thy soul in patience though hear thou nought of me, and dwell quietly at home for seven days' space, and then come hither and find me, farewell now, my child!

So they kissed and departed; and Birdalone went home to the house, and wore the days thereafter doing what was needful about the stead, and wandering through the meadows, and swimming the waters about Green Eyot; and the days were not unrestful unto her.



CHAPTER XXI. HOW THE WOOD-WIFE ENTERED THE COT, AND A WONDER THAT BEFELL THEREON



But when it was the sixth day since those two had met, Birdalone arose in the morning and stood in the door of the house, and she looked toward the bent which went up to the wood and saw one coming down it, and knew it for Habundia clad in her huntress' raiment and bearing something over the left arm, for her bow was in her right hand. So Birdalone ran to meet her, and embraced and kissed her, and was merry over her, and said: Dear mother, thou farest far from thy fastness to-day. Said Habundia: There is nought in the meadows now save the neat and the goats and thou; of none of that folk am I afraid. But mayhappen thou shalt be afraid to come with me into the depths of the wildwood, for thither would I lead thee. I will be afraid of nought with thee beside me, said Birdalone. But come now and look upon the house that I have won for me. And she took her hand and led her along; and the wood-wife said no more till they were across the brook and standing by the porch.

Then said Birdalone: Thou hast a green gown over thine arm; is that also for me? Yea, certes, said Habundia; the old rag which thou hast on thee, and which thou lovest so sore, is not fine enough for my company; and the glitter-gown I gave thee may be too fine for the thorns and the briars, and moreover thou mayst be over-easily seen if thou bear that broidered sunshine mid the boughs. Wherefore go in now and do on this other coat, though the faery have made it, and then come out to me with thy bow and thy quiver, and I shall find thee sandal-shoon and girdle withal.

Nay, wood-mother, said Birdalone, hallow my house by entering it, and eat a morsel with me and drink the wine of the horned folk ere we go our ways.

Habundia shook her head and knit her brows somewhat as she looked hard on the house; then she said: I know not, Adam's daughter; I have little to do with houses, and doubt if a house be safe for me. And this one that the witch builded! and belike she buried some human being at one of its four corners. Tell me, fair child, sawest thou ever here at night-tide the shape of a youngling crowned with a garland straying about the house?

Nay, never at all, said Birdalone. Said the wood-wife: Then maybe thou hast hallowed it with the wisdom and love of thee, and I may venture; and moreover I note that it is all builded of trees and the grass of the earth; and thou art free to use them by my leave. But if aught befall of my coming under thy roof, heed it not too much, but think, whatsoever my aspect may be, I am thy wood-mother and wisdom-mother that loveth thee. And I bid thee also wish with all thy might that my aspect may not change to thee. Also, if I eat, thou wert best not to sign the meat as Adam's sons are wont. Lead in then; for now am I grown wilful, and will enter whatever betide.

Birdalone marvelled at those words, but she fell to wishing strongly that her friend might not lose her lovely youthful shape either then or ever, and she took her hand, which trembled somewhat, and led her over the threshold; and when they were under the roof herseemed that the wood-mother dwindled in a wondrous way, though her face was as sweet and her limbs as shapely as ever; and she laughed shrilly yet sweetly, and spake in a thin clear voice: Birdalone, my dear, wish strongly, wish strongly! though thou shalt see nothing worse of me than this. And she was scarce three feet high, but as pretty as a picture.