daring to speak lest the lovely vision should vanish, and the memory
of it mock him for ever.

The beautiful maiden looked up from her washing. "Why have you come
here?" said she.

The huntsman answered her as he believed to be the truth, "I have come
because I love you!"

"No," she said, "you came because you wanted to kill the white doe. If
you wish to kill her, it is not likely that you can love me."

"I do not wish to kill the white doe!" cried the huntsman; "I had not
seen you when I wished that. If you do not believe that I love you,
take my bow and shoot me to the heart; for I will never go away from you
now."

At his word she took one of the arrows, looking curiously at the red
feathers, and to test the sharp point she pressed it against her breast.
"Have a care!" cried the hunter, snatching it back. He drew his breath
sharply and stared. "It is strange," he declared; "a moment ago I almost
thought that I saw the white doe."

"If you stay here to-night," said the maiden, "about midnight you will
see the white doe go by. Take this arrow, and have your bow ready, and
watch! And if to-morrow, when I return, the arrow is still unused in
your hand, I will believe you when you say that you love me. And you
have only to ask, and I will do all that you desire."

Then she gave the huntsman food and drink and a bed of ferns upon which
to rest. "Sleep or wake," said she as she parted from him; "if truly you
have no wish to kill the white doe, why should you wake? Sleep!"

"I do not wish to kill the white doe," said the huntsman. Yet he could
not sleep: the memory of the one wild creature which had escaped him
stung his blood. He looked at the arrow which he held ready, and grew
thirsty at the sight of it. "If I see, I must shoot!" cried his hunter's
heart. "If I see, I must not shoot!" cried his soul, smitten with love
for the beautiful maiden, and remembering her word. "Yet, if I see,
I know I must shoot--so shall I lose all!" he cried as midnight
approached, and the fever of long waiting remained unassuaged.

Then with a sudden will he drew out his hunting-knife, and scored the
palms of his two hands so deeply that he could no longer hold his bow
or draw the arrow upon the string. "Oh, fair one, I have kept my word to
you!" he cried as midnight came. "The bow and the arrow are both ready."

Looking forth from the threshold by which he lay, he saw pale moonlight
and mist making a white haze together on the out