would branch in time, it was of a breed so fine and a
build so noble that its matchless noon could already be foretold from
its matchless dawn; and added to all its strength and grace and beauty
was this last marvel, that though it was of the tribe of the Red Deer,
its skin was as white and speckless as falling snow. Watching it, the
Red Smith said to himself, "Not yet my quarry. You are of king's stock,
and if after the sixth year you show twelve points, you shall be for
me. But first, my hart-royal, you shall get your growth." And he came
away and told no man of the calf or of the pool.

And in the second year he watched for it by the mere, and saw it come
to drink, no longer a calf, but a lovely brocket, with its brow antlers
making its first two points. And in the third year he watched for it
again, no brocket now but a splendid spayade, which to its brows had
added its shooting bays; and in the fourth year the spayade had become
a proud young staggarde, with its trays above its bays. And in the
fifth year the staggarde was a full-named stag, crowned with the
exquisite twin crowns of its crockets, surmounting tray and bay and
brow. And Harding lying hidden gloried in it, thinking, "All your
points now but two, my quarry. And next year you shall add the beam to
the crown, and I will hunt my hart."

Now at the time when Harding first saw the calf, and the ruin of the
castle across the ferry was only a ruin, not fit for habitation, it was
nevertheless inhabited by the Proud Rosalind, who dwelt there without
kith or kin. And if time had crumbled the castle to its last nobility,
so that all that was strong and beautiful in it was preserved and, as
it were, exposed in nakedness to the eyes of men: so in her, who was
the ruins of her family, was preserved and exposed all that had been
most noble, strong and beautiful in her race. She was as poor as she
was friendless, but her pride outmatched both these things. So great
was her pride that she learned to endure shame for the sake of it. She
had a tall straight figure that was both strong and graceful, and she
carried herself like a tree. Her hair was neither bronze nor gold nor
copper, yet seemed to be an alloy of all the precious mines of the
turning year--the vigorous dusky gold of November elms, the rust of
dead bracken made living by heavy rains, the color of beechmast
drenched with sunlight after frost, and all the layers of glory on the
boughs before it fell, when i