"Who would not have thee forever?" replied Haïta. "Oh! never again leave me until—until I—change and become silent and motionless."
Haita had no word for death.
"I wish, indeed," he continued, "that thou wert of my own sex, that we might wrestle and run races and so never tire of being together."
At these words the maiden arose and passed out of the cave, and Haïta, springing from his couch of fragrant boughs to overtake and detain her, observed to his astonishment that the rain was falling and the stream in the middle of the valley had come out of its banks. The sheep were bleating in terror, for the rising waters had invaded their fold. And there was danger for the unknown cities of the distant plain.
It was many days before Haïta saw the maiden again. One day he was returning from the head of the valley, where he had gone with ewe's milk and oat cake and berries for the holy hermit, who was too old and feeble to provide himself with food.
"Poor old man!" he said aloud, as he trudged along homeward. "I will return tomorrow and bear him on my back to my own
