The maiden gazed earnestly at one and another.
First of all, Vijelia had to stand through a whole day, without meat or drink, in the burning sun. If she showed any weakness or weariness, or ate and drank too greedily when evening came, she could not be king.
The second day she was to collect a mighty heap of stones from a certain river in the depths of the valley, and would have to perform her journey countless times before she could get together the requisite number of stones, which, on the third day, were to be cast at her. If her endurance failed beneath the stoning, she could not be king.
The oldest man of the tribe explained all this to her, and she listened to him with a cheerful face.
The day came—a burning hot July day—and at sunrise Vijelia, clad in a snowy woollen robe, took her stand upon a neighbouring hill-top. For the first few hours she sang, as she stood there, in a full and ringing voice; but as noon drew on, her lips and throat grew so dry, she was fain to keep silence. The sun had already passed over the highest of the mountain-peaks before she even changed her weight from one foot to the other. Suddenly she heard the sound of hoofs ascending towards her, and lo! her stags appeared, and, flying around her, fanned her with a cool breeze from their wings; then her favourite hind drew near, offering her full udders for her mistress to drink from. But Vijelia, with stern voice, bade them all depart, and with drooping heads the faithful creatures slank away to their pasture.
The hours crept slowly on, and the sun burnt so hot that the tips of Vijelia’s golden locks were singed by it. But she did not stir.
When the sun was setting the men came and offered her a drink of water, but she only moistened her lips with it, and called, “Mititica!” Then the winged hind came flying up, and she took a little milk from her, refusing all other nourishment.
King Briar gazed with anxious eyes at his beautiful daughter, but she gave him a merry laugh, and said the first day had passed quickly and easily indeed. When the darkness fell she went down to the river, and plunged as many as ten times into its cool depths. Then she climbed the bank, and sitting upon a mossy stone, began to shake out the coils of her hair. The moon rose over the mountain-top and looked down upon the maiden sitting there in her heavenly beauty, and tenderly did she shed her beams upon her, so that the drops that were wrung from the golden coils glittered like silver. The moon did not know that that perfect body was to endure a cruel hail of stones, or she would have veiled her face for very sadness.