When the second day dawned, there stood Vijelia in her short garment, as fresh and cheerful as though no fatigue could ever touch her. When the men came to fetch her down for this day’s work, she was ranging over the hill upon her stag Graur, casting herself down upon his back, and playing with his wings, like a child in the cradle. But now she sprang down and dismissed the creature with a light touch of the hand; then, taking a broad, flat fragment of rock upon her shoulder, she carried it down into the valley, laid it beside the river’s edge, and wading into the water, began to seek for stones, which she piled upon it as high as it would hold.
“Help me up with it on to my shoulder,” said she. But none of the men could lift the weight. Then she bent down, and, laughing, threw it on to her left shoulder. Moreover, she made the men pick up the stones that had slipped off the while, and throw them on to the heap with the rest. Then she set off so fast up the hill that no one could follow her, put down her load, and ran back to the valley again without waiting to rest.
King Briar sat watching his daughter from the heights above, and stroked his white beard in silence.
Long before the day had begun to decline, Vijelia had already collected the prescribed number of stones. She crossed her arms and stood and looked at the heap, without the smallest sign of flinching. King Briar’s heart sank as he watched his child standing there, and he slept but little that night. Yet she slept, quietly and soundly, beneath a giant pine, through the branches of which the moonbeams stole to look at the beautiful sleeper, lying with her head on her arms, her lips slightly parted, in the sweetest, most childlike slumber.
When the dawn aroused her, she sought out a linen garment that she had spun and woven herself, so that she could rely upon its strength.
And thus she appeared before her people, so fair that the heart of many a one burnt within him at the thought of misusing her.
The heap of stones disappeared in a few minutes, for each man had armed himself with one. Now they formed a great circle round the maiden, who quietly gathered her hair up and fastened it in a knot.
“So that ye may not think my mantle shields me,” she explained, with a smile.
The first stone sped from the hand of King Briar himself, who looked his daughter firmly and earnestly in the face as he cast it. She kissed the place on her arm where he had smitten her, and threw him a kiss with both hands. Then she stood as still as a statue beneath the hail of stones, though her anguish grew with every moment. Only once a sigh escaped her, and she crossed her hands for a moment over her breast—and the hands were so white! But she let her arms drop again directly, and only turned her head aside, looking towards the sun, that was slowly, very slowly, sinking nearer to the mountain-top, and bathed the maiden’s face in a golden glow.
On a sudden the rain of stones ceased, and all the men knelt, with lowered swords and lances, at her feet, while in solemn voices they swore faith to her—eternal faith, and never to be broken.