Then again she would grow tender, and stand looking down the path by which he had gone, and sigh for him.
"Oh, my love, come back, come back! My pride is melted away like the snow, and without any race I will give myself to thee."
Thus would she long for him, and grow near to hating him, because she knew that she loved him. The weeks and months passed by, and still he returned not; winter came and went, and once again the dewdrops shone in the summer sunlight as Atalanta walked in the forest at break of day. She walked with her eyes upon the ground, thinking of the summer morning a long year ago when he had walked by her side in silence along that very path. When by chance she raised her eyes, there, at the parting of the ways, he stood, as though in answer to her thoughts. With a cry she stopped short and gazed at him, and he came forward and bowed to her.
"I have come back, lady," he said.
"Oh!" she cried from her heart, "I am glad thou hast come back."
Then he bent and kissed her hand. So once more they walked in silence side by side along the path they had walked before; and once again the bond of love was knit strong between them, with its strands of certainty and doubt. As they drew near to the edge of the forest, Atalanta was the first to speak.
"And thy vow," she asked—"hast thou found release from it?"
"Not yet," he answered. "I am come back to run the race, that I may win release."
Once again the spirit of perversity came upon her.
"Where hast thou learnt to run like the wind?" she asked.