And so gentle and beautiful and sorrowful was Florimell, that, for the first time in the whole of her wicked life, the old witch felt some pity in her cruel heart. She told Florimell not to cry, and bade her sit down and rest. So Florimell sat down on the dusty floor and rested, as a little bird rests after a storm. She tried to tidy her robes that were rent by the branches and briars through which she had passed, and she smoothed her hair, and arranged her sparkling jewels.
The old hag sat and stared at her, and could not say a word, so much did she marvel at Florimell’s wondrous beauty.
When it was midday, the witch’s son came in. At the sight of Florimell he was as frightened as his mother had been, and stared in wonder and in fear. But Florimell spoke to them both so gently and so kindly that soon they no longer feared her.
She stayed with them in the wretched little hut for some time. And in that time the witch’s son came to love her, and to long to have her for his wife. He tried to do everything that he thought would please her. He would bring her from the woods the rosiest of the wild apples, and the prettiest of the wildflowers he made into garlands for her hair. He caught young birds and taught them to whistle the tunes she liked, and young squirrels he caught and tamed and gave to her.
But Florimell feared both him and his wicked old mother. When her palfrey had rested, and grazed on the grass in the glen until it was quite strong once more, at daybreak one morning she put its golden trappings on again and rode away. She shivered at each shadow, and trembled at each sound, because she was so afraid that the witch or her son would follow her.
But these two wicked people slept until it was broad daylight and Florimell was far away. When they awoke and found her gone, they were furiously angry, and the witch’s son was so frantic that he scratched his own face and bit himself, and tore at his rough long hair.
‘I shall bring her back, or else kill her!’ said the witch.
Then she went to a dark cave, and called out of it a horrible beast like a hyena. Its back was speckled with a thousand colours, and it could run faster than any other beast.
‘Fetch Florimell back to me!’ said the witch, ‘or else tear her in pieces!’
Off the beast rushed, and before long it saw Florimell on her white horse riding through the trees.