To the huntsman she became all at once the most beautiful thing that the world contained; all the spirit of the chase seemed to be in her blood, and each little movement of her feet made his heart jump for joy. “I have looked for you all my life!” thought he, as he halted and gazed, not daring to speak lest the lovely vision should vanish, and the memory of it mock him for ever.
The beautiful maiden looked up from her washing. “Why have you come here?” said she.
The huntsman answered her as he believed to be the truth, “I have come because I love you!”
“No,” she said, “you came because you wanted to kill the white doe. If you wish to kill her, it is not likely that you can love me.”
“I do not wish to kill the white doe!” cried the huntsman; “I had not seen you when I wished that. If you do not believe that I love you, take my bow and shoot me to the heart; for I will never go away from you now.”
At his word she took one of the arrows, looking curiously at the red feathers, and to test the sharp point she pressed it against her breast. “Have a care!” cried the hunter, snatching it back. He drew his breath sharply and stared. “It is strange,” he declared; “a moment ago I almost thought that I saw the white doe.”
“If you stay here to-night,” said the maiden, “about midnight you will see the white doe go by. Take this arrow, and have your bow ready, and watch! And if to-morrow, when I return, the arrow is still unused in your hand, I will believe you when you say that you love me. And you have only to ask, and I will do all that you desire.”
Then she gave the huntsman food and drink and a bed of ferns upon which to rest. “Sleep or wake,” said she as she parted from him; “if truly you have no wish to kill the white doe, why should you wake? Sleep!”
“I do not wish to kill the white doe,” said the huntsman. Yet he could not sleep: the memory of the one wild creature which had escaped him stung his blood. He looked at the arrow which he held ready, and grew thirsty at the sight of it. “If I see, I must shoot!” cried his hunter’s heart. “If I see, I must not shoot!” cried his soul, smitten with love for the beautiful maiden, and remembering her word. “Yet, if I see, I know I must shoot—so shall I lose all!” he cried as midnight approached, and the fever of long waiting remained unassuaged.
Then with a sudden will he drew out his hunting-knife, and scored the palms of his two hands so deeply that he could no longer hold his bow or draw the arrow upon the string. “Oh, fair one, I have kept my word to you!” he cried as midnight came. “The bow and the arrow are both ready.”