ep, although the traces
of tears on her cheeks showed that she had been awake and crying
during the night.

"Ah, now I know why she cries every morning," thought Martin;
"it is because I must go away and leave her here alone on the hills."

He was out of her arms and dressed in a very few moments, moving
very softly lest she should wake; but though he knew that if she
awoke she would not let him go, he could not leave her without
saying goodbye. And so coming near he stooped over her and very
gently kissed her soft cheek and sweet mouth and murmured, "Good-bye,
sweet mother." Then, very cautiously, like a shy, little wild animal
he stole out of the cavern. Once outside, in the early morning light,
he started running as fast as he could, jumping from stone to stone
in the rough places, and scrambling through the dew-laden bushes and
creepers, until, hot and panting, he arrived down at the very foot
of the hill.

Then it was easier walking, and he went on a little until he heard a
voice crying, "Martin! Martin!" and, looking back, he saw the Lady
of the Hills standing on a great stone near the foot of the mountain,
gazing sadly after him. "Martin, oh, my child, come back to me," she
called, stretching out her arms towards him. "Oh, Martin, I cannot
leave the hills to follow you and shield you from harm and save you
from death, Where will you go? Oh me, what shall I do without you?"

For a little while he stood still, listening with tears in his eyes
to her words, and wavering in his mind; but very soon he thought of
the great blue water once more and could not go back, but began to
run again, and went on and on for a long distance before stopping to
rest. Then he looked back, but he could no longer see her form
standing there on the stone.

All that day he journeyed on towards the ocean over a great plain.
There was no trees and no rocks nor hills, only grass on the level
earth, in some places so tall that the spikes, looking like great
white ostrich plumes, waved high above his head. But it was easy
walking, as the grass grew in tussocks or bunches, and underneath
the ground was bare and smooth so that he could walk easily between
the bunches.

He wondered that he did not get to the sea, but it was still far off,
and so the long summer day wore to an end, and he was so tired that
he could scarcely lift his legs to walk. Then, as he went slowly on
in the fading light, where the grass was short and the evening
pri