d the small clouds were no longer
fragments of amber, but bits of mottled pearl seen through sea-water.
But Rosalind witnessed none of these slow changes, and when after a
great while she lifted her faint head, she saw only that the day was
changed to night. And on the other side of the beech-tree, touched with
moonlight, a motionless white stag stood watching her. It was a hart of
the sixth year, and stood already higher than any hart of the twelfth;
full five foot high it stood, and its grand soft shining flanks seemed
to be molded of marble for their grandeur, and silk for their
smoothness, and moonlight for their sheen. Its new antlers were
branching towards their yearly strength, and the triple-pointed crowns
rose proudly from the beam that was their last perfection. The eyes of
the girl and the beast met full, and neither wavered. The hart came to
her noiselessly, and laid its muzzle on her hair, and when she put her
hand on its pure side it arched its noble neck and licked her cheek.
Then, stepping as proudly and as delicately as Rosalind's self, it
moved on through the trees; and she followed it.

The forest changed from beech to pine and fir. It deepened and grew
strange to her. She did not know it. And the light of the sky turned
here from silver to gray, and she felt about her the stir of unseen
things. But she looked neither to the right nor the left, but followed
the snow-white hart that went before her. It brought her at last to its
own drinking-place, and as soon as she saw it old rumors gathered
themselves into a truth, and she knew that this was the lost
Wishing-Pool. And she remembered that this night was Midsummer Eve, and
by the position of the ghostly moon she saw it was close on midnight.
So she knelt down by the edge of the mere, and stretched her hands
above it, the palms to the stars, and in a low clear voice she made her
prayer.

"Whatever spirit dwells under these waters," said she, "I know not
whether you are a power for good or ill. But if it is true that you
will answer in this hour the need of any that calls on you--oh, Spirit,
my need is very great to-night. Hunger is bitter in my body, and my
strength is nearly wasted. A hind cast me his crust to-day, and five
hours I have battled with myself not to creep back to the place where
it still lies and eat of that vile bread. I do not fear to die, but I
fear to die of my hunger lest they sneer at the last of my race brought
low to so mean a