Towards the grey of the morning, seeing that the whole forest was at

peace, with no sign of dogs or men all that night, and now even a rest

from the far howling of the wolves, Prosper's head dropt to his

breast. In a few seconds he slept profoundly. Isoult awoke and saw

that he slept: she lay watching him, longing but not daring. When she

saw that he looked blue and pinched about the cheekbones, that his

cheeks were yellow where they should be red, and grey where they had

been white, she knew he was cold; and her humbleness was not proof

against this justification of her desires. She crept out of her snug

nest, crawled towards her lord and felt his hands; they were ice.

"Asleep he is mine," she thought. She picked up the cloak, then crept

again towards him, seated herself behind and a little above him, threw

the cloak over both and snuggled it well in. She put her arms about

him and drew him close to her bosom. His head fell back at her gentle

constraint; so he lay like a child at the breast. The mother in her

was wild and throbbing. Stooped over him she pored into his face. A

divine pity, a divine sense of the power of life over death, of waking

over sleep, drew her lower and nearer. She kissed his face--the lids

of his eyes, his forehead and cheeks. Like an unwatched bird she

foraged at will, like a hardy sailor touched at every port but one.

His mouth was too much his own, too firm; it kept too much of his

sovereignty absolute. Otherwise she was free to roam; and she roamed,

very much to his material advantage, since the love that made her rosy

to the finger-tips, in time warmed him also. He slept long in her

arms.

She began to be very hungry.

"He too will be hungry when he wakes," she thought; "what shall I do?

We have nothing to eat." She looked down wistfully at his head where

it lay pillowed. "What would I not give him of mine?" The thought

flooded her. But what could she do?

She heard the pattering of dry leaves, the crackle of dry twigs snapt,

and looking up, saw a herd of deer feeding in a glade not very far

off.

Idly as she watched them, it came home to her that there were hinds

among them with calves. One she noticed in particular feed a little

apart, having two calves near her which had just begun to nibble a

little grass. Vaguely wondering still over her plight, she pictured

her days of shepherding in the downs where food had often failed her,

and the ewes perforce mothered another lamb. That hind's udder was

full of milk: a sudden thought ran like wine through her blood. She

slid from Prosper, got up very softly, took her cup, and went towards

the browsing deer. The hind looked up (like all the herd) but did not

start nor run. A brief gaze satisfied it that here was no enemy,

neither a stranger to the forest walks; it fell-to again, and suffered

Isoult to come quite close, even to lay her hand upon its neck. Then

she stood for a while stroking the red hind, while all the herd

watched her. She knelt before the beast, clasping both arms about its

neck; she fondled it with her face, as if asking the boon she would

have. Some message passed between them, some assurance, for she let go

of the hind's neck and crawled on hands and knees towards the udder.

The deer never moved, though it turned its head to watch her. She took

the teat in her mouth, sucked and drew milk. The herd stood all about

her motionless; the hind nuzzled her as if she had been one of its own

calves; so she was filled.




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