The maiden
again vanished, and he turned and fled for his life.
Nor did he stop until he was in the cot of the holy
hermit, whence he had set out. Hastily barring the
door against the bears he cast himself upon the
ground and wept.
'My son,' said the hermit from his couch of straw,
freshly gathered that morning by Haita's hands, 'it
is not like thee to weep for bears--tell me what
sorrow hath befallen thee, that age may minister to
the hurts of youth with such balms as it hath of its
wisdom.'
Haita told him all: how thrice he had met the
radiant maid and thrice she had left him forlorn.
He related minutely all that had passed between
them, omitting no word of what had been said.
When he had ended, the holy hermit was a mo-
ment silent, then said: 'My son, I have attended to
thy story, and I know the maiden. I have myself
seen her, as have many. Know, then, that her name,
which she would not even permit thee to inquire, is
Happiness. Thou saidst the truth to her, that she
is capricious, for she imposeth conditions that man
cannot fulfil, and delinquency is punished by de-
sertion. She cometh only when unsought, and will
not be questioned. One manifestation of curiosity,
one sign of doubt, one expression of misgiving, and
she is away! How long didst thou have her at any
time before she fled?'
'Only a single instant,' answered Haita, blushing
with shame at the confession.
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