THE LADY OF THE HILLS
No escape was possible for poor little Martin so long as it was dark,
and there he had to stay all night, but morning brought him comfort;
for now he could see the reed-stems that hemmed him in all round,
and by using his hands to bend them from him on either side he could
push through them. By-and-by the sunlight touched the tops of the
tall plants, and working his way towards the side from which the
light came he soon made his escape from that prison, and came into a
place where he could walk without trouble, and could see the earth
and sky again. Further on, in a grassy part of the valley, he found
some sweet roots wrhich greatly refreshed him, and at last, leaving
the valley, he came out on a high grassy plain, and saw the hills
before him looking very much nearer than he had ever seen them look
before. Up till now they had appeared like masses of dark blue
banked up cloud resting on the earth, now he could see that they
were indeed stone--blue stone piled up in huge cliffs and crags high
above the green world; he could see the roughness of the heaped up
rocks, the fissures and crevices in the sides of the hills, and here
and there the patches of green colour where trees and bushes had
taken root. How wonderful it seemed to Martin that evening standing
there in the wide green plain, the level sun at his back shining on
his naked body, making him look like a statue of a small boy carved
in whitest marble or alabaster. Then, to make the sight he gazed on
still more enchanting, just as the sun went down the colour of the
hills changed from stone blue to a purple that was like the purple
of ripe plums and grapes, only more beautiful and bright. In a few
minutes the purple colour faded away and the hills grew shadowy and
dark. It was too late in the day, and he was too tired to walk
further. He was very hungry and thirsty too, and so when he had
found a few small white partridge-berries and had made a poor supper
on them, he gathered some dry grass into a little heap, and lying
down in it, was soon in a sound sleep.
It was not until the late afternoon next day that Martin at last got
to the foot of the hill, or mountain, and looking up he saw it like
a great wall of stone above him, with trees and bushes and trailing
vines growing out of the crevices and on the narrow ledges of the
rock. Going some distance he came to a place where he could ascend,
and here he began slowly walking upwards. At first he could hardly
contain his delight where everything looked new and strange, and
here he found some very beautiful flowers; but as he toiled on he
grew more tired and hungry at every step, and then, to make matters
worse, his legs began to pain so that he could hardly lift them. It
was a curious pain which he had never felt in his sturdy little legs
before in all his wanderings.
Then a cloud came over the sun, and a sharp wind sprang up that made
him shiver with cold: then followed a shower of rain; and now Martin,
feeling sore and miserable, crept into a cavity beneath a pile of
overhanging rocks for shelter. He was out of the rain there, but the
wind blew in on him until it made his teeth chatter with cold. He
began to think of his mother, and of all the comforts of his lost
home--the bread and milk when he was hungry, the warm clothing, and
the soft little bed with its snowy white coverlid in which he had
slept so sweetly every night.
"O mother, mother!" he cried, but his mother was too far off to hear
his piteous cry.
When the shower was over he crept out of his shelter again, and with
his little feet already bleeding from the sharp rocks, tried to
climb on. In one spot he found some small, creeping, myrtle plants
covered with ripe white berries, and although they had a very
pungent taste he ate his fill of them, he was so very hungry. Then
feeling that he could climb no higher, he began to look round for a
dry, sheltered spot to pass the night in. In a little while he came
to a great, smooth, flat stone that looked like a floor in a room,
and was about forty yards wide: nothing grew on it except some small
tufts of grey lichen; but on the further side, at the foot of a steep,
rocky precipice, there was a thick bed of tall green and yellow ferns,
and among the ferns he hoped to find a place to lie down in. Very
slowly he limped across the open space, crying with the pain he felt
at every step; but when he reached the bed of ferns he all at once
saw, sitting among the tall fronds on a stone, a strange-looking
woman in a green dress, who was gazing very steadily at him with
eyes full of love and compassion. At her side there crouched a big
yellow beast, covered all over with black, eye-like spots, with a
big round head, and looking just like a cat, but a hundred times
larger than the biggest cat he had ever seen. The animal rose up
with a low sound like a growl, and glared at Martin with its wide,
yellow, fiery eyes, which so terrified him that he dared not move
another step until the womaan, speaking very gently to him, told him
not to fear. She caressed the great beast, making him lie down again;
then coming forward and taking Martin by the hand, she drew him up
to her knees.
[Illustration: ]
"What is your name, poor little suffering child?" she asked, bending
down to him, and speaking softly. "Martin--what's yours?" he returned,
still half sobbing, and rubbing his eyes with his little fists.
"I am called the Lady of the Hills, and I live here alone in the
mountain. Tell me, why do you cry, Martin?"
"Because I'm so cold, and--and my legs hurt so, and--and because I
want to go back to my mother. She's over there," said he, with
another sob, pointing vaguely to the great plain beneath their feet,
extending far, far away into the blue distance, where the crimson
sun was now setting.
"I will be your mother, and you shall live with me here on the
mountain," she said, caressing his little cold hands with hers.
"Will you call me mother?"
"You are _not_ my mother," he returned warmly. "I don't want to call
you mother."
"When I love you so much, dear child?" she pleaded, bending down
until her lips were close to his averted face.
"How that great spotted cat stares at me!" he suddenly said.
"Do you think it will kill me?"
"No, no, he only wants to play with you. Will you not even look at me,
Martin?"
He still resisted her, but her hand felt very warm and
comforting--it was such a large, warm, protecting hand. So pleasant
did it feel that after a little while he began to move his hand up
her beautiful, soft, white arm until it touched her hair. For her
hair was unbound and loose; it was dark, and finer than the finest
spun silk, and fell all over her shoulders and down her back to the
stone she sat on. He let his fingers stray in and out among it; and
it felt like the soft, warm down that lines a little bird's nest to
his skin. Finally, he touched her neck and allowed his hand to rest
there, it was such a soft, warm neck. At length, but reluctantly,
for his little rebellious heart was not yet wholly subdued, he
raised his eyes to her face. Oh, how beautiful she was! Her love and
eager desire to win him had flushed her clear olive skin with rich
red colour; out of her sweet red lips, half parted, came her warm
breath on his cheek, more fragrant than wild flowers; and her large
dark eyes were gazing down into his with such a tenderness in them
that Martin, seeing it, felt a strange little shudder pass through
him, and scarcely knew whether to think it pleasant or painful.
"Dear child, I love you so much," she spoke, "will you not call me
mother?"
Dropping his eyes and with trembling lips, feeling a little ashamed
at being conquered at last, he whispered "Mother."
She raised him in her arms and pressed him to her bosom, wrapping
her hair like a warm mantle round him; and in less than one minute,
overcome by fatigue, he fell fast asleep in her arms.