body of silver; like quicksilver she ran. And the huntsman, the passion to
slay rousing his blood, caught up arrow and bow, and tried in vain with his
maimed hands to notch the shaft upon the string.

The beautiful creature leapt lightly by, between the curtains of moonbeam and
mist; and as she went she sprang this way and that across the narrow
streamlet, till the pale shadows hid her altogether from his sight. "Ah! ah!"
cried the huntsman, "I would have given all my life to be able to shoot then!
I am the most miserable man alive; but to-morrow I will be the happiest. What
a thing is love, that it has known how to conquer in me even my hunter's
blood!"

In the morning the beautiful maiden returned; she came sadly. "I gave you my
word," said she: "here I am. If you have the arrow still with you as it was
last night, I will be your wife, because you have done what never huntsman
before was able to do--not to shoot at the white doe when it went by."

The huntsman showed her the unused arrow; her beauty made him altogether
happy. He caught her in his arms, and kissed her till the sun grew high. Then
she brought food and set it before him; and taking his hand, "I am your wife,"
said she, "and with all my heart my will is to serve you faithfully. Only, if
you value your happiness, do not shoot ever at the white doe." Then she saw
that there was blood on his hand, and her face grew troubled. She saw how the
other hand also was wounded. "How came this?" she asked; "dear husband, you
were not so hurt yesterday."

And the huntsman answered, "I did it for fear lest in the night I should fail,
and shoot at the white doe when it came."

Hearing that, his wife trembled and grew white. "You have tricked us both,"