"Oh, my love, come back, come back! My pride is melted away like the snow, and without any race I will give myself to thee." Thus would she long for him, and grow near to hating him, because she knew that she loved him. The weeks and months passed by, and still he returned not; winter came and went, and once again the dewdrops shone in the summer sunlight as Atalanta walked in the forest at break of day. She walked with her eyes upon the ground, thinking of the summer morning a long year ago when he had walked by her side in silence along that very path. When by chance she raised her eyes, there, at the parting of the ways, he stood, as though in answer to her thoughts. With a cry she stopped short and gazed at him, and he came forward and bowed to her. "I have come back, lady," he said. "Oh!" she cried from her heart, "I am glad thou hast come back." Then he bent and kissed her hand. So once more they walked in silence side by side along the path they had walked before; and once again the bond of love was knit strong between them, with its strands of certainty and doubt. As they drew near to the edge of the forest, Atalanta was the first to speak. "And thy vow," she asked--"hast thou found release from it?" "Not yet," he answered. "I am come back to run the race, that I may win release." Once again the spirit of perversity came upon her. "Where hast thou learnt to run like the wind?" she asked. "I have not learnt to run like the wind," he replied. "I have learnt something better than that." "Few things are better in a race than swiftness," she said. "True," he answered; "yet I have found the one thing better." "What is this strange thing?" she asked. "When we have run the race, thou wilt know," he said. "I have grown no sluggard," she said, with a toss of her head, as though to warn him that her speed was not a thing to be despised. "That I can see," he said, as he cast a glance at her straight white limbs and the easy grace of her bearing as she walked beside him. Then they talked of indifferent matters, and each one knew that what they had nearest their hearts they were hiding from each other. So they came to the palace, and from the lowest to the highest the inmates greeted the stranger with joy. For he had won the hearts of them all by his wit and his genial smile. But they sighed when they heard that he too had come to run in the fatal race. "Alas!" said the old king, shaking his head, "I had rather not have looked upon thy face again than see thee back on such an errand." The young man laughed. "He who runs with a fair hope of winning runs swiftly," he said. "The others were dragged down by the shackels of their own despair." "Thou dost not know my daughter," said the king. "Mayhap I know her better than thou thinkest, and better than thou knowest her thyself," said the stranger. No arguments or entreaties would turn him from his purpose.