It was Argathona who came thus upon the old solitary and his untroubled birds. The moon was still shining when she gained the shelter of her forest on the night of her flight from Athens, and she made at once for the cave where she had so often lain through the ages, her cave in the heart of the wood. There she hid the golden apple, and there she stripped off her male attire and clothed herself in her woman's weeds, according to the old wont. Then she lay down on a couch of fern and slept the dreamless sleep of the immortals that have no need to double their little lives with false seeming. Indeed, she was very weary of the world of men, and wished to forget it and all that belonged to it, save only her lover, who she was very sure must come to her soon in the woodland. Being of the immortals, she had her will, and awoke refreshed and free of the contamination of the city. But yet her mind was troubled because of her lover and her longing for him, and though she knew that his hurt was nothing, and though she knew that he was fated to escape from danger till he obeyed her call to the woodland, she was conscious for the first time in her young-old life of the length of a long day. She wandered in the forest, visiting all the haunts and hollows, grottos and thickets, that she loved, talking with beast and bird and insect, every creature of the wood. But always in her divine heart she stifled the human desire for her lover, and that day of late spring lagged tardier in his passage than ever yet day of spring had travelled. Now when she had slept again through the same sweet oblivion, and had wakened to greet a new day, she found her spirit so troubled with unfamiliar regrets and with unwonted fears that there suddenly came upon her a strange sense of loneliness, such as she had never known before, and a wish for the wisdom of another. And even as she wished, there came into her mind the thought of the hermit of whom her lover had spoken to her on the night of their first meeting. She knew, indeed, that such an one dwelt in the confines of the forest, unheeded by her. She did not remember when he came there; he was no more to her than the distant shepherds and yet more distant citizens. But since her lover had urged her to come with him to visit this ancient stranger, her troubled heart inclined towards him, and she resolved to seek him out, she scarce knew why, if it were not that perchance she might speak to him of her lover. Thus it came about that the hermit beheld her descending the slope, what time he was feeding his birds. As Argathona approached the ancient and saw that he was aware of her coming, she gave him good-morrow in her sweet, clear voice, and the old man, looking steadfastly upon her, thought her indeed the loveliest creature that he had ever seen, even in days when his eyes were daily familiar with loveliness. "Good-morrow, daughter," he said, gently. "Of what kin are you that are not of my kind?"