Spake then to Birdalone that image of her, and said, smiling kindly on her: As to our likeness, thou hast it now; so alike are we, as if we were cast in one mould. But thy sister of blood I am not; nay, I will tell thee at once that I am not of the children of Adam. As to what I am, that is a long story, and I may not tell it as now; but thou mayst call me Habundia, as I call thee Birdalone. Now it is true that to everyone I show not myself in this fair shape of thee; but be not aghast thereat, or deem me like unto thy mistress herein, for as now I am, so ever shall I be unto thee. Quoth Birdalone, looking on her anxiously: Yea, and I shall see thee again, shall I not? else should I grieve, and wish that I had never seen thee at all. Yea, forsooth, said Habundia, for I myself were most fain to see thee oft. But now must thou presently get thee back home, for evil as now is the mood of thy mistress, and she is rueing the gift of the green gown, and hath in her mind to seek occasion to chastise thee. Now was Birdalone half weeping, as she did on her raiment while her friend looked on her kindly. She said presently: Habundia, thou seest I am hard bestead; give me some good rede thereto. That will I, said the wood-wife. When thou goest home to the house, be glad of countenance, and joyous that thy gown is nigh done; and therewith be exceeding wary. For I deem it most like that she will ask thee what thou hast seen in the wood, and then if thou falter, or thy face change, then she will have an inkling of what hath befallen, to wit, that thou hast seen someone; and then will she be minded to question thy skin. But if thou keep countenance valiantly, then presently will her doubt run off her, and she will cease grudging, and will grow mild with thee and meddle not. This is the first rede, and is for to-day; and now for the second, which is for days yet unborn. Thou hast in thy mind to flee away from her; and even so shalt thou do one day, though it may be by way of Weeping Cross; for she is sly and wise and grim, though sooth it is that she hateth thee not utterly. Now thou must note that nowise she hindereth thee from faring in this wood, and that is because she wotteth, as I do, that by this way there is no outgoing for thee. Wherefore look thou to it that it is by the way of the water that thou shalt fare to the land of men-folk. Belike this may seem marvellous to thee; but so it is; and belike I may tell thee more hereof when time serveth. Now cometh the last word of my rede. Maybe if thou come often to the wood, we shall whiles happen on each other; but if thou have occasion for me, and wouldst see me at once, come hither, and make fire, and burn a hair of my head therein, and I will be with thee: here is for thee a tress of mine hair; now thou art clad, thou mayst take a knife from thy pouch and shear it from off me.