It was fifteen days thereafter that Birdalone awoke lying in her bed on a bright morning, as if all this had been but a dream. But the witch-wife was standing over her and crying out: Thou art late, slug-a-bed, this fair-weather day, and the grass all spoiling for lack of the scythe. Off! and down to the meadow with thee.

Birdalone waited not for more words, but sprang out of bed, and had her work-a-day raiment on in a twinkling, and stayed but to wash her in a pool of the brook, and then was amidst the tall grass with the swathe falling before her. As she worked she thought, and could scarce tell whether joy at her present deliverance, or terror of the witch-wife, were the greatest. Sore was her longing to go see her friend in the wood, but the haysel lasted more than a week, and when that was done, whether it were of set purpose or no, the dame forgat her other promise, to give Birdalone more holiday, and kept her close to her work about meadow and acre. Otherwise her mistress nowise mishandled or threatened her, though she had gone back to the surliness and railing which was her wont. At last, on a morning when the dame had bidden her to nought of work, Birdalone took her bow in her hand and cast her quiver on her back, and went her ways into the wood, and forgat not the tress of Habundia’s hair; but she had no need to use it, for when she was come to the Oak of Tryst, straightway came Habundia forth from the thicket, and now so like to Birdalone that it was a wonder, for as her friend she bare bow and quiver, and green gown trussed up till her knees were naked.

So they kissed and embraced, and Birdalone wept upon her friend’s bosom, but was ashamed of the words which would have told her of her case. Then Habundia set her down upon the greensward, and sat down beside her, and caressed her and soothed her; then she smiled on Birdalone, and said: Thy tale is partly told without words, and I would weep for thee if I might shed tears. But thou mayest tell me wherefore thou didst suffer this; though forsooth I have an inkling thereof. Hast thou happened on the witch’s ferry?

Even so it was, sister, quoth Birdalone. And therewith she plucked up heart, and told her all the tale of the vanishing of her body and the skin-changing. And Habundia answered: Well then, there is this to be said, that sooner or later this must have happened, for thereby lieth thy road of escape; wherefore it is better sooner than later. But tell me again: was she fierce and rough in words with thee? for what she said to thee thou hast not yet told me. Said Birdalone: In her first fury, when she was like to have slain me, she had no words, nought but wolfish cries. But thereafter she spake unto me strangely, yet neither fiercely nor roughly; nay, it seemed to me as if almost she loved me. And more than almost she besought me rather than commanded me not to flee from her. And wert thou beguiled by her soft speech? said Habundia. Nowise to cast aside my hope of escape, nay, not even in that hour, said Birdalone; but amidst all the confusion and terror somewhat was I moved to compassion on her.

Spake Habundia, looking anxiously on her: Dost thou deem that thou art somewhat cowed by what she hath done to thee?............