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I hear her hailing me now。 She was so light…hearted that her
laugh is what comes first across the years； so high…spirited that
she would have wept like Mary of Scots because she could not lie
on the bare plains like the men。 I hear her； but it is only as
an echo； I see her； but it is as a light among distant trees； and
the middle…aged man can draw no nearer； she was only for the
boys。 There was a month when I could have shown her to you in all
her bravery； but then the veil fell； and from that moment I
understood her not。 For long I watched her； but she was never
clear to me again； and for long she hovered round me； like a dear
heart willing to give me a thousand chances to regain her love。
She was so picturesque that she was the last word of art； but she
was as young as if she were the first woman。 The world must have
rung with gallant deeds and grown lovely thoughts for numberless
centuries before she could be； she was the child of all the brave
and wistful imaginings of men。 She was as mysterious as night
when it fell for the first time upon the earth。 She was the
thing we call romance； which lives in the little hut beyond the
blue haze of the pine…woods。
No one could have looked less elfish。 She was all on a noble
scale； her attributes were so generous； her manner unconquerably
gracious； her movements indolently active； her face so candid
that you must swear her every thought lived always in the open。
Yet； with it all； she was a wild thing； alert； suspicious of the
lasso； nosing it in every man's hand； more curious about it than
about aught else in the world； her quivering delight was to see
it cast for her； her game to elude it； so mettlesome was she that
she loved it to be cast fair that she might escape as it was
closing round her； she scorned； however her heart might be
beating； to run from her pursuers； she took only the one step
backward； which still left her near them but always out of reach；
her head on high now； but her face as friendly； her manner as
gracious as before； she is yours for the catching。 That was ever
the unspoken compact between her and the huntsmen。
It may be but an old trick come back to me with these memories；
but again I clasp my hands to my brows in amaze at the thought
that all this was for me could I retain her love。 For I won it；
wonder of the gods； but I won it。 I found myself with one foot
across the magic circle wherein she moved； and which none but I
had entered； and so； I think； I saw her in revelation； not as the
wild thing they had all conceived her； but as she really was。 I
saw no tameless creature； nothing wild or strange。 I saw my
sweet love placid as a young cow browsing。 As I brushed aside
the haze and she was truly seen for the first time； she raised
her head； like one caught； and gazed at me with meek affrighted
eyes。 I told her what had been revealed to me as I looked upon
her； and she trembled； knowing she was at last found； and fain
would she have fled away； but that her fear was less than her
gladness。 She came to me slowly； no incomprehensible thing to me
now； but transparent as a pool； and so restful to look upon that
she was a bath to the eyes； like banks of moss。
Because I knew the maid； she was mine。 Every maid； I say； is for
him who can know her。 The others had but followed the glamour in
which she walked； but I had pierced it and found the woman。 I
could anticipate her every thought and gesture； I could have
flashed and rippled and mocked for her； and melted for her and
been dear disdain for her。 She would forget this and be suddenly
conscious of it as she began to speak； when she gave me a look
with a shy smile in it which meant that she knew I was already
waiting at the end of what she had to say。 I call this the blush
of the eye。 She had a look and a voice that were for me alone；
her very finger…tips were charged with caresses for me。 And I
loved even her naughtinesses； as when she stamped her foot at me；
which she could not do without also gnashing her teeth； like a
child trying to look fearsome。 How pretty was that gnashing of
her teeth！ All her tormentings of me turned suddenly into
sweetnesses； and who could torment like this exquisite fury；
wondering in sudden flame why she could give herself to anyone；
while I wondered only why she could give herself to me。 It may
be that I wondered over…much。 Perhaps that was why I lost her。
It was in the full of the moon that she was most restive； but I
brought her back； and at first she could have bit my hand； but
then she came willingly。 Never； I thought； shall she be wholly
tamed； but he who knows her will always be able to bring her
back。
I am not that man； for mystery of mysteries； I lost her。 I know
not how it was； though in the twilight of my life that then began
I groped for reasons until I wearied of myself； all I know is
that she had ceased to love me； I had won her love； but I could
not keep it。 The discovery came to me slowly； as if I were a
most dull…witted man； at first I knew only that I no longer
understood her as of old。 I found myself wondering what she had
meant by this and that； I did not see that when she began to
puzzle me she was already lost to me。 It was as if； unknowing； I
had strayed outside the magic circle。
When I did understand I tried to cheat myself into the belief
that there was no change； and the dear heart bleeding for me
assisted in that poor pretence。 She sought to glide to me with
swimming eyes as before； but it showed only that this caressing
movement was still within her compass； but never again for me。
With the hands she had pressed to her breast she touched mine；
but no longer could they convey the message。 The current was
broken； and soon we had to desist miserably from our pretences。
She could tell no more than I why she had ceased to love me； she
was scarcely less anxious than I that I should make her love me
again； and； as I have said； she waited with a wonderful tolerance
while I strove futilely to discover in what I was lacking and to
remedy it。 And when； at last； she had to leave me； it was with
compassionate cries and little backward flights。
The failure was mine alone； but I think I should not have been so
altered by it had I known what was the defect in me through which
I let her love escape。 This puzzle has done me more harm than
the loss of her。 Nevertheless； you must know （if I am to speak
honestly to you） that I do not repent me those dallyings in
enchanted fields。 It may not have been so always； for I remember
a black night when a poor lieutenant lay down in an oarless boat
and let it drift toward the weir。 But his distant moans do not
greatly pain me now； rather am I elated to find （as the waters
bring him nearer） that this boy is I； for it is something to know
that； once upon a time； a woman could draw blood from me as from
another。
I saw her again； years afterward