He looked at the knife as if it were a
talisman to teach him how much he could trust me; he tried its edge,
put it in his pouch, and made up his mind.
"My brother is keen and true as the blade of the knife. I will tell
him a story, a story that the birds sang. The eagle once married. He
married one of the family of the hawk. But the hawk found the eagle's
nest too high, so she flew lower to a nest near her own kin. Listen.
So long as the hawk stays near the hawk and is not seen with the eagle,
the wolf will spare her. But when she comes back to the eagle's nest
in the high tree, then let her beware. I have spoken. Now let my
brother go on his way and see what his eyes and ears can teach him."
But I went my way with thought busier than eyes. So I must keep away
from the woman. I went to my room, found paper and a quill, and wrote
to her. It was the first time I had written her name. It seemed
foreign to me, almost a sad jest, as it flowed out under my hand.
"I cannot come to you to-day," I wrote; "perhaps not for some days to
come. I shall be watching you, guarding you. I think I can assure you
that you are in no danger. For the rest, I must beg of you to wait for
me and to trust me.
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