The Flame-Flower 83

for she wore a flowing robe like those of
the women of the conquering race, only
more simple than theirs, and with less colour.
Her robe was of a pale greenish tint, like
the shadow of a forest in spring cast upon
snow; and she wore no ornaments but
young oak leaves and forest flowers.

‘Who are you, maiden?” Flamma asked.

‘‘T am a hamadryad,” said the maiden, gaz-
ing at Flamma with her great brown eyes.

‘Whence come you?”

“T live in the heart of this great oak.
We were born together, the oak and I.
When the oak dies, I shall die too.”

“But you are young—hardly a woman
yet!” said Flamma.

“T am young—yet I have lived four
hundred years,” said the maiden.

She was so fair and simple that Flamma
took her hand, and stroked her brown
hair. The birds and squirrels came about
the hamadryad-maiden even more than about
Flamma; for the maiden was one of them-
selves, owing her life to the forest. Flamma
and she wandered hand in hand along the