He now believed that the snake had crept in, in the grass to hide there, until it could come in among the rocks unnoticed, and he gave up all hope of catching it.  He perceived now again the honey-sweet fragrance of the longing flowers and noticed that here under the cliff the heat was suffocating.  It was also marvellously quiet; not a bird moved, not a leaf played in the wind; it was as if everything held its breath, waiting and listening in unspeakable tension.  It was as if he had come into a room where he was not alone, although he saw no one.  He thought that some one was watching him, he felt as if he had been expected.  He knew no alarm, but was thrilled by a pleasant shiver, as if he were soon to see something above-the-common beautiful.

In that moment he again became aware of the snake.  It had not hidden itself, it had instead crawled up on one of the blocks which the frost had broken from the cliff.  And just below the white snake he saw the bright body of a girl, who lay asleep in the soft grass.  She lay without any other covering than a light, web-like veil, just as if she had thrown herself down there after having taken part the whole night in some elfin dance; but the long blades of grass and the trembling flower-clusters stood high over the sleeper, so that Reor could scarcely catch a glimpse of the soft lines of her body.  Nor did he go nearer in order to see better.  He drew his good knife from its sheath and threw it between the girl and the cliff, so that the steel-shy daughter of the giants should not be able to flee into the mountain when she awoke.

Then he stood still in deep thought.  One thing he knew, that he wished to possess the maiden who lay there; but as yet he had not quite made up his mind how he would behave towards her.

He, who knew the language of nature better than that of man, listened to the great, solemn forest and the stern mountain.  “See,” they said, “to you, who love the wilderness, we give our fair daughter.  She will suit you better than the daughters of the plain.  Reor, are you worthy of this most precious of gifts?”

Then he thanked in his heart the great, kind Nature and decided to make the maiden his wife and not merely a slave.  He thought that since she had come to Christendom and human ways, she would be confused at the thought that she had lain so uncovered, so he loosened the bearskin from his back, unfolded the stiff hide, and threw the old bear’s shaggy, grizzled pelt over her.

And as he did so a laugh, which made the ground shake, thundered behind the cliff.  It did not sound like derision, but as if some one had sat in great fear and could not help laughing, when suddenly relieved of it.  The terrible silence and oppressive heat were also at an end.  Over the grass floated a cooling wind, and the pine-branches began their murmuring song.  The happy huntsman felt that the whole forest had held its breath, wondering how the daughter of the wilderness would be treated by the son of man.