Chapter XXXVII.
HOW YWAIN CAME THE SECOND TIME TO THE HERMIT, AND HOW HE TOOK COUNSEL OF HIM.

NOW Ywain fell swiftly earthward, and belike the time of his falling was no great space: but to him it seemed long, beyond reckoning, for his wits were battered and edgeworn, as a stone is worn by a hundred years of rolling. And whiles he dropped headlong through the void, and whiles the wind came up beneath him and lifted him lightly, so that he rose and fell as it were upon great waves of the sea. But at the last he came hurtling down upon a forest, and among the trees of it his wings were caught and broken: yet was Ywain not broken therewith, but he took the earth easily and recovered himself.

Then he got to his feet and began to go through the forest, and it came to his mind that he was thrice lost, and not once only: for he was gone from his lady and from his friend, and he knew not where to seek them nor in what place of the world he might himself be wandering. And for Aithne he prayed to see her again in no long time, for he knew how she could come and go by her own magic, that was her gift of faery: but for Hyperenor he lamented without praying, for he supposed that he was gone beyond that. And for himself he raged against fate, for it seemed to him that his life had fallen suddenly from light to darkness, as a lamp that is thrown down, and though it be not broken, yet it cannot be kindled again, but cold it lies and blackened that was burning but a moment since. And when he perceived that, then he bit and beat against time as a wild thing will bite against the bars of a cage.

Howbeit he continued still upon his way, and suddenly he perceived that he was in no strange path: for he was going between tall pines, and beyond the pines was a stream that ran burbling, and a bank with great beeches upon it, and he went forward quickly as one that well knows what he shall find. And as he thought, so it fortuned to him, for he came by sunrise to a bare lawn under a cliff, and in the face of the cliff was a door carven and a window or two, and it was the house of the hermit that was friend to him, and right glad he was to see that place again.

And when he came there the sun was risen, and the hermit was coming forth out of his house in like manner as he had done aforetime, and in like manner he brought bread and broke it for the small fowls of the forest. And Ywain was amazed to behold his dealing: for there had come no change upon the man, nor upon the place, nor upon anything therein, but Ywain only was changed within himself and made new by time and trouble.

Then he stood still beneath a beech-tree, and called with a quiet voice and bade the hermit a good morning: and the hermit moved not but answered him yet more quietly, and continued feeding his birds. So they two came together without ado or overmuch heartiness, but inwardly they were quickened both, as with memory and friendship. And they went together to the stream, and when they had given bread to the fishes, then they did off their garments quickly and took the pool as they had done aforetime: and they sported joyfully and so came home to break their fast together.

Now as they sat at table Ywain looked out from the window, and he saw the sunlight upon the lawn, and he heard the murmur of the stream, for the sound of it came by upon a little wind of morning; and he bethought him how the times were changed, and all his mind unknown to the hermit that sat beside him. Then the hermit said to him: We are strangely met again: for in a year this place is nowise changed, and I have gone but a little downward on the byway of my life, but you have journeyed far to the forward, and are come within sight of your desire. And Ywain was astonished and asked him: How know you that which has befallen me, for it is a long tale and I have not yet told a word of it. And the hermit answered: I know it not, but there is little need of telling. For I set you forth on your way to Paladore, and therein you followed your desire: and without doubt there met you by the way a woman, for by every man’s way there is a woman, and without doubt you learned of her that which all women teach. And for the rest, you have encountered this and that adventure, and though you have proved them well, yet have you failed of your achievement unto this present, for there is hope in your eyes and no certainty, and you are here alone and wandering.

Then Ywain opened his heart, and he told his story by part and by parcel, until he had told it all. And when he had ended his telling the hermit was silent, and he sat there stilly and moved no more than if he had been lost in sleep. And at the last Ywain said to him: That which I have done, is it well done or ill? Then the hermit stirred a little, and sighed deeply, and so fell again to silence. But afterwards he spoke and said to Ywain: Forgive me, for I was thinking of myself. Yet not of myself only, but of you and of many, for we are all banished men, and we seek for the road of our returning. And you do well on your part, for your serving and your seeking are one, and though you find not yet neither do you turn aside to rest: for the time is not come wherein you must be content with memory and solitude.

And Ywain looked upon him and he saw that he spoke out of sorrow: for his eyes were like still water, but deep within them the spirit of the man was troubled, as the sand is troubled beneath the stillness of a spring. And Ywain longed greatly to comfort him, but found no words, for he would not question him of his sorrow. Then he thought to put him in mind of his wisdom that he had found by loneliness: but thereto the hermit answered yet more sadly and said: There are that choose loneliness, but upon me it came perforce. And for my wisdom, it is one thing to you and another thing to me: for to you it is as a living voice, to counsel the living, but to me it is as the stone upon a grave, which gives good words when there is none left to hear them.

Then Ywain said to him: What then? Will you return and come with me? And the hermit smiled a little and answered him: Not so, for I should be none the nearer to the country of my abiding. But go you, he said, and return to the city, and do your seeking among men: for your life is yet to find, and among men you must find it.