He put himself to sleep.
Sleep is very tranquil. You are not lonely when you are asleep, neither do
your hands ache, nor your heart. And the hunter laughed between his teeth.
"'Have I torn from my heart all that was dearest; have I wandered alone in
the land of night; have I resisted temptation; have I dwelt where the voice
of my kind is never heard, and laboured alone, to lie down and be food for
you, ye harpies?'
"He laughed fiercely; and the Echoes of Despair slunk away, for the laugh
of a brave, strong heart is as a death blow to them.
"Nevertheless they crept out again and looked at him.
"'Do you know that your hair is white?' they said, 'that your hands begin
to tremble like a child's? Do you see that the point of your shuttle is
gone?--it is cracked already. If you should ever climb this stair,' they
said, 'it will be your last. You will never climb another.'
"And he answered, 'I know it!' and worked on.
"The old, thin hands cut the stones ill and jaggedly, for the fingers were
stiff and bent. The beauty and the strength of the man was gone.
"At last, an old, wizened, shrunken face looked out above the rocks. It
saw the eternal mountains rise with walls to the white clouds; but its work
was done.
"The old hunter folded his tired hands and lay down by the precipice where
he had worked away his life.
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