Dina came, took a stone, and said, “Let me try.”
She knelt down and tried to wrench the lock off, but her little hands were as slender as little twigs, and she had not the strength. She threw the stone away and began to cry. Then Zhílin set to work again at the lock, and Dina squatted beside him with her hand on his shoulder.
Zhílin looked round and saw a red light to the left behind the hill. The moon was just rising. “Ah!” he thought, “before the moon has risen I must have passed the valley and be in the forest.” So he rose and threw away the stone. Shackles or no, he must go on.
“Goodbye, Dina dear!” he said. “I shall never forget you!”
Dina seized hold of him and felt about with her hands for a place to put some cheeses she had brought. He took them from her.
“Thank you, my little one. Who will make dolls for you when I am gone?” And he stroked her head.
Dina burst into tears, hiding her face in her hands. Then she ran up the hill like a young goat, the coins in her plait clinking against her back.
Zhílin crossed himself, took the lock of his shackles in his hand to prevent its clattering, and went along the road, dragging his shackled leg, and looking towards the place where the moon was about to rise. He now knew the way. If he went straight he would have to walk nearly six miles. If only he could reach the wood before the moon had quite risen! He crossed the river; the light behind the hill was growing whiter. Still looking at it, he went along the valley. The moon was not yet visible. The light became brighter, and one side of the valley was growing lighter and lighter, and shadows were drawing in towards the foot of the hill, creeping nearer and nearer to him.
Zhílin went on, keeping in the shade. He was hurrying, but the moon was moving still faster; the tops of the hills on the right were already lit