When Aravis came to herself she found that she was lying on her face on a low bed of extraordinary softness in a cool， bare room with walls of undressed stone. She couldn‘t understand why she had been laid on her face； but when she tried to turn and felt the hot， burning pains all over her back， she remembered， and realized why. She couldn’t understand what delightfully springy stuff the bed was made of， because it was made of heather （which is the best bedding） and heather was a thing she had never seen or heard of.
The door opened and the Hermit entered， carrying a large wooden bowl in his hand. After carefully setting this down， he came to the bedside， and asked：
“How do you find yourself， my daughter？”
“My back is very sore， father，” said Aravis， “but there is nothing else wrong with me.”
He knelt beside her， laid his hand on her forehead， and felt her pulse.
“There is no fever，” he said. “You will do well. Indeed there is no reason why you should not get up tomorrow. But now， drink this.”