Narcissus, the beautiful son of a nymph and a river god, was hunting in a lonely forest one day when Echo saw him pass. To her he seemed more fair than god or man, and once she had seen him she knew that she must gain his love or die. From that day on, she haunted him like his shadow, gliding from tree to tree, nestling down amongst thick fern and undergrowth, motionless as one who stalks a wild thing, watching him afar off while he rested, gladdening her eyes with his beauty. So did she feed her hungering heart, and sought to find contentment by looking on his face each day. To her at length came a perfect moment when Narcissus was separated from his companions in the chase and, stopping suddenly where the evening sun chequered the pathway of the forest with black and gold, heard the nymph's soft footfall on the rustling leaves. "Who's here?" he called. "_Here!_" answered Echo. Narcissus, peering amongst the trees' long shadows and seeing no one, called "Come!" And "_Come!_" called the glad voice of Echo, while the nymph, with fast-beating heart, felt that her day of happiness had come indeed. "Why do you shun me?" then called Narcissus. "_Why do you shun me?_" Echo repeated. "Let us join one another," said the lad, and the simple words seemed turned into song when Echo said them over. "_Let us join one another!_" she said, and not Eos herself, as with rosy fingers she turns aside the dark clouds of night, could be fairer than was the nymph as she pushed aside the leaves of the trackless wood, and ran forward with white arms outstretched to him who was lord of her life. [Illustration: SHE HAUNTED HIM LIKE HIS SHADOW] With cold eyes and colder heart the one she loved beheld her. "Away!" he cried, shrinking back as if from something that he hated. "_Away!_ I would rather die than that you should have me!" "_Have me!_" cried Echo pitifully, but she pled in vain. Narcissus had no love to give her, and his scorn filled her with shame. Thenceforth in the forest revels she never more was seen, and the nymphs danced gaily as ever, with never a care for her who had faded and gone away as completely as though she were a blossom in the passing of spring. In the solitude of mountain cliffs and caves and rocky places, and in the loneliest depths of the forest, Echo hid her grief, and when the winds blew through the dark branches of the trees at night, moaning and sighing, they could hear far below them the voice of Echo repeating their lamentations. For her, long nights followed hopeless days, and nights and days only told her that her love was all in vain. Then came a night when the winds no longer saw the figure of the nymph, white and frail as a broken flower, crouching close to the rocks they passed over. Grief had slain the body of Echo. Only her voice was left to repeat their mocking laughter, their wistful sighs--only her voice that lives on still though all the old gods are gone, and but few there are who know her story.