‘The namesake I am thinking of lived before the days of godfathers and godmothers,’ answered Gerald, still looking up at the ceiling, with a dreamy smile on his face; ‘she was the daughter of a river-god and a naiad, a wild, free-born, untamable creature, beautiful as a dream, variable as the winds that rippled the stream from which her father took his name. Wooers had sought her, but in vain. She loved the wood and the chase, all free and sylvan delights—the unfettered life of a virgin. She emulated the fame of Diana. She desired to live and die apart from the rude race of men—a woodland goddess among her maidens. Often her father said: “Daughter, thou owest me a son.” Often her father said: “Child, thou owest me grandchildren.” She, with blushing cheeks, hung on her father’s neck, and repulsed the torch of Hymen, as if it were a crime to love. “Let me, like Diana, live unwedded,” she pleaded. “Grant me the same boon Jove gave his daughter.” “Sweet one,” said the father, “thy duty forbids the destiny thy soul desires. Love will find thee out.” The river-god spoke words of fatal truth. Love sought Daphne, and he came in a godlike form. Phœbus Apollo was the lover. Phœbus, the spirit of light, and music, and beauty. He saw her, and all his soul was on fire with love. The dupe of his own oracles, he hoped for victory. He saw Daphne’s hair floating carelessly upon the wind; the eyes, like shining stars; the sweet lips, which it was pain to see and not to kiss. But lighter than the wind the cruel nymph fled from him. In vain he called her, in vain he tried to stop her. “Stay, sweet one,” he cried, “it is no enemy who pursues thee. So flies the lamb the wolf, the hind the lion, the trembling dove from the strong-winged eagle. But ’tis love bids me follow. Stay thy steps, suspend thy flight, and I will slacken my pursuit. Foolish one, thou knowest not whom thou fliest. No rude mountaineer, or ungainly shepherd pursues thee, but a god before whose law Delphos, Claros, and Tenedos obey; the son of high Jove himself; the deity who reveals the past, the present, and the future; who first wedded song to the stringed lyre. My arrows are deadly, but a deadlier shaft has pierced my heart.” Thus and much more he pleaded, yet Daphne still fled from him, heedless of the briers that wounded her naked feet, the winds that lifted her flowing hair. The breathless god could no longer find words of entreaty. Maddened by love he followed in feverish haste; he gained on her; his breath touched her floating tresses. The inexorable nymph felt her strength failing; with outstretched arms, with beseeching eyes, she appealed to the river: “Oh, father, if thy waves have power to save me, come to my aid! Oh, mother earth, open and fold me in thine arms, or by some sudden change destroy the beauty that subjects me to outrage.” Scarcely was the prayer spoken when a heavy torpor crept over her limbs; the nymph’s lovely shoulders covered themselves with a smooth