[_The reeds in the tarn are stirred, and there is audible a faint shriek and a ripple of laughter. A shrouded figure rises from the marsh, and, hastening by_ PHOEBUS _through the darkness, is lost in the woods. It is followed closely by_ PAN, _who, observing_ PHOEBUS, _pauses in embarrassment_.] PHOEBUS. I thought I was alone. PAN. And so did we, sire. PHOEBUS. Am I to congratulate you on your distractions? PAN. I have a natural inclination to marshy places. PHOEBUS. This is a ghastly night, Pan. PAN. I had not observed it, sire. Yes, doubtless a ghastly night. But I was occupied, and I am no naturalist. This glen curiously reminded me of rushy Ladon. I am a great student of reeds, and I was agreeably surprised to find some very striking specimens here--worthy of the Arcadian watercourses, as I am a deity. I should say, _was_ a deity. PHOEBUS. They will help, perhaps, to reconcile you to mortality. You can add them to your collection. PAN. That, sire, is my hope. The stems are particularly full and smooth, and the heads of the best of them rustle back with a profusion of flaxen flowerage, remarkably agreeable to the touch. I broke one as your Highness approached. But the wind, or some goblin, bore it from me. This curious place seems full of earth-spirits. PHOEBUS. You must study them, too, Pan. That will supply you with another object. PAN. But the marsh water has a property unknown to the Olympian springs. I suspect it of being poisoned. After standing long in it, I found myself troubled with aching in the shank, from knee to hoof. If this is repeated, my studies of reed-life will be made dolorously difficult. PHOEBUS. It must now be part of your pleasure to husband your enjoyments. You have always rolled in the twinkle of the vine-leaves, hot enough and not too hot, with grapes--immense musky clusters--just within your reach. If you think of it philosophically---- PAN. How, sire? PHOEBUS. Philosophically.... Well, if you think of it sensibly, you will see that there was a certain dreariness in this uniformity of satisfaction. Rather amusing, surely, to find the cluster occasionally spring up out of reach, to find the polished waist of the reed slip from your hands? Occasionally, of course; just enough to give a zest to pursuit. PAN. Ah! there was pursuit in Ladon, but it was pursuit which always closed easily in capture. What I am afraid of is that here capture may prove the exception. Your Highness ... but a slight family connection and our adversities are making me strangely familiar.... PHOEBUS. Speak on, my good Pan. PAN. Your Highness was once something of a botanist? PHOEBUS. A botanist? Ah, scarcely! A little arboriculture, the laurel; a little horticulture, the sun-flower. Those varieties seem entirely absent here, and I have no thought of replacing them. PAN. The last thing I should dream of suggesting would be a _hortus siccus_.... PHOEBUS.