And still she did not weep; but the blood in her veins seemed to be as fire, and strange voices were sounding in her head. When the evening fell she stood by the edge of the swamp. Out of a dim cavern crept an old lion, and looked at her with green, hungry eyes. His lips curled a little backward. The child called to him: “Come, then! I have been seeking for you! Torture me, and then let me die!” The lion turned swiftly round, and fled with a howl back into the cavern. The child wandered on. She ate the black poison berries, but they would not hurt her. At last, when the moon was up, she saw a dark, deep pool, and flung herself into it; but the pool cast her back again on to the shore. She was fain to die, and to atone; but the gods knew their business better than to allow it. And still she walks through the forest, seeking rest and finding it not, and she speaks to none. Only sometimes at night, when the golden moon comes up behind the low grey hills, she sings in a sweet child’s voice a few lines of a remembered song: Let me win there ere the break of day, Ere the first faint light o’er the hills grows grey! I am tired of my work and tired of my play, And I’ll make better songs in the land far away,-- Far away! far away! And the gods are immensely amused. * * * * * “Thanks,” said Thalia, “though I don’t care much for those fanciful high-toned stories.” But Erato rose, and seated herself on the divan by Euterpe’s side, and wound one arm round her waist, and kissed her on the lips. I thought they looked rather pretty and poetical; but I don’t go in much for that kind of thing myself. III. TERPSICHORE’S STORY: THE UNDER-STUDY. A short pause, and then Erato spoke, addressing Clio: “Clio, my dear, and reverend sister, do you think these young men below us, in the colleges, have gone to bed yet?” “My dear child,” said Clio, “you could hardly expect me to----well, as far as I can judge, some of them are still up and at work. The young red-headed man is stamping up and down his room, as if he were angry. He has discovered that his hexameter would not do, for His head was bare, his matted hair, and he has been trying it a different way. Now he moans: ‘“Caput erat nudum”--and the “a” ’s short, and I wish I was dead!”’ “I asked the question,” said Erato, “because a story has just occurred to me, which I should like to tell you. I read it in the French. I don’t think it would hurt the young men, even if they could hear it. I’ll tone it down a little, of course. There’s one splendid part where the husband----” She paused suddenly. “Yes,” said Thalia drily. “In those pretty French stories there generally is one splendid part where the husband----” and she also paused suddenly. She looked at Erato, and they both smiled.