sed to a match where the bridegroom was rich only in
youth, in health, and in love. His beautiful daughter naturally seemed
to him worthy of something much more high. Thus it was an unhappy day
for Marpessa when, as she sat alone by the fountain which dripped
slowly down on the marble basin, and dreamed of her lover, Idas,
Apollo himself, led by caprice, noiselessly walked through the rose
bushes, whose warm petals dropped at his feet as he passed, and beheld
a maiden more fair than the fairest flower that grew. The hum of bees,
the drip, drip of the fountain, these lulled her mind and heart and
soothed her day-dreams, and Marpessa's red lips, curved like the bow
of Eros, smiled as she thought of Idas, the man she loved. Silently
Apollo watched her. This queen of all the roses was not fit to be the
bride of mortal man--Marpessa must be his.

To Evenos Apollo quickly imparted his desire. He was not used to
having his imperial wishes denied, nor was Evenos anxious to do so.
Here, indeed, was a match for his daughter. No insignificant mortal,
but the radiant sun-god himself! And to Marpessa he told what Apollo
wished, and Marpessa shyly looked at her reflection in the pool of the
fountain, and wondered if she were indeed beautiful enough to win the
love of a god.

"Am I in truth so wondrous fair?" she asked her father.

"Fair enough to mate with Apollo himself!" proudly answered Evenos.

And joyously Marpessa replied, "Ah, then am I happy indeed! I would be
beautiful for my Idas' sake!"

An angry man was her father. There was to be no more pleasant dallying
with Idas in the shadowy wood or by the seashore. In the rose garden
Apollo took his place and charmed Marpessa's ears with his music,
while her eyes could not but be charmed by his beauty. The god had no
doubts or fears. Only a little time he would give her, for a very
little only would he wait, and then undoubtedly this mortal maiden
would be his, her heart conquered as assuredly as the rays from his
chariot conquered the roses, whose warm crimson petals they strewed at
his feet. Yet as Marpessa looked and listened, her thoughts were often
far away and always her heart was with Idas. When Apollo played most
exquisitely to her it seemed that he put her love for Idas into music.
When he spoke to her of his love she thought, "Thus, and thus did Idas
speak," and a sudden memory of the human lad's halting words brought
to her heart a little gush of tenderness, and mad