h, he found himself, when he awakened from his reverie,
with his right foot raised, in the very act of stepping off the bank
into the water. He stood stock-still, in that somewhat unpicturesque
attitude--his mouth wide open, his eyes strained, and his cheek
glowing with all the colours of the rainbow. He had caught a glimpse
of our two enchanting shepherdesses on the other side of the stream,
who were watching his movements by stealth. He blushed far redder
than he had ever done before, and hesitated whether he should
retreat or advance. To retreat, he felt, would look rather awkward:
at the same time, he thought it would be too great a price to pay
for his honour to jump into the river. And, besides, even if he got
over to the other side, would he have courage to speak to them?
Altogether, I think he acted more wisely, though less chivalrously,
than some might have done in his place. He laid down his gun, and
seated himself on the bank, and looked at the sheep as they fed on
the opposite side. At twenty years of age, love travels at an amazing
pace; and Hector felt that he was already over head and ears with
one of the fair shepherdesses. He did not stop to examine which of
them it was; it was of no consequence--sufficient for him that he
knew he was in love--gone--captivated. If he had been twenty years
older, he would perhaps have admired them both: it would have been
less romantic, but decidedly more wise.

It is not to be denied that Amaranthe and Daphne blushed a little,
too, at this sort of half meeting with Hector. They hung down their
heads in the most captivating manner, and continued silent for some
time. But at last Amaranthe, more lively than her sister,
recommenced her chatter. "Look, Bribri," she said--"Daphne I mean--he
is one of the silvan deities, or perhaps Narcissus looking at himself
in the water."

"Rather say, looking at you," replied Daphne, with a blush.

"'Tis Pan hiding himself in the oziers till you are metamorphosed
into a flute, dear Daphne."

"Not so, fair sister," replied Daphne; "'tis Endymion in pursuit of
the shepherdess Amaranthe."

"At his present pace, the pursuit will last some time. If he weren't
quite so rustic, he would be a captivating shepherd, with his long
brown ringlets. He has not moved for an hour. What if he has taken
root like a hamadryad?"

"Poor fellow!" said Daphne, in the simplest tone in the world;
"he looks very dull all by himself."

"He must come over