her growing anger flamed into
rage. She called Apollo and Diana to her, and commanded them to avenge
the blasphemous insult which had been given to them and to their
mother. And the twin gods listened with burning hearts.

"Truly shalt thou be avenged!" cried Apollo. "The shameless one shall
learn that not unscathed goes she who profanes the honour of the
mother of the deathless gods!"

And with their silver bows in their hands, Apollo, the smiter from
afar, and Diana, the virgin huntress, hasted to Thebes. There they
found all the noble youths of the kingdom pursuing their sports. Some
rode, some were having chariot-races, and excelling in all things were
the seven sons of Niobe.

Apollo lost no time. A shaft from his quiver flew, as flies a bolt
from the hand of Zeus, and the first-born of Niobe fell, like a young
pine broken by the wind, on the floor of his winning chariot. His
brother, who followed him, went on the heels of his comrade swiftly
down to the Shades. Two of the other sons of Niobe were wrestling
together, their great muscles moving under the skin of white satin
that covered their perfect bodies, and as they gripped each other, yet
another shaft was driven from the bow of Apollo, and both lads fell,
joined by one arrow, on the earth, and there breathed their lives
away.

Their elder brother ran to their aid, and to him, too, came death,
swift and sure. The two youngest, even as they cried for mercy to an
unknown god, were hurried after them by the unerring arrows of Apollo.
The cries of those who watched this terrible slaying were not long in
bringing Niobe to the place where her sons lay dead. Yet, even then,
her pride was unconquered, and she defied the gods, and Latona, to
whose jealousy she ascribed the fate of her "seven spears."

"Not yet hast thou conquered, Latona!" she cried. "My seven sons lie
dead, yet to me still remain the seven perfect lovelinesses that I
have borne. Try to match them, if thou canst, with the beauty of thy
two! Still am I richer than thou, O cruel and envious mother of one
daughter and one son!"

But even as she spoke, Diana had drawn her bow, and as the scythe of a
mower quickly cuts down, one after the other, the tall white blossoms
in the meadow, so did her arrows slay the daughters of Niobe. When one
only remained, the pride of Niobe was broken. With her arms round the
little slender frame of her golden-haired youngest born, she looked up
to heaven, and cried up