ace was young and
beautiful, and yet older than the mountains and the seas. Sadness and
joy were in his eyes at the same time, and at the same moment there
looked out from them unutterable tenderness and merciless cruelty. For
only a little space of time did he stand and hold her eyes with his
own, and then in low caressing voice he spoke, and his words were like
the song of a bird to his mate, like the call of the earth to the sun
in spring, like the lap of the waves when they tell the rocks of their
eternal longing. Of love he spoke, of love that demanded love, and of
the nymph's most perfect beauty. Yet as he spoke, the unknown thing
came and smote with icy hands the heart of Syrinx.

"Ah! I have Fear! I have Fear!" she cried, and more cruel grew the
cruelty in the eyes of Pan, but his words were still the words of
passionate tenderness. Like a bird that trembles, helpless, before the
serpent that would slay it, so did Syrinx the huntress stand, and her
face in the shade of the forest was like a white lily in the night.
But when the god would have drawn her close to him and kissed her red
lips, Fear leapt to Terror, and Terror winged her feet. Never in the
chase with Diana had she run as now she ran. But like a rushing storm
did Pan pursue her, and when he laughed she knew that what the nymphs
had said was true--he was Power--he was Fear--he was Beast--he was
Life itself. The darkness of the forest swiftly grew more dark. The
climbing trails of ivy and the fragrant creeping plants caught her
flying feet and made her stumble. Branches and twigs grew alive and
snatched at her and baulked her as she passed. Trees blocked her path.
All Nature had grown cruel, and everywhere there seemed to her to be a
murmur of mocking laughter, laughter from the creatures of Pan,
echoing the merciless merriment of their lord and master. Nearer he
came, ever nearer. Almost she could feel his breath on her neck; but
even as he stretched out his arms to seize the nymph whose breath came
with sobs like that of a young doe spent by the chase, they reached
the brink of the river Ladon. And to her "watery sisters" the nymphs
of the river, Syrinx breathed a desperate prayer for pity and for
help, then stumbled forward, a quarry run to the death.

With an exultant shout, Pan grasped her as she fell. And lo, in his
arms he held no exquisite body with fiercely beating heart, but a
clump of slender reeds. Baffled he stood for a little space, and,