rself in the grasp of two skinny arms, and an actual physical
struggle began. The girl had no time for fear, and suddenly help came.
A firm hand caught the woman's shoulder, and the victim was free.

"Are you hurt?" asked Apollo anxiously.

She shook her head, smiling.

"Frightened?"

"No. Don't you always rescue me?"

"But this is merest accident, my being here. It really isn't safe for
you alone on these roads."

"I knew you were near."

"And yet, I have just this minute come round the hill. You could not
possibly have seen me."

"I have ways of knowing," said Daphne, smiling demurely.

A faint little bleat interrupted them.

"Oh, oh!" cried the girl, "she is running away with Hermes!"

Never did Apollo move more swiftly than he did then! Daphne followed,
with flying feet. He reached the beggar woman, held her, took the lamb
with one hand from her and handed it to Daphne. There followed a scene
which the girl remembered afterward with a curious sense of misgiving
and of question. The thief gave one glance at the beautiful, angry
face of the man, then fell at his feet, groveling and beseeching. What
she was saying the girl did not know, but her face and figure bore a
look of more than mortal fear.

"What does she think him?" murmured the girl. Then she turned away
with him, and, with the lamb at their heels, they walked together back
along the grassy road.

"You look very serious," remarked her protector. "You are sure it is
not fright?"

She shook her head, holding up her bundle of letters.

"Bad news?"

"No, good," she answered, smiling bravely.

"I hope good news will be infrequent," he answered. "You look like
Iphigenia going to be sacrificed."

"I will admit that there is a problem," said the girl. "There's a
question about my doing something."

"And you know it must be right to do it because you hate it?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Don't you think so, too? Now when you answer," she added triumphantly,
"I shall know what kind of god you are."

They had reached the turning of the ways, and he stopped, as if
intending to leave her. "I cannot help you," he said sadly, "for I do
not know the case. Only, I think it is best not to decide by any
abstruse rule. Life is life's best teacher, and out of one's last
experience comes insight for the next. But don't be too sure that duty
and unhappiness are one."

She left him, standing by the little wayside shrine with a strange look