races to conquer the
crown of olives. He was grateful to Actaeon for using his influence with
Sonnica to secure the consent of the magistrates that the Celtiberian
might enter among the horsemen in the great procession that would climb
to the Acropolis carrying the first sheaves of wheat to the temple of
Minerva.

In those days when the Athenian languished amidst songs and perfumes,
overwhelmed by the caresses of the Greek woman, who seemed to blaze with
the fire of the last passion of her life, he sprang from his couch at
dawn, slung his bow across his back, and followed by two handsome dogs
tramped through the Saguntine domain, giving chase to the wildcats which
came down from the surrounding mountains.

On one of these excursions he had an adventure. It was noon; the sun's
warm light fell upon the land, and the panting dogs halted, barking at a
grove of ancient fig trees with branches sweeping the ground, forming
shady canopies of dense foliage. Actaeon, quieting the animals,
approached cautiously with bow ready to draw, and as he parted the
curtain of leaves he saw in the centre of an open space enclosed by the
trees his two friends Rhanto and Erotion.

The boy was seated on the ground before a pile of red clay which he was
carefully modeling, wrinkling his brow, and whistling intently. The
shepherdess, completely nude, with the assurance of healthy and innocent
beauty, happy in being admired, was smiling at Erotion, her cheeks
flushing lightly every time the artist raised his eyes from the clay to
the model.

Actaeon drank in with his eyes the form of her vernal body. He felt the
enthusiasm of the Greeks in the presence of beauty, intensified by the
ardor of manhood. He admired her bosom, tender and small as buds, barely
perceptible; her lightly curving hips; the line from her throat to her
feet soft and undulating, which served to give more elegance to her
chaste appearance; the grace of strong and beautiful girlhood, in
addition to the attraction of sex. With the taste of a Greek of
refinement he rejoiced in the freshness of her form, comparing it
mentally with Sonnica's opulent but somewhat over-ripe charms.

Rhanto, as she saw the Greek's head appear between the leaves, uttered a
piercing scream and scurried behind a fig tree in search of her clothes.
Bells tinkled among the foliage and the goats thrust forward their
glossy muzzles, their moist eyes, and curving horns.

"Is it you, Athenian?" said Eroti