"
He turned to go, but a stupid bewilderment had fallen upon him. He
looked back to speak, and could not. He put his hand to his head, and
felt antlers branching above his forehead. Down he fell on hands and
feet; these likewise changed. The poor offender! Crouching by the brook
that he had followed, he looked in, and saw nothing but the image of a
stag, bending to drink, as only that morning he had seen the creature
they had come out to kill. With an impulse of terror he fled away,
faster than he had ever run before, crashing through bush and bracken,
the noise of his own flight ever after him like an enemy.
Suddenly he heard the blast of a horn close by, then the baying of
hounds. His comrades, who had rested and were ready for the chase, made
after him. This time he was their prey. He tried to call and could not.
His antlers caught in the branches, his breath came with pain, and the
dogs were upon him,--his own dogs!
With all the eagerness that he had often praised in them, they fell
upon him, knowing not their own master. And so he perished, hunter and
hunted.
Only the goddess of the chase could have devised so terrible a revenge.
II. DIANA AND ENDYMION.
But with the daylight, all of Diana's joy in the wild life of the woods
seemed to fade. By night, as goddess of the moon, she watched over the
sleep of the earth,--measured the tides of the ocean, and went across
the wide path of heaven, slow and fair to see.
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