whispered that the enraged Hera had cast her into Hades for her sacrilege. Once more Orion roamed the forests, more fiercely than ever.
It chanced one day, as he crashed through the thick bushes beside a river in hot chase of a noble stag, that he came suddenly upon a group of seven nymphs who, garlanded with flowers, were dancing upon the carpet of green moss.
They ceased their song at sight of him and huddled together behind the tallest in affright. This one, however, looked at him in bold defiance. She was Maia, eldest of these seven daughters of Atlas, and such was her beauty that it had already touched the heart of the Father of the Gods himself. Straight and slender she stood, gazing under level brows at the intruder as if challenging him to approach one under the protection of Zeus.
There was something about her proud carriage and the perfect oval of her face that made Orion think of his lost Side. The stag was forgotten. Impulsively he stepped forward to speak to her.
As this giant youth, with his torn and shaggy skin garment, and all flushed with the excitement of his chase, came closer, even Maia's bravery forsook her. She gave a cry of alarm, and all the seven turned and fled through the forest. Orion pursued them, as instinctively as he would have dashed after a startled roe. But to his surprise and chagrin they proved almost as fleet-footed as himself. He would hear them ahead, or catch a glimpse of them between the tree trunks, and plunge toward the spot—only to be baffled
time and again. At length, after hours of pursuit, he was compelled to own himself beaten and give up for the time.
The next day found him casting about like any deerhound for this elusive quarry. Yet they were as wary as he, and while he sighted them across a valley and renewed his efforts to the utmost, he never succeeded in drawing even as close as the first time, since the frightened nymphs had a trick of twisting and turning when hard pressed that always succeeded in carrying them out of sight and hearing.
This went on day after day till it became his main occupation, and while hunting game the thought of the fair Maia ever kept him on the alert. More than once he almost outwitted her and her sisters, and his determination became only hotter as time passed.
At last his opportunity came—five years after that first memorable meeting. From a hilltop he spied the group in the lush meadow by the river, pelting each other with anemones. Cautiously he crept along back of the ridge till he reached a point where he felt sure he could cut them off from the protecting forest. Then he leaped to his feet and started down the steep hillside as he had never run before.
Watchful from many alarms, they saw him almost immediately. With shrieks of terror they fled up the gentle slope. As he had foreseen, it became a race to see which should first reach the nearest tongue of forest that thrust towards the river.