liked to wander dreamily in lonely paths, with his large, dark eyes fixed
on the ground.

He rarely spoke, unless questioned. Never did he boast of being able to
accomplish, or having successfully performed, this or that feat.

He was silent at his work, and, even while engaged in merry games, set
about a task slowly, but completed whatever he undertook.

He was welcome in the wrestling-ring and at the dance, for the youths
respected his strength, grace, dexterity, and the quiet way in which he
silenced wranglers and boasters; while the maidens liked to gaze into the
handsome dreamer's eyes, and admired him, though even in the maddest
whirl of the dance he remained passionless, moving lightly in perfect
time to the measures of the tambourine and double flute.

True, many whom he forgot to notice railed at his silent ways, and even
Xanthe had often been sorely vexed when his tongue failed to utter a
single word of the significant stories told by his eyes. Ay, they under
stood how to talk! When his deep, ardent gaze rested upon her,
unwavering, but glowing and powerful as the lava-stream that sweeps every
obstacle from its still, noiseless course, she believed he was not silent
from poverty of mind and heart, but because the feelings that moved him
were so mighty that no mortal lips could clothe them in words.

Nevertheless, to-day Xanthe was angry with her playfellow, and a maiden's
wrath has two eyes--one blind, the other keener than a falcon's.

What she usually prized and valued in Phaon she now did not see at all,
but distinguished every one of his defects.