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METAMORPHOSES BOOK VII some nymph. Straightway the rash tell-tale went to Procris with the story of my supposed unfaithful- ness and reported in whispers what he had heard. A credulous thing is love. Smitten with sudden pain (as I heard the story), she fell down in a swoon. Reviving at last, she called herself wretched, victim of cruel fate; complained of iny unfaithful- ness, and, excited by an empty charge, she feared a mere nothing, feared an empty name and grieved, poor girl, as over a real rival. And yet she would often doubt and hope in her depth of misery that she was mistaken; she refused to believe the story she had heard, and, unless she saw it with her own eyes, would not think her husband guilty of such sin. The next morning, when the early dawn had banished night, I left the house and sought the woods; there, successful, as I lay on the grass, I cried: ‘Come, Aura, come and soothe ny toil, and suddenly, while I was speaking, I thought I heard a groan. Come, dearest one,' I cried again And as the fallen leaves made a slight rustling sound, I thought it was some beast and hurled my javelin at the place. It was Procris, and, clutching at the wound in her breast, she cried, ' Oh, woe is me." When I recognized the voice of my faithful wife, I rushed headlong towards the sound, beside myself with horror. There I found her dying, her disor- dered garments stained with blood, and oh, the pity! trying to draw the very weapon she had given me from her wounded breast. With loving arms I raised her body, dearer to me than my own, tore open the arment from her breast and bound up the cruel wound, and tried to staunch the blood, praying that she would not leave me stainedE with her death. She, though strength failed her, with a 401