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 So he journeyed on and on, still making the same inquiry, until, at last, he came to the brink of a river where some beautiful young women sat twining wreaths of flowers.

‘Can you tell me, pretty maidens,’ asked the stranger, ‘whether this is the right way to the garden of the Hesperides?’

The young women had been having a fine time together, weaving the flowers into wreaths, and crowning one another’s heads. And there seemed to be a kind of magic in the touch of their fingers, that made the flowers more fresh and dewy, and of brighter hues, and sweeter fragrance, while they played with them, than even when they had been growing on their native stems. But, on hearing the stranger’s question, they dropped all their flowers on the grass, and gazed at him with astonishment.

‘The garden of the Hesperides!’ cried one. ‘We thought mortals had been weary of seeking it, after so many disappointments. And pray, adventurous traveller, what do you want there?’

‘A certain king, who is my cousin,’ replied he, ‘has ordered me to get him three of the golden apples.’

‘Most of the young men who go in quest of these apples,’ observed another of the damsels, ‘desire to obtain them for themselves, or to present them to some fair maiden whom they love. Do you, then, love this king, your cousin, so very much?’

‘Perhaps not,’ replied the stranger, sighing. ‘He has often been severe and cruel to me. But it is my destiny to obey him.’

‘And do you know,’ asked the damsel who had first