Of the seven beautiful ones, Merope was the quietest and the easiest to overlook. She herself became accustomed to blending into the background, and found a way to content herself with that. "Everyone is always watching them," she thought, "so they have to be perfect. No one watches me; I can settle for being good."

Her sisters went through the world being cherished and adored and sought after by all manner of young men. Merope watched the parade pass by her quiet corner, pleased that it made her sisters happy. To amuse herself, she learned to read and write and began writing down her fantasies of what her life would be like if she were as beautiful and brilliant as her siblings.

The other six pitied Merope, for while they thought themselves beautiful, to them she was only pretty. Where they were vibrant with the joy of life, Merope wore a dreamy countenance that many found uninviting. She seemed so taken with the world of her dreams that they assumed she was unhappy with her lot.

The young men continued to come and go, changing as frequently as her sisters' whims. The only male face Merope saw with any regularity was Sisyphus, the mason who was building a stone wall around their property. Her sisters paid him no heed, for he didn't wear fine clothes and didn't bring them gifts. He would come into the kitchen through the back door and would ask Merope to find her father for him to answer some question or other about the exact placement of the wall.

Merope noticed that Sisyphus treated her with complete respect, and seemed to genuinely care when he asked how she was. On occasion, he would bring her a bucket of berries or a bag of apples he'd found in his wanderings, and Merope would blush as she accepted these gifts. Her sisters laughed at her, and the gifts from Sisyphus, for the flocks of young men who swarmed about her sisters offered them jewels and roses, lace and furs.

But the quiet Merope was inwardly thrilled by these homely tributes. "Anyone can buy a ruby," she told them, "anyone can buy a rose or a fur. But not one of those dandies would spend a morning or an afternoon collecting fruit in the broiling sun, being tortured by buzzing, biting flies for one of you." Her sisters laughed at that, but a little less brilliantly than they had before.

One afternoon, Merope's father went out into the fields with Sisyphus, to explain to him where he wanted the fence placed. A short time later, a soaked Sisyphus carried the unconscious, equally drenched man into the kitchen and laid him on the table. He barked orders to Merope, telling her to find clean towels and fetch some brandy.

The story was told in gasps, between sips of the strong liquor. Her father had been backing up, holding a sextant to his eye, and had fallen into the deep, swift river than ran along the edge of their property. Sisyphus had immediately plunged in after him, and had pulled him from the cold water.

After he recovered, the grateful man offered Sisyphus any one of his daughters for his wife. The daughters were summoned to his study, six of them crying and protesting that Sisyphus was unworthy. Merope took her customary place in the corner, smiling serenely and saying nothing.

Their father became angry and told the girls sharply that they were being ungrateful and that Sisyphus had proven himself worthy without a doubt by saving his life. At his admonition, their cries became sniffles, and they sat quietly, swollen-eyed and sullen.

Sisyphus surveyed his choices and smiled when his eyes landed upon Merope. "I would have Merope, sir. Merope will be my wife." Her sisters' heads snapped up, and where there had been dread a moment before, there was now jubilation and chagrin in quick succession.

"You would prefer Merope over us?" the eldest asked incredulously. "Have you no eyes to see?"

Their father spoke harshly again, and all the sisters but Merope left the room. "Sisyphus, I am happy to give you Merope's hand in marriage, but I must know why you chose her and not one of my other daughters."

"Sir," the mason explained, "your daughters are brilliant beauties, that no one can deny. But their beauty will fade and their brilliance will become brittle and bitter when they realize they are no longer desireable. But Merope's beauty is of the spirit, and that will not fade. Her brilliance is of the mind, and that will not fade. I think I made the wisest choice from among all of your daughters, sir."

So Merope and Sisyphus were married, and over time, his prophecy came to pass. Merope's sisters lost their beauty and ceased to be the quarry of young men's quest for love. They became bitter and morose, locked in their father's house with no more gentleman callers to pass the hours with them.

Merope glowed in the light of Sisyphus's love for her, and her brilliant stories entertained them both -- her with the writing of them and him with the reading of them -- as the grew old together.