One old woman, who had never known any other home, alone remained, and when the storm subsided and the house was quiet, Morpheus, being hungry, crawled down to the kitchen fire to find her boiling porridge.

“Where is my son?” asked Morpheus.

The old woman was deaf, and only muttered, “Gone—­all gone.”

“Alas! and has my son also deserted his father?” cried Morpheus.

The old woman nodded, partly with the palsy, and partly because she knew of nothing to say.  Morpheus smote his forehead with a tragic gesture, and allowed himself to fall—­gently—­upon the floor.  When he had remained in an apparent swoon long enough he was revived by some hot porridge being poured down his throat, and his hair and hands sprinkled with vinegar.  Rousing himself as if with great effort, but really with great ease, he stood up, and finding the kitchen warmer than his cell, concluded to remain there; but the old woman was too stiff with rheumatism to wait upon him, so he had to ladle out his own portion of porridge, get his books and candle for himself, and finally bring in some fagots for the fire.

When he sat down to study he found himself in a more cheerful mood than he had been in for many a day, though he could not help wondering what had become of Leo.  As he went on thinking where the boy could be he was inspired to write what he called a sonnet upon the subject.  Here it is: 

  “My boy has fled his father’s home,
   No more he treads these halls;
   In vain my voice invokes his name,
   In vain my tears, my calls. 
   The night winds sigh, the owlets cry,
   The moon’s pale light appears,
   The stars are shivering in the sky—­
   I tremble at my fears. 
   Has then the Knight of Shadowy Dread
   My Leo forced away
   From his fond parent’s loving heart
   In Death’s grim halls astray? 
   I bow reluctant to my fate;
   ’Tis mine to weep and mine to wait!”

He counted the lines over carefully; the eighth and tenth seemed short, but it scanned after a fashion.  On the whole it suited him, and was rather better done than many of his verses, so with soothed nerves he sought his pillow.

The old woman had slumbered all the evening in her chair.  Indeed her snoring had been even and regular enough to act as a measure in marking the time for the musical cadences of the sonnet.

Morpheus, having a pretty good appetite, ate some bread and cheese and drank some ale before retiring.

CHAPTER V

Leo was awakened by being rudely jostled about and tumbled upon the floor.  When he opened his eyes the cause was apparent.  The elves had found their beds in disorder, and not being able to see him, had, in their efforts to restore order, pitched him out.  Hardly had Leo reached the floor when in came Paz to the rescue.

“I beg your pardon, sir, for being so long absent,” he said, “but the hunters had not come in with any game, and the cooks had use for all the skillets, so that I was obliged to go to the laboratory for a vessel large enough to hold your turnip.  Soup is made in great quantities for our work-people, and by adding a few sauces I hope I have made it so that it will please you.  If you come with me now I think you may relish your meal.”