He must have slept a very long while—­a time quite equal to an ordinary night, if not longer—­for when he awoke he was thoroughly rested and refreshed, and ready for any exertion he might be called upon to make; but he found himself entirely alone.

At first this did not affect him, for he supposed his elfin friends had taken the opportunity to rest themselves, but after minutes lengthened into hours he began to be uneasy.  What should he do if they never came back?  How would he ever find his way out of these caverns?  The thought was frightful, and to relieve his fears he began to call.  His calls became shouts, yells, and yet no answer came; nothing but echoes responded.

CHAPTER VIII

After a long and impatient listening the echoes of Leo’s calls seemed to prolong themselves into musical strains, which, faint and far away at first, gradually came nearer and nearer.

Soft as the sighing of the wind was this elfin music, but swelling into mimic bursts of harmony and clashing of small cymbals.

Leo leaned over the balustrade of the corridor, and gazed down into the depths of a cavernous abyss.  Instantly the space seemed filled with sprites in every conceivable attire.  Some were dressed in the party-colored habits of court pages, some in royal robes of ermine, others as shepherds with crooks, and again others as cherubs with gauzy wings; but all were whirling like snow-flakes to the strains of the music.

Leo looked in vain for Paz or Knops.  Indeed, so many were the fantastic forms, and so rapidly did they move, that it was like watching a snow-storm, and this effect was heightened by misty wreaths, upon which were borne aloft the more radiant members, who danced and flashed as heat-lightning on the clouds of a summer’s night.  The light, instead of being a bright glare, was soft and mellow, and fell from crescent-shaped lanterns on the staffs of pages, who moved in a measured way among the throng, producing a kaleidoscopic effect.

Leo watched them with eager eyes.  Beautiful as the sight was, he yet was oppressed with fear, for he knew not how to reveal himself to these sportive beings, and he could not imagine how he should ever be released from his imprisonment.

Suddenly the dancers fled as if pursued, the music became martial, and the steady tramp of a host of elves was heard.  They were clad in mail, with helmets and shields of flashing steel, and armed with glittering lances; half of them had blue plumes and half had crimson.  And now began their mimic warfare.  Ranged line upon line, facing each other, with shouts and drum beats and bugle blasts, they fell upon each other in the fury of combat.  Swords clashed, javelins were hurled, and the slain fell in heaps; but still the leaders charged, and still the martial blasts were heard; and over and over were repeated the manoeuvres of the advance, the retreat, the parrying of blows, the redoubled ardor of assault, until Leo’s breath came short and hard with the excitement of the scene.  It seemed a veritable battle-field, and to add to the glamour rays as of moonbeams, shone now and again clouded by the shadows of an approaching storm.