I SLEEP THE SLEEP

When I woke, the ground was moist about me, and my track to the grave
was growing a quicksand. In its ancient course the river was swelling,
and had begun to shove at its burden. Soon it would be roaring down
the precipice, and, divided in its fall, rushing with one branch to
resubmerge the orchard valley, with the other to drown perhaps the
monster horde, and between them to isle the Evil Wood. I set out at once
on my return to those who sent me.

When I came to the precipice, I took my way betwixt the branches, for I
would pass again by the cottage of Mara, lest she should have returned:
I longed to see her once more ere I went to sleep; and now I knew where
to cross the channels, even if the river should have overtaken me and
filled them. But when I reached it, the door stood open still; the bread
and the water were still on the table; and deep silence was within and
around it. I stopped and called aloud at the door, but no voice replied,
and I went my way.

A little farther, I came where sat a grayheaded man on the sand,
weeping.

"What ails you, sir?" I asked. "Are you forsaken?"

"I weep," he answered, "because they will not let me die. I have been to
the house of death, and its mistress, notwithstanding my years, refuses
me. Intercede for me, sir, if you know her, I pray you."

"Nay, sir," I replied, "that I cannot; for she refuses none whom it is
lawful for her to receive."

"How know you this of her? You have never sought death! you are much too
young to desire it!"

"I fear your words may indicate that, were you young again, neither
would you desire it."

"Indeed, young sir, I would not! and certain I am that you cannot."

"I may not be old enough to desire to die, but I am young enough to
desire to live indeed! Therefore I go now to learn if she will at length
take me in. You wish to die because you do not care to live: she will
not open her door to you, for no one can die who does not long to live."

"It ill becomes your youth to mock a friendless old man. Pray, cease
your riddles!"

"Did not then the Mother tell you something of the same sort?"

"In truth I believe she did; but I gave little heed to her excuses."

"Ah, then, sir," I rejoined, "it is but too plain you have not yet
learned to die, and I am heartily grieved for you. Such had I too been
but for the Lady of Sorrow. I am indeed young, but I have wept many
tears; pardon me, therefore, if I presume to offer couns