d,

"If thy beautiful locks and spiritual eyes are dear to thee, beware!
think of my nails, thou hast not much more to loose."

He turned with stifled rage towards the old women, who were rubbing
their eyes, and searching for their distaffs. They could not find them
because the lamp was extinguished; but they vented their rage against
Fable.

"Do let her go," said he spitefully, "that she may catch tarantulas to
prepare your oil. I will tell you for your consolation that Eros is
restlessly on the wing, and by his industry will keep your scissors
busy. His mother, who has so often compelled you to spin the lengthened
threads, will become a prey to the flames to-morrow."

He laughed with joy, when he saw that Fable wept at this news, and
giving a piece of the root to the old people, departed chuckling. The
sisters, though supplied with oil, angrily ordered Fable to go in
search of tarantulas, and Fable hastened away. She pretended to open
the door, slammed it noisily, and crept stealthily to the back of the
cave, where a ladder was hanging down. She ascended quickly, and soon
came to an aperture, which opened into the apartment of Arcturus.

The king sat surrounded by his counsellors when Fable appeared. The
Northern Crown adorned his head. He held the lily in his left hand, the
balance in his right. The eagle and the lion sat at his feet.

"Monarch," said Fable, bending reverently before him, "Hail to thine
eternal throne! Joyful news for thy wounded heart! An early return of
wisdom! Awakening to eternal peace! Rest to the restless love!
Glorification of the heart! Life to antiquity and form to the future!"

The king touched her open forehead with the lily, "Whatever thou
demandest shall be granted thee."

"Three times shall I petition, and when I come the fourth time. Love
will be before the door. Now give me the lyre."

"Eridanus," cried the king, "bring the lyre hither."

Eridanus streamed forth murmuring from his concealment, and Fable
snatched the lyre from his boiling flood.

Fable played a few prophetic strains. She sipped from the cup which the
king ordered to be handed her, and hastened away with many thanks. She
glided with a sweet, elastic motion over the icy sea, drawing joyful
music from the strings.

The ice resounded melodiously beneath her step. She fancied the voices
of the rocks of sorrow were the voices of her children seeking her, and
she answered in a thousand echoes.

Fable soon reac