A minute afterwards Zeus was lying dead, and the child was watching him, and in the hour-glass the sand was running out slowly. Time passed, and the child, as she watched, saw that his face was changing queerly. It was not quite like the face of one who slept. Suddenly she crept to his side, and put one hand over his heart. It was motionless. “Zeus!” she called, in a loud whisper. He did not answer, and she knew then that he was dead. “But shall I wake him?” she said, watching the running sand. As the last grains ran out, she bent over him, and did what he had said. He sat up with a gasp, and a look of horror died slowly out of his face. And the child lay prone on the floor, face downwards. Zeus hardly thought of her. “Take that away,” he said to Ganymede, who entered the hall just then. Ganymede went pale to the lips, but he lifted the white burden in his arms, and carried her out. “I wish we hadn’t sent her,” he sighed to the Deputy Cloud-controller; “I would have gone myself, if I’d known.” “I wish you had,” said the Deputy. “Both of us together are not worth her.” Zeus had forgotten her. He could think only of the things he had known in that horrible hour. “I will never die again,” he said to himself; and for many nights he could not sleep. * * * * * “The weather’s rainy,” said the Muse of Astronomy, who had drawn a curtain back and was looking out. “Yes, but Urania,” murmured Terpsichore, knowing it was wrong, but quite unable to help it. VI. CALLIOPE’S STORY: THE LAST STRAW. If Euterpe had happened to have been born a pronoun, she would not have been demonstrative or personal. She would have been self-possessive. With all her shyness, she had herself perfectly in hand. She always was a little in love with somebody, but that was a secret she never told herself. Some gentle reason guided all that she did. And now for some little time she had been watching Erato, who was stretched in her favourite attitude on the floor of the cloud-chamber.