Master Simon looked after her, shook his head, drew a deep breath of doubt through his nostrils and ran his hand distractedly through his beard. He was very tired, and felt a certain confusion in his head, succeeding the exhilaration of an hour ago. Belphegor was humped in a corner. Nothing seemed to be going quite according to calculations. David passed him with a quick step. “I am going to sleep,” said he, in a curious still voice, as he went by. Sleep! It was a pleasing suggestion. “Ellinor,” said the old man plaintively, “if there is any of that calming decoction left, I think I might do well to partake of it myself to-night.” “There is a whole cup still,” said Ellinor, and turned back to the shelf. CHAPTER XII TO SLEEP—PERCHANCE TO DREAM! My heart a charmed slumber keeps And a languid fire creeps Through my veins to all my frame, Dissolvingly and slowly: soon From thy rose-red lips my name Floweth. And then, as in a swoon, With dinning sounds my ears are rife. My tremulous tongue faltereth. I lose my colour, I lose my breath, I drink the cup of a costly death Brimmed with delirious draughts of warmest life! —TENNYSON (_Eleänore_). Ellinor brought so weary a body, so weary a mind to bed that night, that almost as soon as her head touched the pillow she fell into a deep dreamless sleep. But before long a dim consciousness of trouble began to stir within her mind, a feeling of sorrow and oppression to bring sighs from her breast. There was in her ears a sound as of lamentation and tears. At first this was vaguely interwoven with her own sub-acute consciousness of distress; but presently, and suddenly it seemed, it became so insistent that she started and sat straight up in bed, eyes and ears alert, staring and listening. It was her custom to keep both her windows uncurtained at night, so that, waking, she might exchange a look with his stars, and sleeping, let them look at her. One window was always wide open. Like a flower, she craved for all the light and air that heaven and earth could give.