"Come here, little Sorrow," he called in a voice of thunder. "Have you found your way to me? Come here, for you are mine."
Sorrow clung to the pillar against which she leaned and seized one of its pendent points. Pale as death, she glared at the monster who beckoned to her.
"I will not come to you," she said at last. "I do not know you. I seek for Peace whom I saw go in here, and I am hurrying after him. Oh," she cried, and wrung her hands; "oh, have you hidden him here, or perchance killed him, you terrible man?"
"I am Pain. Peace is not here, but beyond this cave, in the happy valley."
"Show me the exit that I may follow him;" and Sorrow sank down on her knees imploringly.
The fearful man laughed, and his laughter was louder than the rushing and thundering of the waters, more terrible than the sound of moaning round about.
"No, child; you and I, we do not belong to the happy valley, and the exit thither is barred to us by the weepers who fill this cave, and who are our victims. We two belong together. You shall be my wife, and we will seek a spot to fix our dwelling."
"Your wife!"
The words came from Sorrow's breast like a cry, but they were drowned in laughter. Then she darted up and turned to fly. But her arm was seized in such a grip that she thought it would break, and Pain swung his lightnings over her head.