such a ravishing smile as would cause the beholder to
weep himself to death. But the smile never came, and the moonlight lay
there unbroken. For the heart of the child was too deep for any smile
to reach from it to his face.

"Are you the oldest man of all?" Tangle at length, although filled with
awe, ventured to ask.

"Yes, I am. I am very, very old. I am able to help you, I know. I can
help everybody." And the child drew near and looked up in her face so
that she burst into tears.

"Can you tell me the way to the country the shadows fall from?" she
sobbed.

"Yes. I know the way quite well. I go there myself sometimes. But you
could not go my way; you are not old enough. I will show you how you
can go."

"Do not send me out into the great heat again," prayed Tangle.

"I will not," answered the child.

And he reached up, and put his little cool hand on her heart.

"Now," he said, "you can go. The fire will not burn you. Come."

He led her from the cave, and following him through another archway,
she found herself in a vast desert of sand and rock. The sky of it was
of rock, lowering over them like solid thunderclouds; and the whole
place was so hot that she saw, in bright rivulets, the yellow gold and
white silver and red copper trickling molten from the rocks. But the
heat never came near her.

When they had gone some distance, the child turned up a great stone,
and took something like an egg from under it. He next drew a long
curved line in the sand with his finger, and laid the egg in it. He
then spoke something Tangle could not understand. The egg broke, a
small snake came out, and, lying in the line in the sand, grew and grew
till he filled it. The moment he was thus full-grown, he began to glide
away, undulating like a sea-wave.

"Follow that serpent," said the child. "He will lead you the right
way."

Tangle followed the serpent. But she could not go far without looking
back at the marvellous child. He stood alone in the midst of the
glowing desert, beside a fountain of red flame that had burst forth at
his feet, his naked whiteness glimmering a pale rosy red in the torrid
fire. There he stood, looking after her, till, from the lengthening
distance, she could see him no more. The serpent went straight on,
turning neither to the right nor left.

Meantime Mossy had got out of the Lake of Shadows, and, following his
mournful, lonely way, had reached the sea-shore. It was a dark, stormy
evening.