's throw from where the Ash
Goblin knelt. There they stood still to scan his work, and beheld a
delicate mesh, so thin and fine that it was well-nigh invisible,
stretching away to right and left of him and in front of him.

The Shadow Witch, seeing, shrank back aghast. "It is the cunning web of
the Ash Goblin!" she breathed. "None escapes destruction who sets foot
within its bounds."

Before the Prince could answer, the Ash Goblin rose. He had put the
final touch to his work. The last handful of his ash had been strewn,
the last word of his spell had been pronounced, and weary with long
bending over his work, he drew himself up slowly.

"A goodly snare, a goodly snare," they heard him mutter to himself.
"Never yet has it failed me--no, nor ever shall, so long as I hold the
secret of my evil ash, so long as I remember the words of my ancient
spell."

He gloated over it for a moment in silence, and then continued: "To this
snare the feet of Prince Ember must come. When he treads so much as its
border he is lost, and when he is lost, the impudent Shadow Witch in
her dungeon may await her brother's pleasure for her deliverance. Let
her learn in good time, that it is the Ash Goblin, the Ash Goblin whom
she has so often mocked, who has helped to keep her there." He wagged
his head exultantly, and sank down again to conceal himself in the
ashes, and there await unseen the coming of the Prince.

The Shadow Witch heard his words, and her cheek grew pale as ivory. She
pressed her hands close together and looked into Prince Ember's face,
her eyes full of pain. "Alas! my Prince," she whispered, "it grieves me
that you should encounter so many perils for my sake! And here--ah, here,
I am afraid that all your wondrous fairy power cannot suffice to break
this wicked snare that has been set for you."

Prince Ember smiled. "Grieve not so, my Shadow Witch," he consoled her.
"There is no danger that I would not meet gladly for your sake. Think
not that I cannot here match magic with magic, and conquer, for there is
no evil enchantment but must yield before the power of the good fairies
of the Fire."

With quiet confidence he left the shelter of the Cloak of Ash, and in
his hand was his fairy sword. It shone with a red glory.

The Ash Goblin, crouching upon the ground, keeping his eyes fixed upon
the Elf's threshold, had heard no syllable that had been spoken, nor
knew that anyone was near.

But now his staring eyes suddenly beh