ear--the music of fairy voices, the music of whispering
flames, the music of tripping feet--all the sweet sounds of the fire
gathered into one continuous strain of gladness, now high and clear, as
if it could not be restrained, now low and soft, as if even in quietness
all must still murmur the praise of the King and his beloved children.

Into this land of wondrous light and beauty came Creeping Shadow,
marveling at what she saw, awed by it, stirred by it, sure in her heart
that from a place so bright, so pure, so lovely, help must come for her
imprisoned mistress. The Elf of the Borderland had spoken truly: from
the moment she had entered the Land of the Fire Fairies, she had met
with nothing but kindness. The fairies had looked with wonder upon this
stranger with the sorrowful face and trailing robes of grey, but all had
helped her on her journey, and none had asked her more than she had
cared to tell.

Twilight had come when, foot-sore and weary, she reached the Palace of
Burning Coals. The palace gardens, lovely in the softened glow of
evening, were deserted; the fire-lilies stood tall and lonely by the
garden paths; but from every window of the palace streamed brilliant
lights, and from its doorway floated sounds of joy and laughter. It was
that pleasant hour of evening in which the fairies, their tasks in
fields and house and garden completed, came freely to the palace hall to
dance and sing and tell, in the King's presence, tales of past adventure
and noble deeds.

Creeping Shadow stood timidly at the gate for a moment, longing yet
fearing to enter. How could she dare to hope that the Prince would turn
from a place so bright and joyous to come to the aid of her mistress in
a drear and dangerous land?

But the need of the Shadow Witch was too great to be set aside. Her
servant cast off her fears and stole silently through the garden and up
to the radiant door. Pausing on its threshold, her dark eyes traveled
straight down the palace hall to the vast room that opened beyond, and
there, upon a tall golden throne, King Red Flame sat. At his right hand
stood he whom she had come to seek. She remembered him well, that brave
and handsome Prince, whom her mistress had for a time deluded by her
magic in the Land of Shadows. His yellow locks fell as softly over his
shoulders, his noble countenance wore the same high look of courage and
good cheer as on that day. His scarlet velvet cloak and cap, his waving
feather, w