Among the people who surround the warrior, just one glimpse has Rudolph, the Czar, of her who was once his mother, arrayed in garments the beauty of which is only surpassed by the beauty of her face, and her face surpasses in loveliness all that he ever imagined could be; just one glimpse, too, of another face he has known; then the people close about them and they are lost sight of; and while he reaches out his hands, crying, “Oh, my mother! Oh, my brother! Oh, my father!” the radiant throng moves backward up the valley and into one of those other valleys, and disappears, and the music grows fainter and fainter. As he lies weeping and listening to that faint, far melody, one from the valley, mantled in white and mounted upon a snowy steed, rides into the dark defile, and as he passes by where Rudolph, the Czar, lies, the latter questions: “Where have they taken the warrior who entered just now?” “They are leading him to the royal city, to receive from our King’s own hands the unfading crown of laurels which is given to the victors.” “But I was once well acquainted with this one, and I never knew that he was a warrior, nor did I guess that he wore armor.” “There are many who wear armor unsuspected, and fight their battles unseen.” “But how did he procure his pass?” “Hast thou not heard how our King sends forth spies into all lands to search for those who will make good, loyal subjects, ever willing to obey and carry out his commands? To all such are given passes, signed by the King himself, that when they come hither they may be allowed to enter. All others are excluded, lest, entering, they annoy the peaceful citizens, and stir up strife and discord.” “But this warrior’s armor was unlike anything I have ever seen. Of what metal is it composed?” “It is made of several different metals; the helmet of a mixture of two metals, called Truth and Honesty; the breastplate is also of two metals, Patience and Constancy; the sword, of the Hatred of all that is base and evil; and the shield, of the Hope of admission to our land; for this—to gain entrance here—is considered the highest privilege that can be granted to any mortal. But I ride on an errand for the King, and must not delay.” “One moment more, O bright one! Is there no secret path by which I can gain entrance to this peaceful kingdom? Is this the only way?” “This is the only way.” “O bright one, return, I pray thee, to the King, and entreat him in my behalf that he will permit me to enter! for I am weary, oh! I am _so_ weary, and I can find no place where I may rest; and there, too, are all who love or care for me, and all I love or care for.”