Suddenly, in the silence, Teddy heard a faint tinkling as though of icicles struck lightly together, and at the same moment he saw that a woman all in white had entered the forge down at the other end. Her dress shone with all different colors, just as icicles do when they hang in the sunlight, and as the light of the fire caught it here and there, it almost looked as though it were on fire. Her hair was very black, and she wore a crown. She stepped up to the anvil that was in the forge and laid her hand upon it. She was too far away for Teddy to see what she did, but there was a clink as of something breaking, and a low wail arose from the dwarfs that stood near by. Then she passed on to the next anvil, and to the next, and to the next, and at each one she paused and touched the link that lay upon it, and always at that there was a clink, and a wail arose from the dwarfs. At last she came to the very forge where Teddy was, but he had drawn back behind the stone archway and she did not see him. Gliding to the anvil, she stretched out her white finger and laid it upon the link that the dwarfs had made, and instantly, as soon as she touched it, the iron flew into pieces with a clink. The dwarfs burst into a low wail, but the woman with the crown struck her hands together and stamped her foot in a rage. “Fools! fools!” she cried. “Not yet one link that will not fly into pieces at a touch. But you shall make the chain, though it should take your very hearts to do it.” Then, still scowling until her beautiful face was like a thunder-cloud, and without a single glance at the trembling dwarfs, she glided from the forge and was gone. The dwarf who held the pincers drew his arm across his forehead to wipe off the sweat. “Come,” said he, “let us set to work, for now it’s all to be done over again.” “But tell me first,” said Teddy, “what does this all mean, and who is this woman with a crown who comes and breaks your links with a touch as soon as you have finished them?” “Ah! that is a long, sad story,” said the dwarf who held the pincers. “Yes, it is a long, sad story,” echoed the others. “You tell him, Leatherkin,” they added. “Well,” said Leatherkin, sitting down on a rock that lay close by, “it’s this way. This mountain where we live is only one of many that are called the Fire Mountains, because their rocks are so red, and because they are all full of forges. Here we dwarfs used to live happily enough, for our good King Fireheart was so rich and strong that no one dared to make war on us, and we were left in peace to do what we would. “King Fireheart, however, was not contented, for he wanted to see the world, so one day he set out on a journey, no one knew whither, leaving the country in the charge of his foster-brother.