She remembered many faces that rose like ghosts out of the past, calling to her with long-forgotten voices that once she had loved. She remembered hours of triumph when the ultimate dream of happiness had arisen and wrapped her around with its burning flame. But she had also lived through the long deadly years when nothing more was laid at her feet, when youth had carelessly trodden upon the heart that once had seemed to others a treasure impossible to obtain. Past--past--all past; but forgotten? Dear God! ah no! But old age, weary old age from which all flee, whose breath lies like white snow upon the bended head, contains also the balm and benediction of a frosty peace that resembles the face of the night, unstarred and moonless, covering over the glaring joys and gloomy sorrows of yore! As she was thus wandering on distant shores of her youth, a shadow crossed the space before her and she looked up. It took her a little time before she could come back to cold reality, till her brain realized that in truth she was now but Zorka the wise old witch. Eric stood at her side; the flames flared and hissed, covering him with changing jets of light. Between his hands he held a finished picture. Zorka gave a low cry of surprise, and rose trembling to her feet; there in the unsteady glow of the restless flames she looked upon a face the like of which human hand had never before fixed upon canvas or paper. The eyes of the painting seemed alive, and seemed to stare with unspeakable rapture upon a sight too marvellous for poor human words to translate into mortal language. There they were with all the extraordinary beauty the hoary woman had always known: and more than all, within these eyes the dreamer of dreams had put also another expression which contained all the yearning cry of his own passionate, hopeless love. For many a year old Zorka, the witch, had not shed a single tear--that source of emotion had dried since ages past; but now as she gazed with quivering emotion upon the glory of this unearthly visage she felt how something rose up from her heart, warm and suffocating, clutching at her strangled throat, till one by one warm drops ran down her furrowed cheeks, leaving shining wet lines upon her leathery skin like little streams of rain on hard-baked earth. Eric watched her, but never spoke a word; he stood motionless, his arms hanging at his sides, tired and resigned, as one who can fight no more. Overhead the white falcon circled and circled, uttering small weird shrieks like some one in pain; and as it moved about in the inky sky the blue diamond round its neck shone like a moving star.