The moment she looked in his face, she saw that he was a youth of marvellous beauty. He sat entranced with the delight of what he beheld in a mirror of something like silver, which lay on the floor at his feet, and which from behind she had taken for his white beard. He sat on, heedless of her presence, pale with the joy of his vision. She stood and watched him. At length, all trembling, she spoke. But her voice made no sound. Yet the youth lifted up his head. He showed no surprise, however, at seeing her--only smiled a welcome. "Are you the Old Man of the Earth?" Tangle had said. And the youth answered, and Tangle heard him, though not with her ears:-- "I am. What can I do for you?" "Tell me the way to the country whence the shadows fall." "Ah! that I do not know. I only dream about it myself. I see its shadows sometimes in my mirror: the way to it I do not know. But I think the Old Man of the Fire must know. He is much older than I am. He is the oldest man of all." "Where does he live?" "I will show you the way to his place. I never saw him myself." So saying, the young man rose, and then stood for a while gazing at Tangle. "I wish I could see that country too," he said. "But I must mind my work." He led her to the side of the cave, and told her to lay her ear against the wall. "What do you hear?" he asked. "I hear," answered Tangle, "the sound of a great water running inside the rock." "That river runs down to the dwelling of the oldest man of all--the Old Man of the Fire. I wish I could go to see him. But I must mind my work. That river is the only way to him." Then the Old Man of the Earth stooped over the floor of the cave, raised a huge stone from it, and left it leaning. It disclosed a great hole that went plumb-down. "That is the way," he said. "But there are no stairs." "You must throw yourself in. There is no other way." She turned and looked him full in the face--stood so for a whole minute, as she thought: it was a whole year--then threw herself headlong into the hole. When she came to herself, she found herself gliding down fast and deep. Her head was under water, but that did not signify, for, when she thought about it, she could not remember that she had breathed once since her bath in the cave of the Old Man of the Sea. When she lifted up her head a sudden and fierce heat struck her, and she sank it again instantly, and went sweeping on. Gradually the stream grew shallower. At length she could hardly keep her head under. Then the water could carry her no farther. She rose from the channel, and went step for step down the burning descent. The water ceased altogether. The heat was terrible. She felt scorched to the bone, but it did not touch her strength. It grew hotter and hotter. She said, "I can bear it no longer." Yet she went on.