“But just as he thought he had won a victory, a great swirling current of water appeared at his feet, and he leaped back only in time to escape a blow from the tail of a great black dragon. Now he knew the forest was bewitched; but he continued his journey, and all day long he fought for his life. Sometimes it was with wild beasts, and sometimes with the magician in person; but Oswald never let go his sword for one minute, and the great magic of its blade protected him. At last the cool shadows of evening began to fall, and the goblins became less and less troublesome. “Then suddenly he perceived in his path a beautiful maiden. She seemed almost a phantom, for floating around and about her was a ghostly mist. But for all that, she was wondrously fair, with an unearthly sort of beauty. Her eyes shone like stars out of her snowy draperies, and her voice had a far-away sound, like the tinkle of silver bells. “‘O Prince of the Wonderful Sword,’ she said, ‘you have done me a great favor. I am the White Lady of the Mist, and my golden shuttle was stolen by the wicked old magician who stole the Sunset Princess. I could do nothing without it, for all my power lies in its magic. In fighting and overcoming the magician’s imps in the forest to-day you have restored it to me; his snares can never more affect me. So, now, I will prove that my power is restored, and that I am free again, by serving you. I will blind these wicked enemies of yours, so that they will seek you in vain, and I will conduct you safe this night through the Forest of Terrors.’ “So saying, she began weaving with the shuttle, and a wondrous weaving it was, for long streamers of mist floated like a white veil over the forest. Little by little the ghostly vapor covered everything. Faster and faster she wove, singing softly as she did so a curious kind of rhyme:— “‘Wonderful Shuttle, weaving for me, Cover each shrub and cover each tree; Then, while my fairies dance and sing, Straight through the forest this brave knight bring!’ “Gradually great clouds of white formed everywhere. Their gauzy vapor thickened as they rolled away and enclosed the whole forest. Nothing could be seen but the wonderful little Lady of the Mist, and she stood shining and gleaming like silver in the centre of the ghostly shroud. At last, when all was snowy white, she stopped singing, and bade the knight follow her. Always through the thick veil he could see her shining bright and clear, and thus she conducted him through the dark forest. But the magician’s imps could not see a thing, and though Oswald heard them fighting and snarling, they did not trouble him again.