Irene sat down in the low chair, and her grandmother left her, shutting the door behind her. The child sat gazing, now at the rose fire, now at the starry walls, now at the silver light; and a great quietness grew in her heart. If all the long-legged cats in the world had come rushing at her then she would not have been afraid of them for a moment. How this was she could not tell--she only knew there was no fear in her, and everything was so right and safe that it could not get in. She had been gazing at the lovely lamp for some minutes fixedly: turning her eyes, she found the wall had vanished, for she was looking out on the dark cloudy night. But though she heard the wind blowing, none of it blew upon her. In a moment more the clouds themselves parted, or rather vanished like the wall, and she looked straight into the starry herds, flashing gloriously in the dark blue. It was but for a moment. The clouds gathered again and shut out the stars; the wall gathered again and shut out the clouds; and there stood the lady beside her with the loveliest smile on her face, and a shimmering ball in her hand, about the size of a pigeon's egg. 'There, Irene; there is my work for you!' she said, holding out the ball to the princess. She took it in her hand, and looked at it all over. It sparkled a little, and shone here and there, but not much. It was of a sort of grey-whiteness, something like spun glass. 'Is this all your spinning, grandmother?' she asked. 'All since you came to the house. There is more there than you think.' 'How pretty it is! What am I to do with it, please?' 'That I will now explain to you,' answered the lady, turning from her and going to her cabinet. She came back with a small ring in her hand. Then she took the ball from Irene's, and did something with the ring--Irene could not tell what. 'Give me your hand,' she said. Irene held up her right hand. 'Yes, that is the hand I want,' said the lady, and put the ring on the forefinger of it. 'What a beautiful ring!' said Irene. 'What is the stone called?' 'It is a fire-opal.' 'Please, am I to keep it?' 'Always.' 'Oh, thank you, grandmother! It's prettier than anything I ever saw, except those--of all colours-in your--Please, is that your crown?' 'Yes, it is my crown. The stone in your ring is of the same sort--only not so good. It has only red, but mine have all colours, you see.' 'Yes, grandmother. I will take such care of it! But--' she added, hesitating. 'But what?' asked her grandmother. 'What am I to say when Lootie asks me where I got it?' 'You will ask her where you got it,' answered the lady smiling. 'I don't see how I can do that.' 'You will, though.' 'Of course I will, if you say so. But, you know, I can't pretend not to know.' 'Of course not. But don't trouble yourself about it. You will see when the time comes.' So saying, the lady turned, and threw the little ball into the rose fire.