Prince Ember had forgotten the Ash Goblin, had forgotten the words of the Elf of the Borderland, but now they returned to him. “Beware of the Ash Goblin! He is small of stature, but he cannot safely be despised, for he is very cunning.” He followed the pointing finger of the Shadow Witch, that he might behold this new enemy, but he strained his eyes in vain. “I see nothing but the grey Plain that lies between us and the Elf’s dwelling,” he replied. She laid her hand lightly upon his eyes for a moment, and by the magic of her touch made his vision more keen. “Look now,” she urged, withdrawing her hand, “and you will see.” Prince Ember obeyed, and immediately he, too, beheld the ugly form of the Ash Goblin bending over his snare. “Yes, there he is,” he said, “and I remember now how earnestly the Elf of the Borderland bade me be on my guard against his cunning.” “Ah, my Prince,” the Shadow Witch responded, “you may well be on your guard. Though he knows the weakness of his body too well to dare to attack an enemy in fair and open fight, he is powerful in such craft as he can carry out in secret. Whether or not he is preparing a trap for us, I cannot tell. One thing is certain, we cannot choose but pass over the place where he is at work.” “Whatever may lie in wait for us there, my dear Shadow Witch,” Prince Ember assured her, “we will meet it unafraid.” They went directly toward their foe. Nowhere did they see anything that spoke of danger until they were but a stone’s throw from where the Ash Goblin knelt. There they stood still to scan his work, and beheld a delicate mesh, so thin and fine that it was well-nigh invisible, stretching away to right and left of him and in front of him. The Shadow Witch, seeing, shrank back aghast. “It is the cunning web of the Ash Goblin!” she breathed. “None escapes destruction who sets foot within its bounds.” Before the Prince could answer, the Ash Goblin rose. He had put the final touch to his work. The last handful of his ash had been strewn, the last word of his spell had been pronounced, and weary with long bending over his work, he drew himself up slowly. “A goodly snare, a goodly snare,” they heard him mutter to himself. “Never yet has it failed me—no, nor ever shall, so long as I hold the secret of my evil ash, so long as I remember the words of my ancient spell.” He gloated over it for a moment in silence, and then continued: “To this snare the feet of Prince Ember must come. When he treads so much as its border he is lost, and when he is lost, the impudent Shadow Witch in her dungeon may await her brother’s pleasure for her deliverance. Let her learn in good time, that it is the Ash Goblin, the Ash Goblin whom she has so often mocked, who has helped to keep her there.” He wagged his head exultantly, and sank down again to conceal himself in the ashes, and there await unseen the coming of the Prince.