The Shadow Witch heard his words, and her cheek grew pale as ivory. She pressed her hands close together and looked into Prince Ember’s face, her eyes full of pain. “Alas! my Prince,” she whispered, “it grieves me that you should encounter so many perils for my sake! And here—ah, here, I am afraid that all your wondrous fairy power cannot suffice to break this wicked snare that has been set for you.” Prince Ember smiled. “Grieve not so, my Shadow Witch,” he consoled her. “There is no danger that I would not meet gladly for your sake. Think not that I cannot here match magic with magic, and conquer, for there is no evil enchantment but must yield before the power of the good fairies of the Fire.” With quiet confidence he left the shelter of the Cloak of Ash, and in his hand was his fairy sword. It shone with a red glory. The Ash Goblin, crouching upon the ground, keeping his eyes fixed upon the Elf’s threshold, had heard no syllable that had been spoken, nor knew that anyone was near. But now his staring eyes suddenly beheld the place about him suffused with scarlet light. He leapt to his feet, turning in swift amaze to learn from whence it came, and saw Prince Ember standing, with Sword extended like a bar of fire across his snare. From it streamed that heat, potent and overmastering, wherein its magic dwelt. “Let the snare of the Ash Goblin perish before the power of the Sword of Fire!” exclaimed the Prince, and as he uttered the words the Ash Goblin saw the web that he had been at such pains to prepare, begin to shrivel and shrink away, and presently it had vanished completely from the surface of the Plain. A frenzied shriek burst from the Ash Goblin at the sight of his work destroyed before his very eyes and by the one for whom the snare had been laid. Coward though he was, he would have rushed upon the Prince to attack him with all his puny strength, had not the heat which streamed from the Sword of Fire made his limbs powerless to stir from the spot where he lay hid, had not the glow which surrounded him become so intense that he was forced to bury his head in his cloak, lest his eyes should be blinded by it. Crouching there, wrapped to the very crown of his head in his dingy cloak, he heard again the voice of Prince Ember. “Depart quickly,” commanded the Prince, “lest you be consumed in like manner as your evil snare.” Then the Ash Goblin rose and fled away in terror from the place where he had hoped to triumph, fled on and on, until he came to the threshold of his own hut. In desperate haste he undid the door, and rushing in, closed and barred it fast, to shut out the spell of the conquering Sword. [Illustration] CHAPTER XIV