his face a shimmer as of moonlight, which seemed as if any moment it might break into such a ravishing smile as would cause the beholder to weep himself to death. But the smile never came, and the moonlight lay there unbroken. For the heart of the child was too deep for any smile to reach from it to his face.
“Are you the oldest man of all?” Tangle at length, although filled with awe, ventured to ask.
“Yes, I am. I am very, very old. I am able to help you, I know. I can help everybody.” And the child drew near and looked up in her face so that she burst into tears.
“Can you tell me the way to the country the shadows fall from?” she sobbed.
“Yes. I know the way quite well. I go there myself sometimes. But you could not go my way; you are not old enough. I will show you how you can go.”
“Do not send me out into the great heat again,” prayed Tangle.
“I will not,” answered the child.
And he reached up, and put his little cool hand on her heart.
“Now,” he said, “you can go. The fire will not burn you. Come.”
He led her from the cave, and following him through another archway, she found herself in a vast desert of sand and rock. The sky of it was of rock, lowering over them like solid thunderclouds; and the whole place was so hot that she saw, in bright rivulets, the yellow gold and white silver and red copper trickling molten from the rocks. But the heat never came near her.