DAY followed day, weeks and years slipped by, and the tiny dancing flame that was the spirit of the baby Princess grew larger and more brilliant year by year. The Fire Fairies called her Princess White Flame, and regarded her with the greatest respect and love, but pity and sympathy were always mingled with that respect.

The story of the magic Veil was known, and many princes had heard the voice of the Princess, and had seen her passing as a fine white flame. Many would gladly have won her as a bride; many had sought the Wise One—many had peered into his ancient chest, but none had been able to grasp, or even to see the wondrous Veil that alone could restore the Princess to her fairy form.

King Red Flame loved his daughter dearly, and was never so happy as when she fluttered gently from place to place with him, or hovered in the air by his side when he sat at rest; yet always he longed to see her face—to have her visible presence.

One evening as they were moving together in the garden, watching the red and yellow light that came and went among the fire-lilies that bordered the winding paths, the King asked her tenderly, “My child, have you not yet seen a prince whom you can love?”

White Flame laughed softly. “No, there is no one. Why do you ask, dear father?”

King Red Flame sighed. “Because it is only a prince who loves you, and whom you can love in return, who can free you from the spell.”

White Flame stole closer to her father’s side, and whispered in his ear, “I have not yet seen anyone, dear father, for whom I would wish to be more than the glancing flame that they see me now.”

Again the King sighed. “Ah, well, my daughter, the time may come. But remember that until it does, your face is hidden from me also.”