Prince Ember and the Shadow Witch were now rapidly approaching the Cave Hall. On their way they passed other vaulted chambers, like the one they had just left, and glancing into these as they hastened by, they saw great urns with ponderous lids, and enormous chests, all marked with the signs of the Wizard, filled, as the Shadow Witch was well aware, with those evil things with which he worked his spells, but not an Imp was anywhere to be seen.

She glided cautiously to the door of one of these rooms and peeped in. She found, as she had supposed, that it was the bedchamber of her brother. His huge bed, with its jet black coverings and pillows stood ready to receive him; his tall chair was set close beside it. Near by was his special treasure chest, in which his choicest wands and spellbooks were locked carefully away from prying fingers, but this room was as silent and deserted as all the rest.

On a sudden they heard loud rapping, which became still louder, and then a harsh voice crying out in angry tones, again and yet again.

“It is my brother calling for his Imps,” whispered the Shadow Witch. “He is not used to have them tarry when he summons them.”

It was as she said: the Wizard, in the Cave Hall, was grey with rage. Never before had he called to his servants without their scurrying on nimble feet to learn his desires, but this time he had struck repeatedly upon the arm of his chair, and had lifted his voice louder and louder, yet neither the Chief Imp nor any other came. He knew where and how they should be employed at this time, and if they were doing their duty, they were within sound of his voice. How they could dare not to answer him, how they could be deaf when he summoned them, the Wizard could not understand.

The Shadow Witch stole closer to Prince Ember, and spoke beneath her breath. “The Wizard is but a few yards from us,” she said. “A moment more, and we must encounter him. I do not fear him now, for in this part of the Cave my power has always been fully equal to his own. The truth is, I have more than once defeated him here. He remembers it well. Yet—I was long bound by that dark prison—long subject to his power. Before I return to the Land of Shadows, I must test myself, for I wish to be certain that I can still meet and defy him in his Cave Hall without being conquered by him; but in order to make sure of myself I must go before him quite alone.”

Prince Ember shook his head. “I would not have you venture it,” he objected. “The risk is too great.”

“Not when you are near me,” she told him confidently. “If the moment should come when I know that I am unable to resist him longer, I will call to you, and you will hasten to my help.”

Reluctantly the Prince consented, and she glided away from him with soundless footsteps. Close, close behind her he followed till they reached the threshold of the Cave Hall. There he tarried out of sight, yet where his eyes could still keep guard over her.

The Wizard, provoked beyond measure by the inattention of his servants, was about to rise from his chair to go and learn the reason, and to punish them, when suddenly a low-toned laugh struck on his ears. It startled him, for it was the familiar laughter of his sister—his sister, whom he believed to be far away, hopelessly imprisoned in the deepest recesses of his cavern. He turned his head in the direction from whence it came, and as he half rose from his seat, puzzled and uncertain, it echoed a second time through the Cave. It came from close by, in that dusky corridor that led to his own bedchamber, led to the rooms beyond where the Imps were busy, ay—and led on still further to his Pit of Fumes. By that way his sister could not pass. He smiled cruelly as he thought of that inconquerable barrier to her coming. By the other way there was the double wall, sealed by his enchantment. Remembering these things he was certain that he but imagined that he had heard her echoing laugh.

Even as he said this, he heard it again, and stealing toward him from out the corridor came a grey figure, laughing as she came. He gazed at it in wonder. It could not really be the Shadow Witch, he told himself. It must be that his eyes were deceiving him.

Impossible as it seemed, however, he presently saw that it was she who stood before him, knew that it was her own voice that rang clear and triumphant in his ears.

“The dungeon in which you thought to hold me was not strong enough when that day came of which I warned you, brother,” she declared. “By a power stronger than yours I have escaped, and I am here in proof that you have failed. In this place, as you well know, you can do naught against me.”

The Wizard’s eyes flashed fire. He made a step forward with hands outstretched to seize her. “Do not boast too soon,” retorted he. “I have yet a spell to conquer you even here.”

Although the Shadow Witch held her head high in defiance of him, she retreated a few paces. It was true, as she had said, that she was not afraid, but she did not mean to be without caution. She would make her test quickly. If she could but baffle him once more with that old trick of hers, that thus far had never failed to confound him, she would know that she was safe against him.

She waved her grey sleeves, and instantly there fell between her and the Wizard her magic curtain, her moving curtain of shadow. Before it stood a shadow image, so like to herself that it deceived even the keen eyes of the Wizard. Behind the curtain she herself was perfectly concealed.

It was done so quickly, so skilfully, that the Wizard did not guess what had happened. He snatched at the image but when he had almost grasped it, it withdrew from him swiftly. When he pursued it, it darted now to this side, now to that, with marvelous agility, always seeming just within reach of his fingers, yet always just eluding them as they began to close upon it, and each time he failed he heard the laughter that so mocked him.

A triumphant smile stole over the face of the Shadow Witch, for she saw plainly that she was still able to defend herself against him. Knowing how easily she could escape now from the Cave Hall with Prince Ember, she was about to beckon to him, but she was too late, for in that moment the Wizard snatched more swiftly than he had yet done at the gliding figure before the curtain, and this time not in vain. His hands closed upon it, indeed, but closed on nothingness, and thus he learned that he had once more been cheated by his sister’s art.

Filled with wrath, he shouted words of enchantment, in a voice loud and compelling, and in answer to them dense darkness descended swiftly over all the Cave Hall, making it as black as the prison from whence the Shadow Witch had escaped. That which she had not believed that he could do here, he had done. Before the darkness her shadow curtain dissolved, and she herself, crying aloud, sank down helpless to the Cave floor.

Now at last the Wizard was certain that she was utterly in his power, was certain that there was none near to hear or answer the sharp cry for help which she had given when she fell. He bent down through the gloom to seize her, but as he did so, the darkness broke and fled, and in its place a rich warm light came flooding through the Cave Hall. It shone upon the evil face of the Wizard stooping there; it made plain the form of the Shadow Witch where she lay.

Startled by this strange light, the Wizard threw back his head to discover from whence it came, and beheld in the doorway the figure of Prince Ember, standing with the Sword of Fire upraised.

It was from the Sword that this ruddy glow streamed forth, and as the Prince advanced rapidly into the Cave Hall, the light grew more intense, so that the Wizard could not bear to look upon its beauty, nor could he bear the strong pure heat that flowed from the Sword as it drew nearer and more near.

Anguish seized him, and a weakness greater even than he had felt before the Sword of Flames in the hands of Prince Radiance. He gave a hoarse cry to his servants for help, but they, voiceless and motionless prisoners in their vaulted chamber, could not answer, could not come to him, although they heard him call.He tried to struggle to his feet, but it was quite in vain. Instead he fell prone upon the ground. As he lay there, he saw his sister rise from where his evil spell had cast her, saw her grow strong again, saw joy and courage beam in her face. Her eyes were lifted to this stranger, come to succor her with the glowing light and warmth of his conquering Sword. By all these things he knew that the Prince, of whom Black Shadow had warned him, had come at last.

Prince Ember stretched above his prostrate form the fiery Sword. “Cruel and wicked master of the Cave,” he cried, “here shall you lie in bondage to this Sword until the hour when your sister stands safely within her own borders. Cry not to your servants yonder. They, too, are bound by my spell and cannot answer. Cry not to your guardians of the Cave Mouth. They also shall be enchained.”

Deep into the frame of the Wizard the magic of the Sword pierced its way. He saw, as in a vision, the Prince put back his Sword. With dulling eyes, he beheld his sister take the hand which the stranger tenderly extended to her. He perceived them go together from the Cave Hall, and into that corridor that led to freedom.

Then all sense and thought forsook him. The spell of the Sword of Fire had so penetrated his inmost being that he no longer was aware that beyond the Cave lurked Curling Smoke and the Ash Goblin, and that farther away the Wind in the Chimney waited, all pledged to destroy Prince Ember, and to prevent the escape of the Shadow Witch.Meanwhile the two pursued their way to the Cave’s mouth. At its entrance those Imps who had been sent to guard it still kept vigilant watch. None had ventured to sleep or to stir from his post, for though the time had been long, and no one had tried to pass them, they dared not be unfaithful to their trust. They feared the Wizard’s wrath and the punishment that would surely befall them, if anything should go amiss through fault of theirs.

But as Prince Ember and the Shadow Witch approached them, a strange and unfamiliar warmth stole over the watchers, benumbing all their senses. Drowsiness came down upon them where they stood or sat, and with one accord they began to nod, to sink off to sleep, and presently they were wrapped in a slumber so profound that nothing could possibly break it.

This, too, was the spell of the Sword of Fire.

As the Shadow Witch passed the Imps and saw them sleeping there, some leaning upright against the rough wall of the cavern, some with heads bowed on knees, and others lying prostrate on the ground, she turned her head to her companion, with a smile.

“Vain are my brother’s guards,” she murmured, “when Prince Ember comes.”