d she welcomed the signs of its approach on this account. The King,
however, looked grave, and when the next morning the ground was all
white, the trees and the bushes covered with silvery foliage, he looked
graver still.

"Something is amiss," he said. "The Fairy of the North must be on her
way, and it is not yet time for her visit."

And that very afternoon the snow fell again, more heavily than before,
and the frost-wind whistled down the chimneys and burst open the doors
and windows, and all the palace servants went hurrying and scurrying
about to make great fires and hang up thick curtains and get everything
in order for the cold season, which they had not expected so soon.

"It will not last," said the King, quietly. "In a few days there will be
milder weather again." But, nevertheless, he still looked grave.

And early the next morning, as he was sitting with the Queen, who was
beginning to feel a little frightened at the continuance of the storm,
the double doors of her boudoir suddenly flew open, an icy blast filled
the room, and a tall, white-shrouded figure stood before them.

"I have come to fetch you, Brave-Heart," she said abruptly. "You are
wanted, sorely wanted, in my part of the world. The people are starving:
the season has been a poor one, and there has been bad faith. Some few
powerful men have bought up the grain, which was already scarce, and
refuse to let the poor folk have it. Nothing will save their lives or
prevent sad suffering but your own immediate presence. Are you ready?
You must have seen I was coming."

She threw off her mantle as she spoke and sank on to a couch. Strong as
she was, she seemed tired with the rate at which she had traveled, and
the warm air of the room was oppressive to her. Her clear, beautiful
features looked harassed; her gray eyes full of anxiety. For the moment
she took no notice of the Queen.

"Are you ready?" she repeated.

"Yes, I am ready!" said Brave-Heart, as he rose to his feet.

But the Queen threw herself upon him, with bitter crying and reproaches.
Would he leave _her_, and at such a time, a prey to all kinds of
terrible anxiety? Then she turned to the fairy and upbraided her in
unmeasured language. But the spirit of the North glanced at her with
calm pity.

"Poor child!" she said, "I had almost forgotten you. The sights I have
seen of late have been so terrible that they absorb me. Take courage,
Claribel! Show yourself a queen. Think of the suff