Then away they fled, running and jumping in the frosty morning air.  Ivra taught Eric some games that could be played by two alone.  They were running games, climbing games, hiding games, jumping games.  Ivra was swift and strong and unafraid.  Her cheeks reddened like apples in the cold.  She was a fine playfellow.

Not until they were hungry did they think of home.  Then they ran, hand in hand at last, jumping the garden hedge like deer, their hearts beating with the expectation of running straight into Helma’s arms.  But no Helma was there.  Nora had come with the milk, left it, eaten the rest of the porridge, and gone away again without waiting for a word with any one.  The children wished she had stayed.  They needed some one to talk with about their mother.  Of course they knew she would come back, all in her good time.  Ivra made Eric understand that.  But the room seemed even emptier without her than it had in the morning.  They cheered each other as best they could, drank a lot of the fresh milk and ate some nuts.  They wanted to get away into the forest again and forget the empty house, so they did not try to cook anything.

They played hard all the afternoon.  Towards twilight it grew warmer and began to snow, great wet flakes.  They ran home, leaping the hedge again.  The house was still empty.  Helma was not there.

They stirred up the fire, and sat down on the floor in front of it to talk over what they should do.  Then it happened,—­the strange, the beautiful, the frightful thing!  Eric saw a face at the window.  It was so perfectly beautiful, that face, that he wanted to shut his eyes against it.  It almost hurt.  It was the face of a young woman, very pale, but when her eyes met Eric’s they filled with dancing laughter.  Her hair under her peaked, white hood glistened blue-black like a river in the snow.  She lifted a small white hand and tapped on the window pane, nodding to him merrily.

Ivra turned at the sound of the little fingers on the glass.  When she saw the face, she started to her feet with a frightened cry, and rushing to the door, drew the bolt.

“She can’t get in.  She can’t get in, Eric.  Don’t be afraid.  We are safe.”  But the poor little girl did not believe her own words.  She was trembling.

“Why, I’m not afraid,” said Eric, running to the window.  The merry eyes drew him.  Now her mouth danced into smiles with her eyes.  She made pretty signs to him to open the window and let her in.

But Ivra pulled him back.  “Don’t you know?  It’s the Beautiful Wicked Witch!” she whispered.

But Eric was impatient.  “How can she be wicked when she’s so beautiful!” he exclaimed.  He was so little used to beautiful people in his life that now he was fascinated and delighted.

The Beautiful Wicked Witch looked at Ivra then, and Ivra saw how her eyes were dancing, great black eyes full of splendor and fun.  She caught her breath.  She laughed back at the Beautiful Wicked Witch.  She could not help herself.  But her hands flew to her mouth to stop the laugh.