“Thou hast had happy dreams, Lady, and thou art well again, is it not so?” queried Nya.
“Aye, Mother,” she answered, “too happy, for they make my waking the more sad. And I am well, I who desire to die.”
“Then go up through the open gate which thou sawest not so long ago, and satisfy thy desire, as it is easy to do,” replied Nya grimly. “Nay,” she added in a changed voice, “go not up, thou art too young and fair, the blood runs too red in those blue veins of thine. What hast thou to do with ghosts and death, and the darkness of the trees, thou child of the air and sunshine? Death for the dwarf-folk, death for the dealers in dreams, death for the death-lovers, but for thee life—life.”
“Tell her, Noie,” said Rachel, “that my mother, who was fore-sighted, always said that I should live out my days, and I fear that it is true, who must live them out alone.”
“Yes, yes, she was right, that mother of thine,” answered Nya, “and for the rest, who knows? But thou art hungry, eat; afterwards we will talk,” and she pointed to a stool upon which was food.
Rachel tasted and found it very good, a kind of porridge, made of she knew not what, and with it forest fruits, but no flesh. So she ate heartily, and Noie ate with her. Nya ate also, but only a very little.
“Why should I trouble to eat?” she said, “I to whom death draws near?”
When they had finished eating, at some signal which Rachel did not perceive, mutes came in who bore away the fragments of the meal. After they had gone the three women washed themselves in the water of the fountain. Then Noie combed out Rachel’s golden hair, and clothed her again in her robe of silken fur that she had cleansed, throwing over it a mantle of snowy white fibre, such as the dwarfs wove into cloth, which she and Nya had made ready while Rachel slept.
As Noie put it about her mistress and stepped back to see how it became her beauty, two of the dwarf-mutes appeared creeping up the cave, and squatting down before Nya began to make signs to her.
“What is it?” asked Rachel nervously.