The Snow-queen had vanished, and Little Kay with her,--a thick snow-storm hid from view the path that she had taken.
Slowly and weakly, as if the clock were frozen and could thaw only by degrees, twelve o'clock struck from the church-tower.
Ernestine did not hear it. She sat with her head leaning against the window. The voice of the Snow-queen sounded in her ears, "Open your eyes, and see!"
And she opened her eyes, and saw across billions of years. The sun, its fires only dimly burning, hung, a bloody disk in the skies, heavy brooding clouds were tinged with dull red, and twilight rested over the cold earth. Upon its hardened surface only a few wretched imbruted creatures crawled, seeking to sustain life upon the scanty remains of a decaying vegetation.
Sadly Ernestine closed her eyes upon the painful picture.
But she was again commanded to look abroad. Centuries swept on, and all grew darker and colder. The red disk faded, and all colour with it. Ernestine marked it all vanish in a dull gray. Weary with fruitless struggle, the last remains of organic life lay down in eternal rest.
It was night at last. Still the earthly sphere performed its appointed circuit around the charred mass that was once its sun. But the mighty firmament was clear and cloudless,--the lifeless earth exhaled no mists to obscure the light of the distant stars, which revealed to Ernestine immeasurable depths and immense heights of frozen seas and oceans amid eternal repose,--the world was only a gigantic memorial of things that were.
"But where, and in what guise, are the transformed forces of this spent world now lingering?" asked Ernestine. "Nothing in the great Universe is lost."
"Ah! good heavens I here you are sitting dreaming in this cold kitchen!" suddenly said a clear, bright voice. "No fire on the hearth,--no dinner made; or, let me see,--yes,--but how? Burnt to a cinder. My dear Ernestine, what have you been doing?"
Ernestine had sprang up, and was staring at the speaker as if she had come from another world.