"Some one has come in, for that was the door," she said. "It opens
inward with music."

Eric's heart stood still. Had Ivra come into the Witch's house, Ivra who
was so afraid of the Witch? He ran down the stairs and the Witch
followed him. Yes, Ivra stood there in the middle of the warm,
flower-hung room, like a little cold star beam.

But she did not look at the quaint flowers in their golden vases. And
when the Witch ran to her and kissed her she did not even look at her.
She looked only at Eric, and her eyes said, "I have come to free you."

"Oh, so you did want to try on the pretty frock after all," cried the
Witch, and drew her up the stairs. Eric followed to the yellow room.
"No," said Ivra. But the Witch brought it out and tried to slip it over
her head. It was sheerest gossamer web, and shimmered like moonlight.
And the little rosebuds seemed to make it belong to Ivra.

Eric forgot all about being a prisoner, and forgot the little caged
creatures around the wall. He was delighted with the frock being pushed
down on Ivra's shoulders. "How beautiful you'll be!" he cried. But Ivra
wriggled away from it and stood clear. Her rudely made brown frock and
worn sandals looked odd in that satin room. "I didn't come to see the
frock," she said, shaking her head till her pigtails bobbed. "I came to
get Eric."

The Beautiful Wicked Witch laughed. "Get him if you can," she said. Then
she turned her back on the children and began to braid her black hair
among the mirrors.