dimmed.

Zeb with a gasp drew his eyes away for a second and glanced around.
Fiddlers and guests seemed ghostly after the fierce light he had been
gazing on. He looked along the pale faces to the place where Ruby
stood. She, too, glanced up, and their eyes met.

What he saw fetched a sob from his throat. Then something on the floor
caught his attention: something bright, close by his feet.

Between his out-spread legs, as it seemed, a thin streak of silver was
creeping along the flooring. He rubbed his eyes, and looked again.

He was straddling across a stream of molten metal.

As Zeb caught sight of this, the stranger twirled, leapt a foot in the
air, and came down smartly on the final note, with a click of his heels.
The music ceased abruptly.

A storm of clapping broke out, but stopped almost on the instant: for
the stranger had flung an arm out towards the hearth-stone.

"A mine--a mine!"

The white streak ran hissing from the heart of the fire, where a clod of
earth rested among the ashen sticks.

"Witchcraft!" muttered one or two of the guests, peering forward with
round eyes.