in a blue-black sky, and there was neither shade nor water
anywhere. But Siegfried rode onwards in the way which Regin
pointed out, and faltered not, although he grew faint with
thirst and with the overpowering heat. Towards the evening
of the next day they came to a dark mountain-wall which
stretched far out on either hand, and rose high above them,
so steep that it seemed to close up the way, and to forbid
them going farther.

"This is the wall!" cried Regin. "Beyond this mountain is
the Glittering Heath, and the goal of all my hopes."

And the little old man ran forwards, and scaled the rough
side of the mountain, and reached its summit, while
Siegfried and Greyfell were yet toiling among the rocks at
its foot. Slowly and painfully they climbed the steep
ascent, sometimes following a narrow path which wound along
the edge of a precipice, sometimes leaping, from rock to
rock, or over some deep gorge, and sometimes picking their
way among the crags and cliffs. The sun at last went down,
and one by one the stars came out; and the moon was rising,
round and red, when Siegfried stood by Regin's side, and
gazed from the mountain-top down upon the Glittering Heath
which lay beyond. And a strange, weird scene it was that met
his sight. At the foot of the mountain was a river, white
and cold and still; and beyond it was a smooth and barren
plain, lying silent and lonely in the pale moonlight. But in
the distance was seen a circle of flickering flames, ever
changing,--now growing brighter, now fading away, and now
shining with a dull, cold light, like the glimmer of the