cunningly pierced for air, so that it was always fresh, and lacked
only sunlight. There the witch fed her upon milk, and wine dark as a
carbuncle, and pomegranates, and purple grapes, and birds that dwell
in marshy places; and she played to her mournful tunes, and caused
wailful violins to attend her, and told her sad tales, thus holding
her ever in an atmosphere of sweet sorrow.




CHAPTER IV.

PHOTOGEN.


Watho at length had her desire, for witches often get what they want:
a splendid boy was born to the fair Aurora. Just as the sun rose, he
opened his eyes. Watho carried him immediately to a distant part of
the castle, and persuaded the mother that he never cried but once,
dying the moment he was born. Overcome with grief, Aurora left the
castle as soon as she was able, and Watho never invited her again.

And now the witch's care was, that the child should not know darkness.
Persistently she trained him until at last he never slept during the
day, and never woke during the night. She never let him see anything
black, and even kept all dull colours out of his way. Never, if she
could help it, would she let a shadow fall upon him, watching against
shadows as if they had been live things that would hurt him. All day
he basked in the full splendour of the sun, in the same large rooms
his mother had occupied. Watho used him to the sun, until he could