The flames crept up the long braids of her hair, her lips moved, and then she was gone--but slowly, like a ghost slipping upward into the mist of smoke and night.
Peter heard his master's cry.

And after that Jolly Roger rose up and threw off the blanket and walked back and forth until his feet trod a path in the snow.

He told himself it was madness to believe, and yet he believed.

Faith fought itself back into that dark citadel of his heart from which for a time it had been driven.

New courage lighted up again the black chaos of his soul.