She curtsied to the ogre. “Thank you, ogre. I hope you have a pleasant supper tomorrow, but I am glad it will not be me.”

“You will not be glad,” he called after her, “once you see my aunt.”

Elinore went to the end of the stone corridor, and found a much smaller door. She hesitated with her hand above the curved metal of the door handle. She really did not want to be eaten alive. That seemed a worse fate than marrying the Earl of Chillswoth; didn’t it?

She stood there so long that the ogre came at her back, and asked, “Why do you hesitate, girl?”

“I am afraid,” she answered simply; “I do not want to be eaten alive.”

“You can go back,” the ogre said. “As you passed me and my cousin the first time, you may pass the other way.”

She turned and looked at him, and she could not see that her eyes were very blue and very wide, and full of a trust that was rare in one her age. The ogre saw.

“I may truly leave, and you will not harm me?”

“I have said before, you have passed our tests. My cousin and I will not harm you now.”

“But your aunt, behind this door, may eat me alive,” Elinore said, and she did not try to keep the fear out of her voice.

The ogre nodded. “She will if you fail her test.” He touched her yellow cloak with one dirty finger. “Who dyed this cloth for you?”