John William Waterhouse Miranda - The Tempest

John William Waterhouse Miranda - The TempestJohn William Waterhouse My Sweet RoseJohn William Waterhouse Gather ye rosebuds while ye may
that moment of shocked silence there was the sharp little snick of the lock. They watched in fascinated horror as the iron bolts travelled back of their own accord; the great oak balks of timber, turned by Time into something tougher than rock, slid out of their sockets; the hinges flared from red through yellow to white and then exploded. Slowly, with a terrible inevitability, the doors fell into the hall.
There was an 'Here, he's no wizard-’
'Where's his hood, then?'
'Where's his hat?'
The stranger walked up the line of astonished wizards until he was standing in front of the top table. Spelter looked down at a thin young face framed by a mass of blond hair, and most of all he looked into two golden eyes that glowed from within. But he felt they indistinct figure standing in the smoke from the burning hinges.'Bloody hell, Virrid,' said one of the wizards nearby, 'that was a good one.'As the figure strode into the light they could all see that it was not, after all, Virrid Wayzygoose.He was at least a head shorter than any other wizard, and wore a simple white robe. He was also several decades younger; he looked about ten years old, and in one hand he held a staff considerably taller than he was.