The day had already dawned, but it was not yet sunrise when Maskull awoke from his miserable sleep. He sat up and yawned feebly. The air was cool and sweet. Far away down the landslip a bird was singing; the song consisted of only two notes, but it was so plaintive and heartbreaking that he scarcely knew how to endure it.

The eastern sky was a delicate green, crossed by a long, thin band of chocolate-coloured cloud near the horizon. The atmosphere was blue-tinted, mysterious, and hazy. Neither Sarclash nor Adage was visible.

The saddle of the Pass was five hundred feet above him; he had descended that distance overnight. The landslip continued downward, like a huge flying staircase, to the upper slopes of Barey, which lay perhaps fifteen hundred feet beneath. The surface of the Pass was rough, and the angle was excessively steep, though not precipitous. It was above a mile across. On each side of it, east and west, the dark walls of the ridge descended sheer. At the point where the pass sprang outward they were two thousand feet from top to bottom, but as the ridge went upward, on the one hand toward Adage, on the other toward Sarclash, they attained almost unbelievable heights. Despite the great breadth and solidity of the pass, Maskull felt as though he were suspended in midair.

The patch of broken, rich, brown soil observable not far away marked Sullenbode’s grave. He had interred her by the light of the moon, with a long, flat stone for a spade. A little lower down, the white steam of a hot spring was curling about in the twilight. From where he sat he was unable to see the pool into which the spring ultimately flowed, but it was in that pool that he had last night washed first of all the dead girl’s body, and then his own.

He got up, yawned again, stretched himself, and looked around him dully. For a long time he eyed the grave. The half-darkness changed by imperceptible degrees to full day; the sun was about to appear. The sky was nearly cloudless. The whole wonderful extent of the mighty ridge behind him began to emerge from the morning mist . . . there was a part of Sarclash, and the ice-green crest of gigantic Adage itself, which he could only take in by throwing his head right back.

He gazed at everything in weary apathy, like a lost soul. All his desires were gone forever; he wished to go nowhere, and to do nothing. He thought he would go to Barey.

He went to the warm pool, to wash the sleep out of his eyes. Sitting beside it, watching the bubbles, was Krag.

Maskull thought that he was dreaming. The man was clothed in a skin shirt and breeches. His face was stem, yellow, and ugly. He eyed Maskull without smiling or getting up.

“Where in the devil’s name have you come from, Krag?”

“The great point is, I am here.”

“Where’s Nightspore?”

“Not far away.”

“It seems a hundred years since I saw you. Why did you two leave me in such a damnable fashion?”

“You were strong enough to get through alone.”

“So it turned out, but how were you to know?. . . . Anyway, you’ve timed it well. It seems I am to die today.”

Krag scowled. “You will die this morning.”

“If I am to, I shall. But where have you heard it from?”

“You are ripe for it. You have run through the gamut. What else is there to live for?”

“Nothing,” said Maskull, uttering a short laugh. “I am quite ready. I have failed in everything. I only wondered how you knew. . . . So now you’ve come to rejoin me. Where are we going?”

“Through Barey.”

“And what about Nightspore?”

Krag jumped to his feet with clumsy agility. “We won’t wait for him. He’ll be there as soon as we shall.”

“Where?”

“At our destination. . . . Come! The sun’s rising.”

As they started clambering down the pass side by side, Branchspell, huge and white, leaped fiercely into the sky. All the delicacy of the dawn vanished, and another vulgar day began. They passed some trees and plants, the leaves of which were all curled up, as if in sleep.

Maskull pointed them out to his companion.

“How is it the sunshine doesn’t open them?”

“Branchspell is a second night to them. Their day is Alppain.”

“How long will it be before that sun rises?”

“Some time yet.”

“Shall I live to see it, do you think?”

“Do you want to?”

“At one time I did, but now I’m indifferent.”

“Keep in that humour, and you’ll do well. Once for all, there’s nothing worth seeing on Tormance.”

After a few minutes Maskull said, “Why did we come here, then?”

“To follow Surtur.”

“True. But where is he?”

“Closer at hand than you think, perhaps.”

“Do you know that he is regarded as a god here, Krag? . . . There is supernatural fire, too, which I have been led to believe is somehow connected with him. . . . Why do you keep up the mystery? Who and what is Surtur?”

“Don’t disturb yourself about that. You will never know.”

“Do you know?”

“I know,” snarled Krag.

“The devil here is called Krag,” went on Maskull, peering into his face.

“As long as pleasure is worshiped, Krag will always be the devil.”

“Here we are, talking face to face, two men together. . . . What am I to believe of you?”

“Believe your senses. The real devil is Crystalman.”

They continued descending the landslip. The sun’s rays had grown insufferably hot. In front of them, down below in the far distance, Maskull saw water and land intermingled. It appeared that they were travelling toward a lake district.

“What have you and Nightspore been doing during the last four days, Krag? What happened to the torpedo?”

“You’re just about on the same mental level as a man who sees a brand-new palace, and asks what has become of the scaffolding.”

“What palace have you been building, then?”

“We have not been idle,” said Krag. “While you have been murdering and lovemaking, we have had our work.”

“And how have you been made acquainted with my actions?”

“Oh, you’re an open book. Now you’ve got a mortal heart wound on account of a woman you knew for six hours.”

Maskull turned pale. “Sneer away, Krag! If you lived with a woman for six hundred years and saw her die, that would never touch your leather heart. You haven’t even the feelings of an insect.”

“Behold the child defending its toys!” said Krag, grinning faintly.

Maskull stopped short. “What do you want with me, and why did you bring me here?”

“It’s no use stopping, even for the sake of theatrical effect,” said Krag, pulling him into motion again. “The distance has got to be covered, however often we pull up.”

When he touched him, Maskull felt a terrible shooting pain through his heart.

“I can’t go on regarding you as a man, Krag. You’re something more than a man — whether good or evil, I can’t say.”

Krag looked yellow and formidable. He did not reply to Maskull’s remark, but after a pause said, “So you’ve been trying to find Surtur on your own account, during the intervals between killing and fondling?”

“What was that drumming?” demanded Maskull.

“You needn’t look so important. We know you had your ear to the keyhole. But you could join the assembly, the music was not playing for you, my friend.”

Maskull smiled rather bitterly. “At all events, I listen through no more keyholes. I have finished with life. I belong to nobody and nothing any more, from this time forward.”

“Brave Words, brave words! We shall see. Perhaps Crystalman will make one more attempt on you. There is still time for one more.”

“Now I don’t understand you.”

“You think you are thoroughly disillusioned, don’t you? Well, that may prove to be the last and strongest illusion of all.”

The conversation ceased. They reached the foot of the landslip an hour later. Branchspell was steadily mounting the cloudless sky. It was approaching Sarclash, and it was an open question whether or not it would clear its peak. The heat was sweltering. The long, massive, saucer-shaped ridge behind them, with its terrific precipices, was glowing with bright morning colours. Adage, towering up many thousands of feet higher still, guarded the end of it like a lonely Colossus. In front of them, starting from where they stood, was a cool and enchanting wilderness of little lakes and forests. The water of the lakes was dark green; the forests were asleep, waiting for the rising of Alppain.

“Are we now in Barey?” asked Maskull.

“Yes — and there is one of the natives.”

There was an ugly glint in his eye as he spoke the words, but Maskull did not see it.

A man was leaning in the shade against one of the first trees, apparently waiting for them to come up. He was small, dark, and beardless, and was still in early manhood. He was clothed in a dark blue, loosely flowing robe, and wore a broad-brimmed slouch hat. His face, which was not disfigured by any special organs, was pale, earnest, and grave, yet somehow remarkably pleasing.

Before a word was spoken, he warmly grasped Maskull’s hand, but even while he was in the act of doing so he threw a queer frown at Krag. The latter responded with a scowling grin.

When he opened his mouth to speak, his voice was a vibrating baritone, but it was at the same time strangely womanish in its modulations and variety of tone.

“I’ve been waiting for you here since sunrise,” he said. “Welcome to Barey, Maskull! Let’s hope you’ll forget your sorrows here, you over-tested man.”

Maskull stared at him, not without friendliness. “What made you expect me, and how do you know my name?”

The stranger smiled, which made his face very handsome. “I’m Gangnet. I know most things.”

“Haven’t you a greeting for me too — Gangnet?” asked Krag, thrusting his forbidding features almost into the other’s face.

“I know you, Krag. There are few places where you are welcome.”

“And I know you, Gangnet — you man-woman. . . . Well, we are here together, and you must make what you can of it. We are going down to the Ocean.”

The smile faded from Gangnet’s face. “I can’t drive you away, Krag — but I can make you the unwelcome third.”

Krag threw back his head, and gave a loud, grating laugh. “That bargain suits me all right. As long as I have the substance, you may have the shadow, and much good may it do you.”

“Now that it’s all arranged so satisfactorily,” said Maskull, with a hard smile, “permit me to say that I don’t desire any society at all at present. . . . You take too much for granted, Krag. You have played the false friend once already. . . . I presume I’m a free agent?”

“To be a free man, one must have a universe of one’s own,” said Krag, with a jeering look. “What do you say, Gangnet — is this a free world?”

“Freedom from pain and ugliness should be every man’s privilege,” returned Gangnet tranquilly. “Maskull is quite within his rights, and if you’ll engage to leave him I’ll do the same.”

“Maskull can change face as often as he likes, but he won’t get rid of me so easily. Be easy on that point, Maskull.”

“It doesn’t matter,” muttered Maskull. “Let everyone join in the procession. In a few hours I shall finally be free, anyhow, if what they say is true.”

“I’ll lead the way,” said Gangnet. “You don’t know this country, of course, Maskull. When we get to the flat lands some miles farther down, we shall be able to travel by water, but at present we must walk, I fear.”

“Yes, you fear — you fear!” broke out Krag, in a highpitched, scraping voice. “You eternal loller!”

Maskull kept looking from one to the other in amazement. There seemed to be a determined hostility between the two, which indicated an intimate previous acquaintance.

They set off through a wood, keeping close to its border, so that for a mile or more they were within sight of the long, narrow lake that flowed beside it. The trees were low and thin; their dolm-coloured leaves were all folded. There was no underbrush — they walked on clean, brown earth, A distant waterfall sounded. They were in shade, but the air was pleasantly warm. There were no insects to irritate them. The bright lake outside looked cool and poetic.

Gangnet pressed Maskull’s arm affectionately. “If the bringing of you from your world had fallen to me, Maskull, it is here I would have brought you, and not to the scarlet desert. Then you would have escaped the dark spots, and Tormance would have appeared beautiful to you.”

“And what then, Gangnet? The dark spots would have existed all the same.”

“You could have seen them afterward. It makes all the difference whether one sees darkness through the light, or brightness through the shadows.”

“A clear eye is the best. Tormance is an ugly world, and I greatly prefer to know it as it really is.”

“The devil made it ugly, not Crystalman. These are Crystalman’s thoughts, which you see around you. He is nothing but Beauty and Pleasantness. Even Krag won’t have the effrontery to deny that.”

“It’s very nice here,” said Krag, looking around him malignantly. “One only wants a cushion and half a dozen houris to complete it.”

Maskull disengaged himself from Gangnet. “Last night, when I was struggling through the mud in the ghastly moonlight — then I thought the world beautiful.”

“Poor Sullenbode!” said Gangnet sighing.

“What! You knew her?”

“I know her through you. By mourning for a noble woman, you show your own nobility. I think all women are noble.”

“There may be millions of noble women, but there’s only one Sullenbode.”

“If Sullenbode can exist,” said Gangnet, “the world cannot be a bad place.”

“Change the subject. . . . The world’s hard and cruel, and I am thankful to be leaving it.”

“On one point, though, you both agree,” said Krag, smiling evilly. “Pleasure is good, and the cessation of pleasure is bad.”

Gangnet glanced at him coldly. “We know your peculiar theories, Krag. You are very fond of them, but they are unworkable. The world could not go on being, without pleasure.”

“So Gangnet thinks!” jeered Krag.

They came to the end of the wood, and found themselves overlooking a little cliff. At the foot of it, about fifty feet below, a fresh series of lakes and forests commenced. Barey appeared to be one big mountain slope, built by nature into terraces. The lake along whose border they had been travelling was not banked at the end, but overflowed to the lower level in half a dozen beautiful, threadlike falls, white and throwing off spray. The cliff was not perpendicular, and the men found it easy to negotiate.

At the base they entered another wood. Here it was much denser, and they had nothing but trees all around them. A clear brook rippled through the heart of it; they followed its bank.

“It has occurred to me,” said Maskull, addressing Gangnet, “that Alppain may be my death. Is that so?”

“These trees don’t fear Alppain, so why should you? Alppain is a wonderful, life-bringing sun.”

“The reason I ask is — I’ve seen its afterglow, and it produced such violent sensations that a very little more would have proved too much.”

“Because the forces were evenly balanced. When you see Alppain itself, it will reign supreme, and there will be no more struggling of wills inside you.”

“And that, I may tell you beforehand, Maskull,” said Krag, grinning, “is Crystalman’s trump card.”

“How do you mean?”

“You’ll see. You’ll renounce the world so eagerly that you’ll want to stay in the world merely to enjoy your sensations.”

Gangnet smiled. &ld............