Joiwind

: A Voyage To Arcturus

IT WAS DENSE NIGHT when Maskull awoke from his profound sleep. A wind

was blowing against him, gentle but wall-like, such as he had never

experienced on earth. He remained sprawling on the ground, as he was

unable to lift his body because of its intense weight. A numbing pain,

which he could not identify with any region of his frame, acted from

now onward as a lower, sympathetic note to all his other sensations. It

gna ed away at him continuously; sometimes it embittered and irritated

him, at other times he forgot it.



He felt something hard on his forehead. Putting his hand up, he

discovered there a fleshy protuberance the size of a small plum, having

a cavity in the middle, of which he could not feel the bottom. Then

he also became aware of a large knob on each side of his neck, an inch

below the ear.



From the region of his heart, a tentacle had budded. It was as long as

his arm, but thin, like whipcord, and soft and flexible.



As soon as he thoroughly realised the significance of these new organs,

his heart began to pump. Whatever might, or might not, be their use,

they proved one thing that he was in a new world.



One part of the sky began to get lighter than the rest. Maskull cried

out to his companions, but received no response. This frightened him.

He went on shouting out, at irregular intervals--equally alarmed at the

silence and at the sound of his own voice. Finally, as no answering hail

came, he thought it wiser not to make too much noise, and after that he

lay quiet, waiting in cold blood for what might happen.



In a short while he perceived dim shadows around him, but these were not

his friends.



A pale, milky vapour over the ground began to succeed the black night,

while in the upper sky rosy tints appeared. On earth, one would have

said that day was breaking. The brightness went on imperceptibly

increasing for a very long time.



Maskull then discovered that he was lying on sand. The colour of the

sand was scarlet. The obscure shadows he had seen were bushes, with

black stems and purple leaves. So far, nothing else was visible.



The day surged up. It was too misty for direct sunshine, but before long

the brilliance of the light was already greater than that of the midday

sun on earth. The heat, too, was intense, but Maskull welcomed it--it

relieved his pain and diminished his sense of crushing weight. The wind

had dropped with the rising of the sun.



He now tried to get onto his feet, but succeeded only in kneeling. He

was unable to see far. The mists had no more than partially dissolved,

and all that he could distinguish was a narrow circle of red sand dotted

with ten or twenty bushes.



He felt a soft, cool touch on the back of his neck. He started forward

in nervous fright and, in doing so, tumbled over onto the sand. Looking

up over his shoulder quickly, he was astounded to see a woman standing

beside him.



She was clothed in a single flowing, pale green garment, rather

classically draped. According to earth standards she was not beautiful,

for, although her face was otherwise human, she was endowed--or

afflicted--with the additional disfiguring organs that Maskull had

discovered in himself. She also possessed the heart tentacle. But when

he sat up, and their eyes met and remained in sympathetic contact,

he seemed to see right into a soul that was the home of love, warmth,

kindness, tenderness, and intimacy. Such was the noble familiarity of

that gaze, that he thought he knew her. After that, he recognised all

the loveliness of her person. She was tall and slight. All her movements

were as graceful as music. Her skin was not of a dead, opaque

colour, like that of an earth beauty, but was opalescent; its hue was

continually changing, with every thought and emotion, but none of these

tints was vivid--all were delicate, half-toned, and poetic. She had very

long, loosely plaited, flaxen hair. The new organs, as soon as Maskull

had familiarised himself with them, imparted something to her face that

was unique and striking. He could not quite define it to himself, but

subtlety and inwardness seemed added. The organs did not contradict the

love of her eyes or the angelic purity of her features, but nevertheless

sounded a deeper note--a note that saved her from mere girlishness.



Her gaze was so friendly and unembarrassed that Maskull felt scarcely

any humiliation at sitting at her feet, naked and helpless. She realised

his plight, and put into his hands a garment that she had been carrying

over her arm. It was similar to the one she was wearing, but of a

darker, more masculine colour.



"Do you think you can put it on by yourself?"



He was distinctly conscious of these words, yet her voice had not

sounded.



He forced himself up to his feet, and she helped him to master the

complications of the drapery.



"Poor man--how you are suffering!" she said, in the same inaudible

language. This time he discovered that the sense of what she said was

received by his brain through the organ on his forehead.



"Where am I? Is this Tormance?" he asked. As he spoke, he staggered.



She caught him, and helped him to sit down. "Yes. You are with friends."



Then she regarded him with a smile, and began speaking aloud, in

English. Her voice somehow reminded him of an April day, it was so

fresh, nervous, and girlish. "I can now understand your language. It was

strange at first. In the future I'll speak to you with my mouth."



"This is extraordinary! What is this organ?" he asked, touching his

forehead.



"It is named the 'breve.' By means of it we read one another's thoughts.

Still, speech is better, for then the heart can be read too."



He smiled. "They say that speech is given us to deceive others."



"One can deceive with thought, too. But I'm thinking of the best, not

the worst."



"Have you seen my friends?"



She scrutinised him quietly, before answering. "Did you not come alone?"



"I came with two other men, in a machine. I must have lost consciousness

on arrival, and I haven't seen them since."



"That's very strange! No, I haven't seen them. They can't be here, or we

would have known it. My husband and I--"



"What is your name, and your husband's name?"



"Mine is Joiwind--my husband's is Panawe. We live a very long way from

here; still, it came to us both last night that you were lying here

insensible. We almost quarrelled about which of us should come to

you, but in the end I won." Here she laughed. "I won, because I am the

stronger-hearted of the two; he is the purer in perception."



"Thanks, Joiwind!" said Maskull simply.



The colors chased each other rapidly beneath her skin. "Oh, why do you

say that? What pleasure is greater than loving-kindness? I rejoiced at

the opportunity.... But now we must exchange blood."



"What is this?" he demanded, rather puzzled.



"It must be so. Your blood is far too thick and heavy for our world.

Until you have an infusion of mine, you will never get up."



Maskull flushed. "I feel like a complete ignoramus here.... Won't it

hurt you?"



"If your blood pains you, I suppose it will pain me. But we will share

the pain."



"This is a new kind of hospitality to me," he muttered.



"Wouldn't you do the same for me?" asked Joiwind, half smiling, half

agitated.



"I can't answer for any of my actions in this world. I scarcely know

where I am.... Why, yes--of course I would, Joiwind."



While they were talking it had become full day. The mists had

rolled away from the ground, and only the upper atmosphere remained

fog-charged. The desert of scarlet sand stretched in all directions,

except one, where there was a sort of little oasis--some low hills,

clothed sparsely with little purple trees from base to summit. It was

about a quarter of a mile distant.



Joiwind had brought with her a small flint knife. Without any trace of

nervousness, she made a careful, deep incision on her upper arm. Maskull

expostulated.



"Really, this part of it is nothing," she said, laughing. "And if it

were--a sacrifice that is no sacrifice--what merit is there in that?...

Come now--your arm!"



The blood was streaming down her arm. It was not red blood, but a milky,

opalescent fluid.



"Not that one!" said Maskull, shrinking. "I have already been cut

there." He submitted the other, and his blood poured forth.



Joiwind delicately and skilfully placed the mouths of the two wounds

together, and then kept her arm pressed tightly against Maskull's for

a long time. He felt a stream of pleasure entering his body through the

incision. His old lightness and vigour began to return to him. After

about five minutes a duel of kindness started between them; he wanted to

remove his arm, and she to continue. At last he had his way, but it was

none too soon--she stood there pale and dispirited.



She looked at him with a more serious expression than before, as if

strange depths had opened up before her eyes.



"What is your name?"



"Maskull."



"Where have you come from, with this awful blood?"



"From a world called Earth.... The blood is clearly unsuitable for this

world, Joiwind, but after all, that was only to be expected. I am sorry

I let you have your way."



"Oh, don't say that! There was nothing else to be done. We must all help

one another. Yet, somehow--forgive me--I feel polluted."



"And well you may, for it's a fearful thing for a girl to accept in her

own veins the blood of a strange man from a strange planet. If I had not

been so dazed and weak I would never have allowed it."



"But I would have insisted. Are we not all brothers and sisters? Why did

you come here, Maskull?"



He was conscious of a slight degree of embarrassment. "Will you think

it foolish if I say I hardly know?--I came with those two men. Perhaps I

was attracted by curiosity, or perhaps it was the love of adventure."



"Perhaps," said Joiwind. "I wonder... These friends of yours must be

terrible men. Why did they come?"



"That I can tell you. They came to follow Surtur."



Her face grew troubled. "I don't understand it. One of them at least

must be a bad man, and yet if he is following Surtur--or Shaping, as he

is called here--he can't be really bad."



"What do you know of Surtur?" asked Maskull in astonishment.



Joiwind remained silent for a time, studying his face. His brain moved

restlessly, as though it were being probed from outside. "I see.... and

yet I don't see," she said at last. "It is very difficult.... Your God

is a dreadful Being--bodyless, unfriendly, invisible. Here we don't

worship a God like that. Tell me, has any man set eyes on your God?"



"What does all this mean, Joiwind? Why speak of God?"



"I want to know."



"In ancient times, when the earth was young and grand, a few holy men

are reputed to have walked and spoken with God, but those days are

past."



"Our world is still young," said Joiwind. "Shaping goes among us and

converses with us. He is real and active--a friend and lover. Shaping

made us, and he loves his work."



"Have you met him?" demanded Maskull, hardly believing his ears.



"No. I have done nothing to deserve it yet. Some day I may have an

opportunity to sacrifice myself, and then I may be rewarded by meeting

and talking with Shaping."



"I have certainly come to another world. But why do you say he is the

same as Surtur?"



"Yes, he is the same. We women call him Shaping, and so do most men, but

a few name him Surtur."



Maskull bit his nail. "Have you ever heard of Crystalman?"



"That is Shaping once again. You see, he has many names--which shows how

much he occupies our minds. Crystalman is a name of affection."



"It's odd," said Maskull. "I came here with quite different ideas about

Crystalman."



Joiwind shook her hair. "In that grove of trees over there stands a

desert shrine of his. Let us go and pray there, and then we'll go on our

way to Poolingdred. That is my home. It's a long way off, and we must

get there before Blodsombre."



"Now, what is Blodsombre?"



"For about four hours in the middle of the day Branchspell's rays are so

hot that no one can endure them. We call it Blodsombre."



"Is Branchspell another name for Arcturus?"



Joiwind threw off her seriousness and laughed. "Naturally we don't take

our names from you, Maskull. I don't think our names are very poetic,

but they follow nature."



She took his arm affectionately, and directed their walk towards the

tree-covered hills. As they went along, the sun broke through the

upper mists and a terrible gust of scorching heat, like a blast from a

furnace, struck Maskull's head. He involuntarily looked up, but lowered

his eyes again like lightning. All that he saw in that instant was a

glaring ball of electric white, three times the apparent diameter of the

sun. For a few minutes he was quite blind.



"My God!" he exclaimed. "If it's like this in early morning you must be

right enough about Blodsombre." When he had somewhat recovered himself

he asked, "How long are the days here, Joiwind?"



Again he felt his brain being probed.



"At this time of the year, for every hour's daylight that you have in

summer, we have two."



"The heat is terrific--and yet somehow I don't feel so distressed by it

as I would have expected."



"I feel it more than usual. It's not difficult to account for it; you

have some of my blood, and I have some of yours."



"Yes, every time I realise that, I--Tell me, Joiwind, will my blood

alter, if I stay here long enough?--I mean, will it lose its redness and

thickness, and become pure and thin and light-coloured, like yours?"



"Why not? If you live as we live, you will assuredly grow like us."



"Do you mean food and drink?"



"We eat no food, and drink only water."



"And on that you manage to sustain life?"



"Well, Maskull, our water is good water," replied Joiwind, smiling.



As soon as he could see again he stared around at the landscape. The

enormous scarlet desert extended everywhere to the horizon, excepting

where it was broken by the oasis. It was roofed by a cloudless, deep

blue, almost violet, sky. The circle of the horizon was far larger than

on earth. On the skyline, at right angles to the direction in which

they were walking, appeared a chain of mountains, apparently about forty

miles distant. One, which was higher than the rest, was shaped like a

cup. Maskull would have felt inclined to believe he was travelling in

dreamland, but for the intensity of the light, which made everything

vividly real.



Joiwind pointed to the cup-shaped mountain. "That's Poolingdred."



"You didn't come from there!" he exclaimed, quite startled.



"Yes, I did indeed. And that is where we have to go to now."



"With the single object of finding me?"



"Why, yes."



The colour mounted to his face. "Then you are the bravest and noblest

of all girls," he said quietly, after a pause. "Without exception. Why,

this is a journey for an athlete!"



She pressed his arm, while a score of unpaintable, delicate hues stained

her cheeks in rapid transition. "Please don't say any more about it,

Maskull. It makes me feel unpleasant."



"Very well. But can we possibly get there before midday?"



"Oh, yes. And you mustn't be frightened at the distance. We think

nothing of long distances here--we have so much to think about and feel.

Time goes all too quickly."



During their conversation they had drawn neat the base of the hills,

which sloped gently, and were not above fifty feet in height. Maskull

now began to see strange specimens of vegetable life. What looked like

a small patch of purple grass, above five feet square, was moving across

the sand in their direction. When it came near enough he perceived that

it was not grass; there were no blades, but only purple roots. The roots

were revolving, for each small plant in the whole patch, like the spokes

of a rimless wheel. They were alternately plunged in the sand, and

withdrawn from it, and by this means the plant proceeded forward. Some

uncanny, semi-intelligent instinct was keeping all the plants together,

moving at one pace, in one direction, like a flock of migrating birds in

flight.



Another remarkable plant was a large, feathery ball, resembling a

dandelion fruit, which they encountered sailing through the air. Joiwind

caught it with an exceedingly graceful movement of her arm, and showed

it to Maskull. It had roots and presumably lived in the air and fed on

the chemical constituents of the atmosphere. But what was peculiar about

it was its colour. It was an entirely new colour--not a new shade or

combination, but a new primary colour, as vivid as blue, red, or yellow,

but quite different. When he inquired, she told him that it was known as

"ulfire." Presently he met with a second new colour. This she designated

"jale." The sense impressions caused in Maskull by these two additional

primary colors can only be vaguely hinted at by analogy. Just as blue is

delicate and mysterious, yellow clear and unsubtle, and red sanguine

and passionate, so he felt ulfire to be wild and painful, and jale

dreamlike, feverish, and voluptuous.



The hills were composed of a rich, dark mould. Small trees, of weird

shapes, all differing from each other, but all purple-coloured, covered

the slopes and top. Maskull and Joiwind climbed up and through. Some

hard fruit, bright blue in colour, of the size of a large apple, and

shaped like an egg, was lying in profusion underneath the trees.



"Is the fruit here poisonous, or why don't you eat it?" asked Maskull.



She looked at him tranquilly. "We don't eat living things. The thought

is horrible to us."



"I have nothing to say against that, theoretically. But do you really

sustain your bodies on water?"



"Supposing you could find nothing else to live on, Maskull--would you

eat other men?"



"I would not."



"Neither will we eat plants and animals, which are our fellow creatures.

So nothing is left to us but water, and as one can really live on

anything, water does very well."



Maskull picked up one of the fruits and handled it curiously. As he did

so another of his newly acquired sense organs came into action. He

found that the fleshy knobs beneath his ears were in some novel fashion

acquainting him with the inward properties of the fruit. He could not

only see, feel, and smell it, but could detect its intrinsic nature.

This nature was hard, persistent and melancholy.



Joiwind answered the questions he had not asked.



"Those organs are called 'poigns.' Their use is to enable us to

understand and sympathise with all living creatures."



"What advantage do you derive from that, Joiwind?"



"The advantage of not being cruel and selfish, dear Maskull."



He threw the fruit away and flushed again.



Joiwind looked into his swarthy, bearded face without embarrassment and

slowly smiled. "Have I said too much? Have I been too familiar? Do you

know why you think so? It's because you are still impure. By and by you

will listen to all language without shame."



Before he realised what she was about to do, she threw her tentacle

round his neck, like another arm. He offered no resistance to its cool

pressure. The contact of her soft flesh with his own was so moist and

sensitive that it resembled another kind of kiss. He saw who it was that

embraced him--a pale, beautiful girl. Yet, oddly enough, he experienced

neither voluptuousness nor sexual pride. The love expressed by the

caress was rich, glowing, and personal, but there was not the least

trace of sex in it--and so he received it.



She removed her tentacle, placed her two arms on his shoulders and

penetrated with her eyes right into his very soul.



"Yes, I wish to be pure," he muttered. "Without that what can I ever be

but a weak, squirming devil?"



Joiwind released him. "This we call the 'magn,'" she said, indicating

her tentacle. "By means of it what we love already we love more, and

what we don't love at all we begin to love."



"A godlike organ!"



"It is the one we guard most jealously," said Joiwind.



The shade of the trees afforded a timely screen from the now almost

insufferable rays of Branchspell, which was climbing steadily upward to

the zenith. On descending the other side of the little hills, Maskull

looked anxiously for traces of Nightspore and Krag, but without result.

After staring about him for a few minutes he shrugged his shoulders; but

suspicions had already begun to gather in his mind.



A small, natural amphitheatre lay at their feet, completely circled by

the tree-clad heights. The centre was of red sand. In the very middle

shot up a tall, stately tree, with a black trunk and branches, and

transparent, crystal leaves. At the foot of this tree was a natural,

circular well, containing dark green water.



When they had reached the bottom, Joiwind took him straight over to the

well.



Maskull gazed at it intently. "Is this the shrine you talked about?"



"Yes. It is called Shaping's Well. The man or woman who wishes to invoke

Shaping must take up some of the gnawl water, and drink it."



"Pray for me," said Maskull. "Your unspotted prayer will carry more

weight."



"What do you wish for?"



"For purity," answered Maskull, in a troubled voice.



Joiwind made a cup of her hand, and drank a little of the water. She

held it up to Maskull's mouth. "You must drink too." He obeyed. She then

stood erect, closed her eyes, and, in a voice like the soft murmurings

of spring, prayed aloud.



"Shaping, my father, I am hoping you can hear me. A strange man has come

to us weighed down with heavy blood. He wishes to be pure. Let him know

the meaning of love, let him live for others. Don't spare him pain, dear

Shaping, but let him seek his own pain. Breathe into him a noble soul."



Maskull listened with tears in his heart.



As Joiwind finished speaking, a blurred mist came over his eyes, and,

half buried in the scarlet sand, appeared a large circle of dazzlingly

white pillars. For some minutes they flickered to and fro between

distinctness and indistinctness, like an object being focused. Then they

faded out of sight again.



"Is that a sign from Shaping?" asked Maskull, in a low, awed tone.



"Perhaps it is. It is a time mirage."



"What can that be, Joiwind?"



"You see, dear Maskull, the temple does not yet exist but it will do so,

because it must. What you and I are now doing in simplicity, wise men

will do hereafter in full knowledge."



"It is right for man to pray," said Maskull. "Good and evil in the world

don't originate from nothing. God and Devil must exist. And we should

pray to the one, and fight the other."



"Yes, we must fight Krag."



"What name did you say?" asked Maskull in amazement.



"Krag--the author of evil and misery--whom you call Devil."



He immediately concealed his thoughts. To prevent Joiwind from learning

his relationship to this being, he made his mind a blank.



"Why do you hide your mind from me?" she demanded, looking at him

strangely and changing colour.



"In this bright, pure, radiant world, evil seems so remote, one can

scarcely grasp its meaning." But he lied.



Joiwind continued gazing at him, straight out of her clean soul. "The

world is good and pure, but many men are corrupt. Panawe, my husband,

has travelled, and he has told me things I would almost rather have

not heard. One person he met believed the universe to be, from top to

bottom, a conjurer's cave."



"I should like to meet your husband."



"Well, we are going home now."



Maskull was on the point of inquiring whether she had any children, but

was afraid of offending her, and checked himself.



She read the mental question. "What need is there? Is not the whole

world full of lovely children? Why should I want selfish possessions?"



An extraordinary creature flew past, uttering a plaintive cry of five

distinct notes. It was not a bird, but had a balloon-shaped body,

paddled by five webbed feet. It disappeared among the trees.



Joiwind pointed to it, as it went by. "I love that beast, grotesque as

it is--perhaps all the more for its grotesqueness. But if I had children

of my own, would I still love it? Which is best--to love two or three,

or to love all?"



"Every woman can't be like you, Joiwind, but it is good to have a few

like you. Wouldn't it be as well," he went on, "since we've got to walk

through that sun-baked wilderness, to make turbans for our heads out of

some of those long leaves?"



She smiled rather pathetically. "You will think me foolish, but every

tearing off of a leaf would be a wound in my heart. We have only to

throw our robes over our heads."



"No doubt that will answer the same purpose, but tell me--weren't these

very robes once part of a living creature?"



"Oh, no--no, they are the webs of a certain animal, but they have never

been in themselves alive."



"You reduce life to extreme simplicity," remarked Maskull meditatively,

"but it is very beautiful."



Climbing back over the hills, they now without further ceremony began

their march across the desert.



They walked side by side. Joiwind directed their course straight toward

Poolingdred. From the position of the sun, Maskull judged their way to

lie due north. The sand was soft and powdery, very tiring to his naked

feet. The red glare dazed his eyes, and made him semi-blind. He was hot,

parched, and tormented with the craving to drink; his undertone of pain

emerged into full consciousness.



"I see my friends nowhere, and it is very queer."



"Yes, it is queer--if it is accidental," said Joiwind, with a peculiar

intonation.



"Exactly!" agreed Maskull. "If they had met with a mishap, their bodies

would still be there. It begins to look like a piece of bad work to me.

They must have gone on, and left me.... Well, I am here, and I must make

the best of it, I will trouble no more about them."



"I don't wish to speak ill of anyone," said Joiwind, "but my instinct

tells me that you are better away from those men. They did not come here

for your sake, but for their own."



They walked on for a long time. Maskull was beginning to feel faint.

She twined her magn lovingly around his waist, and a strong current of

confidence and well-being instantly coursed through his veins.



"Thanks, Joiwind! But am I not weakening you?"



"Yes," she replied, with a quick, thrilling glance. "But not much--and

it gives me great happiness."



Presently they met a fantastic little creature, the size of a new-born

lamb, waltzing along on three legs. Each leg in turn moved to the front,

and so the little monstrosity proceeded by means of a series of complete

rotations. It was vividly coloured, as though it had been dipped into

pots of bright blue and yellow paint. It looked up with small, shining

eyes, as they passed.



Joiwind nodded and smiled to it. "That's a personal friend of mine,

Maskull. Whenever I come this way, I see it. It's always waltzing, and

always in a hurry, but it never seems to get anywhere."



"It seems to me that life is so self-sufficient here that there is no

need for anyone to get anywhere. What I don't quite understand is how

you manage to pass your days without ennui."



"That's a strange word. It means, does it not, craving for excitement?"



"Something of the kind," said Maskull.



"That must be a disease brought on by rich food."



"But are you never dull?"



"How could we be? Our blood is quick and light and free, our flesh is

clean and unclogged, inside and out.... Before long I hope you will

understand what sort of question you have asked."



Farther on they encountered a strange phenomenon. In the heart of the

desert a fountain rose perpendicularly fifty feet into the air, with a

cool and pleasant hissing sound. It differed, however, from a fountain

in this respect--that the water of which it was composed did not return

to the ground but was absorbed by the atmosphere at the summit. It was

in fact a tall, graceful column of dark green fluid, with a capital of

coiling and twisting vapours.



When they came closer, Maskull perceived that this water column was the

continuation and termination of a flowing brook, which came down from

the direction of the mountains. The explanation of the phenomenon was

evidently that the water at this spot found chemical affinities in the

upper air, and consequently forsook the ground.



"Now let us drink," said Joiwind.



She threw herself unaffectedly at full length on the sand, face

downward, by the side of the brook, and Maskull was not long in

following her example. She refused to quench her thirst until she had

seen him drink. He found the water heavy, but bubbling with gas. He

drank copiously. It affected his palate in a new way--with the purity

and cleanness of water was combined the exhilaration of a sparkling

wine, raising his spirits--but somehow the intoxication brought out his

better nature, and not his lower.



"We call it 'gnawl water'," said Joiwind. "This is not quite pure, as

you can see by the colour. At Poolingdred it is crystal clear. But we

would be ungrateful if we complained. After this you'll find we'll get

along much better."



Maskull now began to realise his environment, as it were for the first

time. All his sense organs started to show him beauties and wonders that

he had not hitherto suspected. The uniform glaring scarlet of the sands

became separated into a score of clearly distinguished shades of red.

The sky was similarly split up into different blues. The radiant heat

of Branchspell he found to affect every part of his body with unequal

intensities. His ears awakened; the atmosphere was full of murmurs, the

sands hummed, even the sun's rays had a sound of their own--a kind of

faint Aeolian harp. Subtle, puzzling perfumes assailed his nostrils. His

palate lingered over the memory of the gnawl water. All the pores of his

skin were tickled and soothed by hitherto unperceived currents of air.

His poigns explored actively the inward nature of everything in his

immediate vicinity. His magn touched Joiwind, and drew from her person

a stream of love and joy. And lastly by means of his breve he exchanged

thoughts with her in silence. This mighty sense symphony stirred him to

the depths, and throughout the walk of that endless morning he felt no

more fatigue.



When it was drawing near to Blodsombre, they approached the sedgy margin

of a dark green lake, which lay underneath Poolingdred.



Panawe was sitting on a dark rock, waiting for them.