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.