As soon as he had spoken, the figure began to vanish, and the light to die away from the landscape. Maskull’s emotion slowly subsided, but it was not until he was once more in complete darkness that he became master of himself again. Then he felt ashamed of his boyish exhibition of enthusiasm, and thought ruefully that there must be something wanting in his character. He got up onto his feet. The very moment that he arose, a man’s voice sounded, not a yard from his ear. It was hardly raised above a whisper, but he could distinguish that it was not Corpang’s. As he listened he was unable to prevent himself from physically trembling. “Maskull, you are to die,” said the unseen speaker. “Who is speaking?” “You have only a few hours of life left. Don’t trifle the time away.” Maskull could bring nothing out. “You have despised life,” went on the low-toned voice. “Do you really imagine that this mighty world has no meaning, and that life is a joke?” “What must I do?” “Repent your murders, commit no fresh ones, pay honour to...” The voice died away. Maskull waited in silence for it to speak again. All remained still, however, and the speaker appeared to have taken his departure. Supernatural horror seized him; he fell into a sort of catalepsy. At that moment he saw one of the statues fading away, from a pale, white glow to darkness. He had not previously seen it shining. In a few more minutes the normal light of the land returned. Corpang got up, and shook him out of his trance. Maskull looked around, but saw no third person. “Whose statue was the last?” he demanded. “Thire’s.” “Did you hear me speaking?” “I heard your voice, but no one else’s.” “I’ve just had my death foretold, so I suppose I have not long to live. Leehallfae prophesied the same thing.” Corpang shook his head. “What value do you set on life?” he asked. “Very little. But it’s a fearful thing all the same.” “Your death is?” “No, but this warning.” They stopped talking. A profound silence reigned. Neither of the two men seemed to know what to do next, or where to go. Then both of them heard the sound of drumming. It was slow, emphatic, and impressive, a long way off and not loud, but against the background of quietness, very marked. It appeared to come from some point out of sight, to the left of where they were standing, but on the same rock shelf. Maskull’s heart beat quickly. “What can that sound be?” asked Corpang, peering into the obscurity. “It is Surtur.” “Once again, who is Surtur?” Maskull clutched his arm and pressed him to silence. A strange radiance was in the air, in the direction of the drumming. It increased in intensity and gradually occupied the whole scene. Things were no longer seen by Their’s light, but by this new light. It cast no shadows. Corpang’s nostrils swelled, and he held himself more proudly. “What fire is that?” “It is Muspel-light.”