The moment she got in, Joiwind fell down in exhaustion. Her husband tended her with calm concern. He bathed her face, put drink to her lips, energised her with his magn, and finally laid her down to sleep. At the sight of the noble woman thus suffering on his account, Maskull was distressed. Panawe, however, endeavoured to reassure him. “It’s quite true this has been a very long, hard double journey, but for the future it will lighten all her other journeys for her.... Such is the nature of sacrifice.” “I can’t conceive how I have walked so far in a morning,” said Maskull, “and she has been twice the distance.” “Love flows in her veins, instead of blood, and that’s why she is so strong.” “You know she gave me some of it?” “Otherwise you couldn’t even have started.” “I shall never forget that.” The languorous heat of the day outside, the bright mouth of the cavern, the cool seclusion of the interior, with its pale green glow, invited Maskull to sleep. But curiosity got the better of his lassitude. “Will it disturb her if we talk?” “No.” “But how do you feel?” “I require little sleep. In any case, it’s more important that you should hear something about your new life. It’s not all as innocent and idyllic as this. If you intend to go through, you ought to be instructed about the dangers.” “Oh, I guessed as much. But how shall we arrange—shall I put questions, or will you tell me what you think is most essential?” Panawe motioned to Maskull to sit down on a pile of ferns, and at the same time reclined himself, leaning on one arm, with outstretched legs. “I will tell some incidents of my life. You will begin to learn from them what sort of place you have come to.” “I shall be grateful,” said Maskull, preparing himself to listen. Panawe paused for a moment or two, and then started his narrative in tranquil, measured, yet sympathetic tones. PANAWE’S STORY