“What does that light suggest to you, Maskull?” “I’m not speaking of that light.” “Doesn’t it suggest anything at all?” “Perhaps it doesn’t. What does it matter?” “Not sacrifice?” Maskull grew sullen again. “Sacrifice of what? What do you mean?” “Hasn’t it entered your head yet,” said Tydomin, looking straight in front of her, and speaking in her delicate, hard manner, “that this adventure of yours will scarcely come to an end until you have made some sort of sacrifice?” He returned no answer, and she said nothing more. In a few minutes’ time Maskull got up of his own accord, and irreverently, and almost angrily, threw Crimtyphon’s corpse over his shoulder again. “How far do we have to go?” he asked in a surly tone. “An hour’s walk.” “Lead on.” “Still, this isn’t the sacrifice I mean,” said Tydomin quietly, as she went on in front. Almost immediately they reached more difficult ground. They had to pass from peak to peak, as from island to island. In some cases they were able to stride or jump across, but in others they had to make use of rude bridges of fallen timber. It appeared to be a frequented path. Underneath were the black, impenetrable abysses—on the surface were the glaring sunshine, the gay, painted rocks, the chaotic tangle of strange plants. There were countless reptiles and insects. The latter were thicker built than those of Earth—consequently still more disgusting, and some of them were of enormous size. One monstrous insect, as large as a horse, stood right in the centre of their path without budging. It was armour-plated, had jaws like scimitars, and underneath its body was a forest of legs. Tydomin gave one malignant look at it, and sent it crashing into the gulf. “What have I to offer, except my life?” Maskull suddenly broke out. “And what good is that? It won’t bring that poor girl back into the world.” “Sacrifice is not for utility. It’s a penalty which we pay.” “I know that.” “The point is whether you can go on enjoying life, after what has happened.” She waited for Maskull to come even with her. “Perhaps you imagine I’m not man enough—you imagine that because I allowed poor Oceaxe to die for me—” “She did die for you,” said Tydomin, in a quiet, emphatic voice. “That would be a second blunder of yours,” returned Maskull, just as firmly. “I was not in love with Oceaxe, and I’m not in love with life.” “Your life is not required.” “Then I don’t understand what you want, or what you are speaking about.” “It’s not for me to ask a sacrifice from you, Maskull. That would be compliance on your part, but not sacrifice. You must wait until you feel there’s nothing else for you to do.” “It’s all very mysterious.”