“Be very quick, Maskull, and don’t let me keep him waiting.” He panted, and raised the second stone. She placed herself in front of Spadevil’s body, and stood there, unsmiling and cold. The blow caught her between breast and chin, and she fell. Maskull went to her, and, kneeling on the ground, half-raised her in his arms. There she breathed out her last sighs. After that, he laid her down again, and rested heavily on his hands, while he peered into the dead face. The transition from its heroic, spiritual expression to the vulgar and grinning mask of Crystalman came like a flash; but he saw it. He stood up in the darkness, and pulled Catice toward him. “Is that the true likeness of Shaping?” “It is Shaping stripped of illusion.” “How comes this horrible world to exist?” Catice did not answer. “Who is Surtur?” “You will get nearer to him tomorrow; but not here.” “I am wading through too much blood,” said Maskull. “Nothing good can come of it.” “Do not fear change and destruction; but laughter and joy.” Maskull meditated. “Tell me, Catice. If I had elected to follow Spadevil, would you really have accepted his faith?” “He was a great-souled man,” replied Catice. “I see that the pride of our men is only another sprouting-out of pleasure. Tomorrow I too shall leave Sant, to reflect on all this.” Maskull shuddered. “Then these two deaths were not a necessity, but a crime!” “His part was played and henceforward the woman would have dragged down his ideas, with her soft love and loyalty. Regret nothing, stranger, but go away at once out of the land.” “Tonight? Where shall I go?” “To Wombflash, where you will meet the deepest minds. I will put you on the way.” He linked his arm in Maskull’s, and they walked away into the night. For a mile or more they skirted the edge of the precipice. The wind was searching, and drove grit into their faces. Through the rifts of the clouds, stars, faint and brilliant, appeared. Maskull saw no familiar constellations. He wondered if the sun of earth was visible, and if so which one it was. They came to the head of a rough staircase, leading down the cliffside. It resembled the one by which he had come up; but this descended to the Wombflash Forest. “That is your path,” said Catice, “and I shall not come any farther.” Maskull detained him. “Say just this, before we part company—why does pleasure appear so shameful to us?” “Because in feeling pleasure, we forget our home.” “And that is—” “Muspel,” answered Catice. Having made this reply, he disengaged himself, and, turning his back, disappeared into the darkness. Maskull stumbled down the staircase as best he could. He was tired, but contemptuous of his pains. His uninjured probe began to discharge matter. He lowered himself from step to step during what seemed an interminable time. The rustling and sighing of the trees grew louder as he approached the bottom; the air became still and warm. Inky blackness was all around him. *****