nconscious of himself--he had no thoughts and
no feelings. Yet never had Life had such an altitude for him.

A man stood, with crossed arms, right in his path. He was so clothed
that his limbs were exposed, while his body was covered. He was young
rather than old. Maskull observed that his countenance possessed none
of the special organs of Tormance, to which he had not even yet become
reconciled. He was smooth-faced. His whole person seemed to radiate an
excess of life, like the trembling of air on a hot day. His eyes had
such force that Maskull could not meet them.

He addressed Maskull by name, in an extraordinary voice. It had a double
tone. The primary one sounded far away; the second was an undertone,
like a sympathetic tanging string.

Maskull felt a rising joy, as he continued standing in the presence of
this individual. He believed that something good was happening to him.
He found it physically difficult to bring any words out. "Why do you
stop me?"

"Maskull, look well at me. Who am I?"

"I think you are Shaping."

"I am Surtur."

Maskull again attempted to meet his eyes, but felt as if he were being
stabbed.

"You know that this is my world. Why do you think I have brought you
here? I wish you to serve me."

Maskull could no longer speak.

"Those who joke at my world," continued the vision, "those who make a
mock of its stern, eternal rhythm, its beauty and sublimity, which
are not skin-deep, but proceed from fathomless roots--they shall not
escape."

"I do not mock it."

"Ask me your questions, and I will answer them."

"I have nothing."

"It is necessary for you to serve me, Maskull. Do you not understand?
You are my servant and helper."

"I shall not fail."

"This is for my sake, and not for yours."

These last words had no sooner left Surtur's mouth than Maskull saw him
spring suddenly upward and outward. Looking up at the vault of the sky,
he saw the whole expanse of vision filled by Surtur's form--not as
a concrete man, but as a vast, concave cloud image, looking down and
frowning at him. Then the spectacle vanished, as a light goes out.

Maskull stood inactive, with a thumping heart. Now he again heard the
solitary trumpet note. The sound began this time faintly in the far
distance in front of him, travelled slowly toward him with regularly
increasing intensity, passed overhead at its loudest, and then grew
more and more quiet, wonderful, and solemn, as it fell away in the rea