. By this time, so far had his idea progressed, that he cared
nothing for the possible dangers of the night--he confided in his star.

Branchspell set, the day faded, night with its terrible weight came on,
and through it all Maskull slept. Long before midnight, however, he was
awakened by a crimson glow in the sky. He opened his eyes, and wondered
where he was. He felt heaviness and pain. The red glow was a terrestrial
phenomenon; it came from among the trees. He got up and went toward the
source of the light.

Away from the river, not a hundred feet off, he nearly stumbled across
the form of a sleeping woman. The object which emitted the crimson rays
was lying on the ground, several yards away from her. It was like a
small jewel, throwing off sparks of red light. He barely threw a glance
at that, however.

The woman was clothed in the large skin of an animal. She had big,
smooth, shapely limbs, rather muscular than fat. Her magn was not a thin
tentacle, but a third arm, terminating in a hand. Her face, which was
upturned, was wild, powerful, and exceedingly handsome. But he saw with
surprise that in place of a breve on her forehead, she possessed another
eye. All three were closed. The colour of her skin in the crimson glow
he could not distinguish.

He touched her gently with his hand. She awoke calmly and looked up at
him without stirring a muscle. All three eyes stared at him; but the two
lower ones were dull and vacant--mere carriers of vision. The middle,
upper one alone expressed her inner nature. Its haughty, unflinching
glare had yet something seductive and alluring in it. Maskull felt
a challenge in that look of lordly, feminine will, and his manner
instinctively stiffened.

She sat up.

"Can you speak my language?" he asked. "I wouldn't put such a question,
but others have been able to."

"Why should you imagine that I can't read your mind? Is it so extremely
complex?"

She spoke in a rich, lingering, musical voice, which delighted him to
listen to.

"No, but you have no breve."

"Well, but haven't I a sorb, which is better?" And she pointed to the
eye on her brow.

"What is your name?"

"Oceaxe."

"And where do you come from?"

"Ifdawn."

These contemptuous replies began to irritate him, and yet the mere sound
of her voice was fascinating.

"I am going there tomorrow," he remarked.

She laughed, as if against her will, but made no comment.

"My name is Maskull," he went on. "I am a