he was being unnecessarily brutal to her. He had
forgotten that she was a woman, and defenceless.

"Won't you stay?" she asked all of a sudden, quite openly and frankly.

"Yes, I think I'll stay," he replied slowly. "And another thing,
Oceaxe--if I've misjudged your character, pray forgive me. I'm a hasty,
passionate man."

"There are enough easygoing men. Hard knocks are a good medicine for
vicious hearts. And you didn't misjudge my character, as far as you
went--only, every woman has more than one character. Don't you know
that?"

During the pause that followed, a snapping of twigs was heard, and both
looked around, startled. They saw a woman stepping slowly across the
neck that separated them from the mainland.

"Tydomin," muttered Oceaxe, in a vexed, frightened voice. She
immediately moved away from Maskull and stood up.

The newcomer was of middle height, very slight and graceful. She was no
longer quite young. Her face wore the composure of a woman who knows
her way about the world. It was intensely pale, and under its quiescence
there just was a glimpse of something strange and dangerous. It
was curiously alluring, though not exactly beautiful. Her hair was
clustering and boyish, reaching only to the neck. It was of a strange
indigo colour. She was quaintly attired in a tunic and breeches, pieced
together from the square, blue-green plates of some reptile. Her small,
ivory-white breasts were exposed. Her sorb was black and sad--rather
contemplative.

Without once glancing up at Oceaxe and Maskull, she quietly glided
straight toward Crimtyphon's corpse. When she arrived within a few feet
of it, she stopped and looked down, with arms folded.

Oceaxe drew Maskull a little away, and whispered, "It's Crimtyphon's
other wife, who lives under Disscourn. She's a most dangerous woman.
Be careful what you say. If she asks you to do anything, refuse it
outright."

"The poor soul looks harmless enough."

"Yes, she does--but the poor soul is quite capable of swallowing up Krag
himself.... Now, play the man."

The murmur of their voices seemed to attract Tydomin's notice, for she
now slowly turned her eyes toward them.

"Who killed him?" she demanded.

Her voice was so soft, low, and refined, that Maskull hardly was able
to catch the words. The sounds, however, lingered in his ears, and
curiously enough seemed to grow stronger, instead of fainter.

Oceaxe whispered, "Don't say a word, leave it all to me." Th