not seem to proceed from any particular quarter of the forest. It
resembled the subjective music heard in dreams, which accompanies the
dreamer everywhere, as a sort of natural atmosphere, rendering all his
experiences emotional. It seemed to issue from an unearthly orchestra,
and was strongly troubled, pathetic and tragic. Maskull marched, and
listened; and as he listened, it grew louder and stormier. But the pulse
of the drum interpenetrated all the other sounds, like the quiet beating
of reality.

His emotion deepened. He could not have said if minutes or hours were
passing. The spectral procession marched on, a little way ahead, on
a path parallel with his own and Dreamsinter's. The music pulsated
violently. Krag lifted his arm, and displayed a long, murderous-looking
knife. He sprang forward and, raising it over the phantom Maskull's
back, stabbed him twice, leaving the knife in the wound the second time.
Maskull threw up his arms, and fell down dead. Krag leaped into the
forest and vanished from sight. Nightspore marched on alone, stern and
unmoved.

The music rose to crescendo. The whole dim, gigantic forest was roaring
with sound. The tones came from all sides, from above, from the ground
under their feet. It was so grandly passionate that Maskull felt his
soul loosening from its bodily envelope.

He continued to follow Nightspore. A strange brightness began to glow in
front of them. It was not daylight, but a radiance such as he had never
seen before, and such as he could not have imagined to be possible.
Nightspore moved straight toward it. Maskull felt his chest bursting.
The light flashed higher. The awful harmonies of the music followed hard
one upon another, like the waves of a wild, magic ocean.... His body was
incapable of enduring such shocks, and all of a sudden he tumbled over
in a faint that resembled death.

Chapter 14. POLECRAB

The morning slowly passed. Maskull made some convulsive movements, and
opened his eyes. He sat up, blinking. All was night-like and silent
in the forest. The strange light had gone, the music had ceased,
Dreamsinter had vanished. He fingered his beard, clotted with Tydomin's
blood, and fell into a deep muse.

"According to Panawe and Catice, this forest contains wise men. Perhaps
Dreamsinter was one. Perhaps that vision I have just seen was a specimen
of his wisdom. It looked almost like an answer to my question.... I
ought not to have asked about myself, but ab