let
himself down stiffly on to the ground, and prepared to rest.

While he was still arranging his position to his liking, a footfall
sounded behind the two men, coming from the direction of the forest.
Maskull twisted his neck, and saw a woman approaching them. He at once
guessed that it was Polecrab's wife. He sat up, but the fisherman did
not stir. The woman came and stood in front of them, looking down from
what appeared a great height.

Her dress was similar to her husband's, but covered her limbs more. She
was young, tall, slender, and strikingly erect. Her skin was lightly
tanned, and she looked strong, but not at all peasantlike. Refinement
was stamped all over her. Her face had too much energy of expression for
a woman, and she was not beautiful. Her three great eyes kept flashing
and glowing. She had great masses of fine, yellow hair, coiled up and
fastened, but so carelessly that some of the strands were flowing down
her back.

When she spoke, it was in a rather weak voice, but full of lights and
shades, and somehow intense passionateness never seemed to be far away
from it.

"Forgiveness is asked for listening to your conversation," she said,
addressing Maskull. "I was resting behind the tree, and heard it all."

He got up slowly. "Are you Polecrab's wife?"

"She is my wife," said Polecrab, "and her name is Gleameil. Sit down
again, stranger--and you too, wife, since you are here."

They both obeyed. "I heard everything," repeated Gleameil. "But what I
did not hear was where you are going to, Maskull, after you have left
us."

"I know no more than you do."

"Listen, then. There's only one place for you to go to, and that is
Swaylone's Island. I will ferry you across myself before sunset."

"What shall I find there?"

"He may go, wife," put in the old man hoarsely, "but I won't allow you
to go. I will take him over myself."

"No, you have always put me off," said Gleameil, with some emotion.
"This time I mean to go. When Teargeld shines at night, and I sit on the
shore here, listening to Earthrid's music travelling faintly across the
sea, I am tortured--I can't endure it.... I have long since made up my
mind to go to the island, and see what this music is. If it's bad, if it
kills me--well."

"What have I to do with the man and his music, Gleameil?" demanded
Maskull.

"I think the music will answer all your questions better than Polecrab
has done--and possibly in a way that will surprise yo