be Irontick," remarked Gleameil.

"What is that?"

"I have heard that it's the instrument Earthrid plays on."

"We are getting close," responded he. "Let us go and investigate."

When they drew nearer, they observed that a man was reclining on the
farther side, in an attitude of sleep.

"If that's not the man himself, who can it be?" said Maskull. "Let's get
across the water, if it will bear us; it will save time."

He now assumed the lead, and took running strides down the slope which
bounded the lake on that side. Gleameil followed him with greater
dignity, keeping her eyes fixed on the recumbent man as if fascinated.
When Maskull reached the water's edge, he tried it with one foot,
to discover if it would carry his weight. Something unusual in its
appearance led him to have doubts. It was a tranquil, dark, and
beautifully reflecting sheet of water; it resembled a mirror of liquid
metal. Finding that it would bear him, and that nothing happened, he
placed his second foot on its surface. Instantly he sustained a violent
shock throughout his body, as from a powerful electric current; and he
was hurled in a tumbled heap back on to the bank.

He picked himself up, brushed the dirt off his person, and started
walking around the lake. Gleameil joined him, and they completed the
half circuit together. They came to the man, and Maskull prodded him
with his foot. He woke up, and blinked at them.

His face was pale, weak, and vacant-looking, and had a disagreeable
expression. There were thin sprouts of black hair on his chin and head.
On his forehead, in place of a third eye, he possessed a perfectly
circular organ, with elaborate convolutions, like an ear. He had an
unpleasant smell. He appeared to be of young middle age.

"Wake up, man," said Maskull sharply, "and tell us if you are Earthrid."

"What time is it?" counterquestioned the man. "Does it want long to
moonrise?"

Without appearing to care about an answer, he sat up, and turning away
from them, began to scoop up the loose soil with his hand, and to eat it
halfheartedly.

"Now, how can you eat that filth?" demanded Maskull, in disgust.

"Don't be angry, Maskull," said Gleameil, laying hold of his arm, and
flushing a little. "It is Earthrid--the man who is to help us."

"He has not said so."

"I am Earthrid," said the other, in his weak and muffled voice, which,
however, suddenly struck Maskull as being autocratic. "What do you want
here? Or rather,