current
acted in the double capacity of road and steed.

Maskull made himself secure among the branches and slept for the
remainder of the night.

When his eyes opened again, the island was out of sight. Teargeld was
setting in the western sea. The sky in the east was bright with the
colours of the approaching day. The air was cool and fresh; the light
over the sea was beautiful, gleaming, and mysterious. Land--probably
Matterplay--lay ahead, a long, dark line of low cliffs, perhaps a mile
away. The current no longer ran toward the shore, but began to skirt the
coast without drawing any closer to it. As soon as Maskull realised the
fact, he manoeuvred the tree out of its channel and started drifting it
inshore. The eastern sky blazed up suddenly with violent dyes, and
the outer rim of Branchspell lifted itself above the sea. The moon had
already sunk.

The shore loomed nearer and nearer. In physical character it was like
Swaylone's Island--the same wide sands, small cliffs, and rounded,
insignificant hills inland, without vegetation. In the early-morning
sunlight, however, it looked romantic. Maskull, hollow-eyed and morose,
cared nothing for all that, but the moment the tree grounded, clambered
swiftly down through the branches and dropped into the sea. By the
time he had swam ashore, the white, stupendous sun was high above the
horizon.

He walked along the sands toward the east for a considerable distance,
without having any special intention in his mind. He thought he would go
on until he came to some creek or valley, and then turn up it. The sun's
rays were cheering, and began to relieve him of his oppressive night
weight. After strolling along the beach for about a mile, he was stopped
by a broad stream that flowed into the sea out of a kind of natural
gateway in the line of cliffs. Its water was of a beautiful, limpid
green, all filled with bubbles. So ice-cold, aerated, and enticing did
it look that he flung himself face downward on the ground and took
a prolonged draught. When he got up again his eyes started to play
pranks--they became alternately blurted and clear.... It may have been
pure imagination, but he fancied that Digrung was moving inside him.

He followed the bank of the stream through the gap in the cliffs, and
then for the first time saw the real Matterplay. A valley appeared,
like a jewel enveloped by naked rock. All the hill country was bare
and lifeless, but this valley lying in the hear