Joiwind, and drew from her person
a stream of love and joy. And lastly by means of his breve he exchanged
thoughts with her in silence. This mighty sense symphony stirred him to
the depths, and throughout the walk of that endless morning he felt no
more fatigue.

When it was drawing near to Blodsombre, they approached the sedgy margin
of a dark green lake, which lay underneath Poolingdred.

Panawe was sitting on a dark rock, waiting for them.

Chapter 7. PANAWE

The husband got up to meet his wife and their guest. He was clothed in
white. He had a beardless face, with breve and poigns. His skin, on face
and body alike, was so white, fresh, and soft, that it scarcely looked
skin at all--it rather resembled a new kind of pure, snowy flesh,
extending right down to his bones. It had nothing in common with the
artificially whitened skin of an over-civilised woman. Its whiteness
and delicacy aroused no voluptuous thoughts; it was obviously the
manifestation of a cold and almost cruel chastity of nature. His hair,
which fell to the nape of his neck, also was white; but again, from
vigour, not decay. His eyes were black, quiet and fathomless. He was
still a young man, but so stern were his features that he had the
appearance of a lawgiver, and this in spite of their great beauty and
harmony.

His magn and Joiwind's intertwined for a single moment and Maskull saw
his face soften with love, while she looked exultant. She put him in her
husband's arms with gentle force, and stood back, gazing and smiling.
Maskull felt rather embarrassed at being embraced by a man, but
submitted to it; a sense of cool, pleasant languor passed through him in
the act.

"The stranger is red-blooded, then?"

He was startled by Panawe's speaking in English, and the voice too was
extraordinary. It was absolutely tranquil, but its tranquillity seemed
in a curious fashion to be an illusion, proceeding from a rapidity of
thoughts and feelings so great that their motion could not be detected.
How this could be, he did not know.

"How do you come to speak in a tongue you have never heard before?"
demanded Maskull.

"Thought is a rich, complex thing. I can't say if I am really speaking
your tongue by instinct, or if you yourself are translating my thoughts
into your tongue as I utter them."

"Already you see that Panawe is wiser than I am," said Joiwind gaily.

"What is your name?" asked the husband.

"Maskull."

"That name must have a m