“But is there any sound that can produce vibrations fine and rapid enough—­to—­er—­accomplish such a result?”

Mr. Skale appeared almost to leap for pleasure as he heard it.  In reality he merely straightened himself up.

“That,” he cried aloud, to the further astonishment and even alarm of his companion, “is another part of my discovery—­an essential particular of it:  the production of sound-vibrations fine and rapid enough to alter shapes!  Listen and I will tell you!” He lowered his voice again.  “I have found out that by uttering the true inner name of anything I can set in motion harmonics—­harmonics, note well, half the wave length and twice the frequency!—­that are delicate and swift enough to insert themselves between the whirling molecules of any reasonable object—­any object, I mean, not too closely or coherently packed.  By then swelling or lowering my voice I can alter the scale, size or shape of that object almost indefinitely, its parts nevertheless retaining their normal relative proportions.  I can scatter it to a huge scale by separating its molecules indefinitely, or bring them so closely together that the size of the object would be reduced to a practical invisibility!”

“Re-create the world, in fact!” gasped Spinrobin, feeling the earth he knew slipping away under his feet.

Mr. Skale turned upon him and stood still a moment.  The huge moors, glimmering pale and unreal beneath their snow, ran past them into the sky—­silent forms corresponding to who knows what pedal notes?  The wind sighed—­audible expression of who shall say what mighty shapes?...  Something of the passion of sound, with all its mystery and splendor, entered his heart in that windy sigh.  Was anything real?  Was anything permanent?...  Were Sound and Form merely interchangeable symbols of some deeper uncataloged Reality?  And was the visible cohesion after all the illusory thing?

“Re-mold the whole universe, sir!” he roared through the darkness, in a way that made the other wish for the touch of Miriam’s hand to steady him.  “I could make you, my dear Spinrobin, immense, tiny, invisible, or by a partial utterance of your name, permanently crooked.  I could overwhelm your own vibrations and withdraw their force, as by suction of a vacuum, absorbing yourself into my own being.  By uttering the name of this old earth, if I knew it, I could alter its face, toss the forests like green dust into the sea, and lift the pebbles of the seashore to the magnitude of moons!  Or, did I know the true name of the sun, I could utter it in such a way as to identify myself with its very being, and so escape the pitiful terrors of a limited personal existence!”

He seized his companion’s arm and began to stride down the mountainside at a terrific pace, almost lifting Spinrobin from his feet as he did so.  About the ears of the panting secretary the wild words tore like bullets, whistling a new and dreadful music.