Maskull paused before answering.  “He seemed to me like a mountain wrapped in cloud.  You see the lower buttresses, and think that is all.  But then, high up, far above the clouds, you suddenly catch sight of more mountain—­and even then it is not the top.”

“You read character well, and have great perception,” remarked Gleameil quietly.  “Now say what I am.”

“In place of a human heart, you have a wild harp, and that’s all I know about you.”

“What was that you said to my husband about two worlds?”

“You heard.”

“Yes, I heard.  And I also am conscious of two worlds.  My husband and boys are real to me, and I love them fondly.  But there is another world for me, as there is for you, Maskull, and it makes my real world appear all false and vulgar.”

“Perhaps we are seeking the same thing.  But can it be right to satisfy our self-nature at the expense of other people?”

“No, it’s not right.  It is wrong, and base.  But in that other world these words have no meaning.”

There was a silence.

“It’s useless to discuss such topics,” said Maskull.  “The choice is now out of our hands, and we must go where we are taken.  What I would rather speak about is what awaits us on the island.”

“I am ignorant—­except that we shall find Earthrid there.”

“Who is Earthrid, and why is it called Swaylone’s Island?”

“They say Earthrid came from Threal, but I know nothing else about him.  As for Swaylone, if you like I will tell you his legend.”

“If you please,” said Maskull.

“In a far-back age,” began Gleameil, “when the seas were hot, and clouds hung heavily over the earth, and life was rich with transformations, Swaylone came to this island, on which men had never before set foot, and began to play his music—­the first music in Tormance.  Nightly, when the moon shone, people used to gather on this shore behind us, and listen to the faint, sweet strains floating from over the sea.  One night, Shaping (whom you call Crystalman) was passing this way in company with Krag.  They listened a while to the music, and Shaping said ’Have you heard more beautiful sounds?  This is my world and my music.’  Krag stamped with his foot, and laughed.  ’You must do better than that, if I am to admire it.  Let us pass over, and see this bungler at work.’  Shaping consented, and they passed over to the island.  Swaylone was not able to see their presence.  Shaping stood behind him, and breathed thoughts into his soul, so that his music became ten times lovelier, and people listening on that shore went mad with sick delight.  ’Can any strains be nobler?’ demanded Shaping.  Krag grinned and said, ’You are naturally effeminate.  Now let me try.’  Then he stood behind Swaylone, and shot ugly discords fast into his head.  His instrument was so cracked, that never since has it played right.  From that time forth Swaylone could utter only distorted music; yet it called to folk more than the other sort.  Many men crossed over to the island during his lifetime, to listen to the amazing tones, but none could endure them; all died.  After Swaylone’s death, another musician took up the tale; and so the light has passed down from torch to torch, till now Earthrid bears it.”