It was still light when they reached the highest point, and could set eyes on the other side.  The sea to the north of the island was in no way different from that which they had crossed, but its lively colors were fast becoming invisible.

“That is Matterplay,” said the woman, pointing her finger toward some low land on the horizon, which seemed to be even farther off than Wombflash.

“I wonder how Digrung passed over,” meditated Maskull.

Not far away, in a hollow enclosed by a circle of little hills, they saw a small, circular lake, not more than half a mile in diameter.  The sunset colors of the sky were reflected in its waters.

“That must 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.”