“He has not said so.”

“I am Earthrid,” said the other, in his weak and muffled voice, which, however, suddenly struck Maskull as being autocratic.  “What do you want here?  Or rather, you had better get away as quickly as you can, for it will be too late when Teargeld rises.”

“You need not explain,” exclaimed Maskull.  “We know your reputation, and we have come to hear your music.  But what’s that organ for on your forehead?”

Earthrid glared, and smiled, and glared again.

“That is for rhythm, which is what changes noise into music.  Don’t stand and argue, but go away.  It is no pleasure to me to people the island with corpses.  They corrupt the air, and do nothing else.”

Darkness now crept swiftly on over the landscape.

“You are rather bigmouthed,” said Maskull coolly.  “But after we have heard you play, perhaps I shall adventure a tune myself.”

“You?  Are you a musician, then?  Do you even know what music is?”

A flame danced in Gleameil’s eyes.

“Maskull thinks music reposes in the instrument,” she said in her intense way.  “But it is in the soul of the Master.”

“Yes,” said Earthrid, “but that is not all.  I will tell you what it is.  In Threal, where I was born and brought up, we learn the mystery of the Three in nature.  This world, which lies extended before us, has three directions.  Length is the line which shuts off what is, from what is not.  Breadth is the surface which shows us in what manner one thing of what-is, lives with another thing.  Depth is the path which leads from what-is, to our own body.  In music it is not otherwise.  Tone is existence, without which nothing at all can be.  Symmetry and Numbers are the manner in which tones exist, one with another.  Emotion is the movement of our soul toward the wonderful world that is being created.  Now, men when they make music are accustomed to build beautiful tones, because of the delight they cause.  Therefore their music world is based on pleasure; its symmetry is regular and charming, its emotion is sweet and lovely....  But my music is founded on painful tones; and thus its symmetry is wild, and difficult to discover; its emotion is bitter and terrible.”

“If I had not anticipated its being original, I would not have come here,” said Maskull.  “Still, explain—­why can’t harsh tones have simple symmetry of form?  And why must they necessarily cause more profound emotions in us who listen?”

“Pleasures may harmonise.  Pains must clash; and in the order of their clashing lies the symmetry.  The emotions follow the music, which is rough and earnest.”

“You may call it music,” remarked Maskull thoughtfully, “but to me it bears a closer resemblance to actual life.”

“If Shaping’s plans had gone straight, life would have been like that other sort of music.  He who seeks can find traces of that intention in the world of nature.  But as it has turned out, real life resembles my music and mine is the true music.”