“It’s a sort of fog, then?”

“A peculiar sort, for they say it excites the sexual passions.”

“So we are to have lovemaking,” said Maskull, laughing.

“Perhaps you won’t find it so joyous,” replied Corpang a little grimly.

“But tell me—­these peaks, how do they preserve their balance?”

Corpang gazed at the distant, overhanging summits, which were fast fading into obscurity.

“Passion keeps them from falling.”

Maskull laughed again; he was feeling a strange disturbance of spirit.  “What, the love of rock for rock?”

“It is comical, but true.”

“We’ll take a closer peep at them presently.  Beyond the mountains is Barey, is it not?”

“Yes.”

“And then the Ocean.  But what is the name of that Ocean?”

“That is told only to those who die beside it.”

“Is the secret so precious, Corpang?”

Branchspell was nearing the horizon in the west; there were more than two hours of daylight remaining.  The air all around them became murky.  It was a thin mist, neither damp nor cold.  The Lichstorm Range now appeared only as a blur on the sky.  The air was electric and tingling, and was exciting in its effect.  Maskull felt a sort of emotional inflammation, as though a very slight external cause would serve to overturn his self-control.  Corpang stood silent with a mouth like iron.

Maskull kept looking toward a high pile of rocks in the vicinity.

“That seems to me a good watchtower.  Perhaps we shall see something from the top.”

Without waiting for his companion’s opinion, he began to scramble up the tower, and in a few minutes was standing on the summit.  Corpang joined him.

From their viewpoint they saw the whole countryside sloping down to the sea, which appeared as a mere flash of far-off, glittering water.  Leaving all that, however, Maskull’s eyes immediately fastened themselves on a small, boat-shaped object, about two miles away, which was travelling rapidly toward them, suspended only a few feet in the air.

“What do you make of that?” he asked in a tone of astonishment.

Corpang shook his head and said nothing.

Within two minutes the flying object, whatever it was, had diminished the distance between them by one half.  It resembled a boat more and more, but its flight was erratic, rather than smooth; its nose was continually jerking upward and downward, and from side to side.  Maskull now made out a man sitting in the stern, and what looked like a large dead animal lying amidships.  As the aerial craft drew nearer, he observed a thick, blue haze underneath it, and a similar haze behind, but the front, facing them, was clear.

“Here must be what we are waiting for, Corpang.  But what on earth carries it?”

He stroked his beard contemplatively, and then, fearing that they had not been seen, stepped onto the highest rock, bellowed loudly, and made wild motions with his arm.  The flying-boat, which was only a few hundred yards distant, slightly altered its course, now heading toward them in a way that left no doubt that the steersman had detected their presence.