“To do that, it is not enough to desire her; she must desire you as well.  But why should she desire you?”

“Nothing turns out as one expects,” said Maskull, shaking his head.  “We had better get on again.”

They resumed the journey.  The ledge still rose, but, on turning a corner of the cliff, Haunte quitted it and began to climb a steep gully, which mounted directly to the upper heights.  Here they were compelled to use both hands and feet.  Maskull thought all the while of nothing but the overwhelming sweetness he had just experienced.

The flat ground on top was dry and springy.  There was no more snow, and bright plants appeared.  Haunte turned sharply to the left.

“This must be under the cap,” said Maskull.

“It is; and within five minutes you will see Sullenbode.”

When he spoke his words, Maskull’s lips surprised him by their tender sensitiveness.  Their action against each other sent thrills throughout his body.

The grass shone dimly.  A huge tree, with glowing branches, came into sight.  It bore a multitude of red fruit, like hanging lanterns, but no leaves.  Underneath this tree Sullenbode was sitting.  Her beautiful light—­a mingling of jale and white—­gleamed softly through the darkness.  She sat erect, on crossed legs, asleep.  She was clothed in a singular skin garment, which started as a cloak thrown over one shoulder, and ended as loose breeches terminating above the knees.  Her forearms were lightly folded, and in one hand she held a half-eaten fruit.

Maskull stood over her and looked down, deeply interested.  He thought he had never seen anything half so feminine.  Her flesh was almost melting in its softness.  So undeveloped were the facial organs that they looked scarcely human; only the lips were full, pouting, and expressive.  In their richness, these lips seemed like a splash of vivid will on a background of slumbering protoplasm.  Her hair was undressed.  Its colour could not be distinguished.  It was long and tangled, and had been tucked into her garment behind, for convenience.

Corpang looked calm and sullen, but both the others were visibly agitated.  Maskull’s heart was hammering away under his chest.  Haunte pulled him, and said, “My head feels as if it were being torn from my shoulders.”

“What can that mean?”

“Yet there’s a horrible joy in it,” added Haunte, with a sickly smile.

He put his hand on the woman’s shoulder.  She awoke softly, glanced up at them, smiled, and then resumed eating her fruit.  Maskull did not imagine that she had intelligence enough to speak.  Haunte suddenly dropped on his knees, and kissed her lips.

She did not repulse him.  During the continuance of the kiss, Maskull noticed with a shock that her face was altering.  The features emerged from their indistinctness and became human, and almost powerful.  The smile faded, a scowl took its place.  She thrust Haunte away, rose to her feet, and stared beneath bent brows at the three men, each one in turn.  Maskull came last; his face she studied for quite a long time, but nothing indicated what she thought.