“Brave Words, brave words!  We shall see.  Perhaps Crystalman will make one more attempt on you.  There is still time for one more.”

“Now I don’t understand you.”

“You think you are thoroughly disillusioned, don’t you?  Well, that may prove to be the last and strongest illusion of all.”

The conversation ceased.  They reached the foot of the landslip an hour later.  Branchspell was steadily mounting the cloudless sky.  It was approaching Sarclash, and it was an open question whether or not it would clear its peak.  The heat was sweltering.  The long, massive, saucer-shaped ridge behind them, with its terrific precipices, was glowing with bright morning colours.  Adage, towering up many thousands of feet higher still, guarded the end of it like a lonely Colossus.  In front of them, starting from where they stood, was a cool and enchanting wilderness of little lakes and forests.  The water of the lakes was dark green; the forests were asleep, waiting for the rising of Alppain.

“Are we now in Barey?” asked Maskull.

“Yes—­and there is one of the natives.”

There was an ugly glint in his eye as he spoke the words, but Maskull did not see it.

A man was leaning in the shade against one of the first trees, apparently waiting for them to come up.  He was small, dark, and beardless, and was still in early manhood.  He was clothed in a dark blue, loosely flowing robe, and wore a broad-brimmed slouch hat.  His face, which was not disfigured by any special organs, was pale, earnest, and grave, yet somehow remarkably pleasing.

Before a word was spoken, he warmly grasped Maskull’s hand, but even while he was in the act of doing so he threw a queer frown at Krag.  The latter responded with a scowling grin.

When he opened his mouth to speak, his voice was a vibrating baritone, but it was at the same time strangely womanish in its modulations and variety of tone.

“I’ve been waiting for you here since sunrise,” he said.  “Welcome to Barey, Maskull!  Let’s hope you’ll forget your sorrows here, you over-tested man.”

Maskull stared at him, not without friendliness.  “What made you expect me, and how do you know my name?”

The stranger smiled, which made his face very handsome.  “I’m Gangnet.  I know most things.”

“Haven’t you a greeting for me too—­Gangnet?” asked Krag, thrusting his forbidding features almost into the other’s face.

“I know you, Krag.  There are few places where you are welcome.”

“And I know you, Gangnet—­you man-woman....  Well, we are here together, and you must make what you can of it.  We are going down to the Ocean.”

The smile faded from Gangnet’s face.  “I can’t drive you away, Krag—­ but I can make you the unwelcome third.”

Krag threw back his head, and gave a loud, grating laugh.  “That bargain suits me all right.  As long as I have the substance, you may have the shadow, and much good may it do you.”