Suddenly his chaos of passions sprang together, and a wonderful idea swept through his whole being, accompanied by the intensest joy.

“Why, Gangnet—­I am nothing.”

“No, you are nothing.”

The mist closed in all around them.  Nothing was visible except the two suns, and a few feet of sea.  The shadows of the three men cast by Alppain were not black, but were composed of white daylight.

“Then nothing can hurt me,” said Maskull with a peculiar smile.

Gangnet smiled too.  “How could it?”

“I have lost my will; I feel as if some foul tumour had been scraped away, leaving me clean and free.”

“Do you now understand life, Maskull?”

Gangnet’s face was transfigured with an extraordinary spiritual beauty; he looked as if he had descended from heaven.

“I understand nothing, except that I have no self any more.  But this is life.”

“Is Gangnet expatiating on his famous blue sun?” said a jeering voice above them.  Looking up, they saw that Krag had got to his feet.

They both rose.  At the same moment the gathering mist began to obscure Alppain’s disk, changing it from blue to a vivid jale.

“What do you want with us, Krag?” asked Maskull with simple composure.

Krag looked at him strangely for a few seconds.  The water lapped around them.

“Don’t you comprehend, Maskull, that your death has arrived?”

Maskull made no response.  Krag rested an arm lightly on his shoulder, and suddenly he felt sick and faint.  He sank to the ground, near the edge of the island raft.  His heart was thumping heavily and queerly; its beating reminded him of the drum taps.  He gazed languidly at the rippling water, and it seemed to him as if he could see right through it... away, away down... to a strange fire....

The water disappeared.  The two suns were extinguished.  The island was transformed into a cloud, and Maskull—­alone on it—­was floating through the atmosphere....  Down below, it was all fire—­ the fire of Muspel.  The light mounted higher and higher, until it filled the whole world....

He floated toward an immense perpendicular cliff of black rock, without top or bottom.  Halfway up it Krag, suspended in midair, was dealing terrific blows at a blood-red spot with a huge hammer.  The rhythmical, clanging sounds were hideous.

Presently Maskull made out that these sounds were the familiar drum beats.  “What are you doing, Krag?” he asked.

Krag suspended his work, and turned around.

“Beating on Your heart, Maskull,” was his grinning response.

The cliff and Krag vanished.  Maskull saw Gangnet struggling in the air—­but it was not Gangnet—­it was Crystalman.  He seemed to be trying to escape from the Muspel-fire, which kept surrounding and licking him, whichever way he turned.  He was screaming....  The fire caught him.  He shrieked horribly.  Maskull caught one glimpse of a vulgar, slobbering face—­and then that too disappeared.