r,
until the note was merged in the deathlike silence of the forest. It
appeared to Maskull like the closing of a marvellous and important
chapter.

Simultaneously with the fading away of the sound, the heavens seemed to
open up with the rapidity of lightning into a blue vault of immeasurable
height. He breathed a great breath, stretched all his limbs, and looked
around him with a slow smile.

After a while he resumed his journey. His brain was all dark and
confused, but one idea was already beginning to stand out from the
rest--huge, shapeless, and grand, like the growing image in the soul of
a creative artist: the staggering thought that he was a man of destiny.

The more he reflected upon all that had occurred since his arrival in
this new world--and even before leaving Earth--the clearer and more
indisputable it became, that he could not be here for his own purposes,
but must be here for an end. But what that end was, he could not
imagine.

Through the forest he saw Branchspell at last sinking in the west. It
looked a stupendous ball of red fire--now he could realise at his ease
what a sun it was! The avenue took an abrupt turn to the left and began
to descend steeply.

A wide, rolling river of clear and dark water was visible in front of
him, no great way off. It flowed from north to south. The forest path
led him straight to its banks. Maskull stood there, and regarded the
lapping, gurgling waters pensively. On the opposite bank, the forest
continued. Miles to the south, Poolingdred could just be distinguished.
On the northern skyline the Ifdawn Mountains loomed up--high, wild,
beautiful, and dangerous. They were not a dozen miles away.

Like the first mutterings of a thunderstorm, the first faint breaths of
cool wind, Maskull felt the stirrings of passion in his heart. In
spite of his bodily fatigue, he wished to test his strength against
something. This craving he identified with the crags of the Marest. They
seemed to have the same magical attraction for his will as the lodestone
for iron. He kept biting his nails, as he turned his eyes in that
direction--wondering if it would not be possible to conquer the
heights that evening. But when he glanced back again at Poolingdred,
he remembered Joiwind and Panawe, and grew more tranquil. He decided to
make his bed at this spot, and to set off as soon after daybreak as he
should awake.

He drank at the river, washed himself, and lay down on the bank to
sleep