Haunte turned back.  “Then you are a doomed man.”

Maskull, though fully conscious of his companions and situation, imagined that he was being oppressed by a black, shapeless, supernatural being, who was trying to clasp him.  He was filled with horror, trembled violently, yet could not move a limb.  Sweat tumbled off his face in great drops.  The waking nightmare lasted a long time, but during that space it kept coming and going.  At one moment the vision seemed on the point of departing; the next it almost took shape—­which he knew would be his death.  Suddenly it vanished altogether—­he was free.  A fresh spring breeze fanned his face; he heard the slow, solitary singing of a sweet bird; and it seemed to him as if a poem had shot together in his soul.  Such flashing, heartbreaking joy he had never experienced before in all his life!  Almost immediately that too vanished.

Sitting up, he passed his hand across his eyes and swayed quietly, like one who has been visited by an angel.

“Your colour changed to white,” said Corpang.  “What happened?”

“I passed through torture to love,” replied Maskull simply.

He stood up.  Haunte gazed at him sombrely.  “Will you not describe that passage?”

Maskull answered slowly and thoughtfully.  “When I was in Matterplay, I saw heavy clouds discharge themselves and change to coloured, living animals.  In the same way, my black, chaotic pangs just now seemed to consolidate themselves and spring together as a new sort of joy.  The joy would not have been possible without the preliminary nightmare.  It is not accidental; Nature intends it so.  The truth has just flashed through my brain....  You men of Lichstorm don’t go far enough.  You stop at the pangs, Without realising that they are birth pangs.”

“If this is true, you are a great pioneer,” muttered Haunte.

“How does this sensation differ from common love?” interrogated Corpang.

“This was all that love is, multiplied by wildness.”

Corpang fingered his chin awhile.  “The Lichstorm men, however, will never reach this stage, for they are too masculine.”

Haunte turned pale.  “Why should we alone suffer?”

“Nature is freakish and cruel, and doesn’t act according to justice....  Follow us, Haunte, and escape from it all.”

“I’ll see,” muttered Haunte.  “Perhaps I will.”

“Have we far to go, to Sullenbode?” inquired Maskull.

“No, her home’s under the hanging cap of Sarclash.”

“What is to happen tonight?” Maskull spoke to himself, but Haunte answered him.

“Don’t expect anything pleasant, in spite of what has just occurred.  She is not a woman, but a mass of pure sex.  Your passion will draw her out into human shape, but only for a moment.  If the change were permanent, you would have endowed her with a soul.”

“Perhaps the change might be made permanent.”