“I wonder if Crimtyphon is there,” remarked Oceaxe.  “Can I see two figures, or am I mistaken?”

“I also see something,” said Maskull.

In twenty minutes they were directly above the peninsula, at a height of about fifty feet.  The shrowk slackened speed, and came to earth on the mainland, exactly at the gateway of the isthmus.  They both descended—­Maskull with aching thighs.

“What shall we do with the monster?” asked Oceaxe.  Without waiting for a suggestion, she patted its hideous face with her hand.  “Fly away home!  I may want you some other time.”

It gave a stupid grunt, elevated itself on its legs again, and, after half running, half flying for a few yards, rose awkwardly into the air, and paddled away in the same direction from which they had come.  They watched it out of sight, and then Oceaxe started to cross the neck of land, followed by Maskull.

Branchspell’s white rays beat down on them with pitiless force.  The sky had by degrees become cloudless, and the wind had dropped entirely.  The ground was a rich riot of vividly coloured ferns, shrubs, and grasses.  Through these could be seen here and there the golden chalky soil—­and occasionally a glittering, white metallic boulder.  Everything looked extraordinary and barbaric.  Maskull was at last walking in the weird Ifdawn Marest which had created such strange feelings in him when seen from a distance....  And now he felt no wonder or curiosity at all, but only desired to meet human beings—­ so intense had grown his will.  He longed to test his powers on his fellow creatures, and nothing else seemed of the least importance to him.

On the peninsula all was coolness and delicate shade.  It resembled a large copse, about two acres in extent.  In the heart of the tangle of small trees and undergrowth was a partially cleared space—­ perhaps the roots of the giant tree growing in the centre had killed off the smaller fry all around it.  By the side of the tree sparkled a little, bubbling fountain, whose water was iron-red.  The precipices on all sides, overhung with thorns, flowers, and creepers, invested the enclosure with an air of wild and charming seclusion—­a mythological mountain god might have dwelt here.

Maskull’s restless eye left everything, to fall on the two men who formed the centre of the picture.

One was reclining, in the ancient Grecian fashion of banqueters on a tall couch of mosses, sprinkled with flowers; he rested on one arm, and was eating a kind of plum, with calm enjoyment.  A pile of these plums lay on the couch beside him.  The over-spreading branches of the tree completely sheltered him from the sun.  His small, boyish form was clad in a rough skin, leaving his limbs naked.  Maskull could not tell from his face whether he were a young boy or a grown man.  The features were smooth, soft, and childish, their expression was seraphically tranquil; but his violet upper eye was sinister and adult.  His skin was of the colour of yellow ivory.  His long, curling hair matched his sorb—­it was violet.  The second man was standing erect before the other, a few feet away from him.  He was short and muscular, his face was broad, bearded, and rather commonplace, but there was something terrible about his appearance.  The features were distorted by a deep-seated look of pain, despair, and horror.