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Despite the great breadth and solidity of the pass, Maskull felt as though he were suspended in midair. The patch of broken, rich, brown soil observable not far away marked Sullenbode's grave. He had interred her by the light of the moon, with a long, flat stone for a spade. A little lower down, the white steam of a hot spring was curling about in the twilight.
Their slanting, abbreviated shadows were sharply defined, and red-black in colour. Maskull, who walked on Sullenbode's right hand, looked constantly to the left, toward the galaxy of glorious distant peaks. "You cannot belong to this world," said the woman. "Men of your stamp are not to be looked for here." "No, I have come here from Earth." "Is that larger than our world?" "Smaller, I think.
The momentary intelligence had vanished from her face, and she was again smiling. Sullenbode's naked skin glowed softly through the darkness, but the clothed part of her person was invisible. Maskull watched her senseless, smiling face, and shivered. Strange feelings ran through his body. Corpang spoke out of the night. "She looks like an evil spirit filled with deadliness."
Teargeld was now in the south-west. Maskull lifted Sullenbode's dead body on to his shoulders, and started to walk toward the Pass. He cared no more for Muspel. He intended to look for water in which to wash the corpse of his beloved, and earth in which to bury her.
"This is not that pleasure, then?" demanded the low, earnest voice, out of the darkness. "No, that pleasure has not returned." Sullenbode gripped his arm hard. "What pleasure are you speaking of?" "A presentiment of love, which I felt not long ago." "But what do you feel now?" "Calm and free." Sullenbode's face seemed like a pallid mask, hiding a slow, swelling sea of elemental passions.
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