Maskull again attempted to meet his eyes, but felt as if he were
being stabbed.

"You know that this is my world. Why do you think I have brought you
here? I wish you to serve me."

Maskull could no longer speak.

"Those who joke at my world," continued the vision, "those who make a
mock of its stern, eternal rhythm, its beauty and sublimity, which
are not skin-deep, but proceed from fathomless roots--they shall
not escape."

"I do not mock it."

"Ask me your questions, and I will answer them."

"I have nothing."

"It is necessary for you to serve me, Maskull. Do you not
understand? You are my servant and helper."

"I shall not fail."

"This is for my sake, and not for yours."

These last words had no sooner left Surtur's mouth than Maskull saw
him spring suddenly upward and outward. Looking up at the vault of
the sky, he saw the whole expanse of vision filled by Surtur's form--
not as a concrete man, but as a vast, concave cloud image, looking