The twilight deepened; the murk grew denser. There was little to
look at, but much to feel. The motion of the boat, which was due to
the never-ending struggle between the male stones and the force of
gravitation, resembled in an exaggerated fashion the violent tossing
of a small craft on a choppy sea. The two passengers became unhappy.
Haunte, from his seat in the stern, gazed at them sardonically with
one eye. The darkness now came on rapidly.

About ninety minutes after the commencement of the voyage they
arrived at the foothills of Lichstorm. They began to mount. There
was no daylight left to see by. Beneath them, however, on both sides
of them and in the rear, the landscape was lighted up for a
considerable distance by the now vivid blue rays of the twin male
stones. Ahead, where these rays did not shine, Haunte was guided by
the self-luminous nature of the rocks, grass, and trees. These were
faintly phosphorescent; the vegetation shone out more strongly than
the soil.

The moon was not shining and there were no stars; Maskull therefore
inferred that the upper atmosphere was dense with mist. Once or
twice, from his sensations of choking, he thought that they were
entering a fogbank, but it was a strange kind of fog, for it had the
effect of doubling the intensity of every light in front of them.
Whenever this happened, nightmare feelings attacked him; he
experienced transitory, unreasoning fright and horror.

Now they passed high above the valley that separated the foothills
from the mountains themselves. The boat began an ascent of many
thousands of feet and, as the cliffs were near, Haunte had to