but he poured the amber-coloured wine into some cracked cups.

Perceiving that the others drank, Maskull tossed off his cupful. It
was as if he had swallowed a draught of liquid electricity.... Krag
dropped onto the floor and rolled around on his back, kicking his
legs in the air. He tried to drag Maskull down on top of him, and a
little horseplay went on between the two. Nightspore took no part in
it, but walked to and fro, like a hungry caged animal.

Suddenly, from out-of-doors, there came a single prolonged,
piercing wail, such as a banshee might be imagined to utter. It
ceased abruptly, and was not repeated.

"What's that?" called out Maskull, disengaging himself impatiently
from Krag.

Krag rocked with laughter. "A Scottish spirit trying to reproduce
the bagpipes of its earth life--in honour of our departure."

Nightspore turned to Krag. "Maskull will sleep throughout the
journey?"

"And you too, if you wish, my altruistic friend. I am pilot, and you
passengers can amuse yourselves as you please."

"Are we off at last?" asked Maskull.

"Yes, you are about to cross your Rubicon, Maskull. But what a
Rubicon! ... Do you know that it takes light a hundred years or so
to arrive here from Arcturus? Yet we shall do it in nineteen hours."