Throughout the next day, there was little conversation, and even a mutual avoidance, as if each of the four wished to be alone with his thoughts. From time to time one or the other looked half-heartedly toward the south, but no one seemed in a mood to leave the spot, and no one spoke of departure.

The day passed while the pilgrims rested in a half-torpor. Sunset came, and night; but none of the group sought to sleep.

During the middle evening the ghost city reappeared, and tonight a fete was in progress. Fireworks of a wonderful intricacy bloomed in the sky: laces, nets, starbursts of red and green and blue and silver. Along the promenade came a parade, with ghost-maidens dressed in iridescent garments, ghost-musicians in voluminous garments of red and orange and capering ghost-harlequins. For hours the sound of revelry drifted across the water, and Cugel went out to stand knee-deep, and here he watched until the fete quieted and the city dimmed. As he turned away, the others followed him back up the shore.

On the following day all were weak from hunger and thirst. In a croaking voice Cugel muttered that they must proceed. Garstang nodded and said huskily, “To the fane, the fane of Gilfig!”

Subucule nodded. The cheeks of his once plump face were haggard; his eyes were filmed and clouded. “Yes,” he wheezed. “We have rested; we must go on.”

Casmyre nodded dully. “To the fane!”

But none set forth to the south. Cugel wandered up the fore-shore and seated himself to wait for nightfall. Looking to his right, he saw a human skeleton resting in a posture not dissimilar to his own. Shuddering, Cugel turned to the left, and here was a second skeleton, this one broken by time and the seasons, and beyond yet another, this a mere heap of bones.

Cugel rose to his feet and ran tottering to the others. “Quickl” he called. “While strength yet remains to us! To the south! Come, before we die, like those others whose bones rest above!”

“Yes, yes,” mumbled Garstang. “To the fane.” And he heaved himself to his feet. “Cornel” he called to the others. “We fare south!”

Subucule raised himself erect, but Casmyre, after a listless attempt, fell back. “Here I stay,” he said. “When you reach the fane, intercede for me with Gilfig; explain that the entrancement overcame the strength of my body.”

Garstang wished to remain and plead, but Cugel pointed to the setting sun. “If we wait till darkness, we are lostl Tomorrow our strength will be gonel”

Subucule took Garstang's arm. “We must be away, before nightfall.”

Garstang made a final plea to Casmyre. “My friend and fellow, gather your strength. Together we have come, from far Pholgus Valley, by raft down the Scamarider, and across the dreadful desert! Must we part before attaining the fane?”

“Come to the fane!” croaked Cugel. But Casmyre turned his face away. Cugel and Subucule led Garstang away, with tears coursing down his withered cheeks; and they staggered south along the beach, averting their eyes from the clear smooth face of the sea.