back to the tent. We had better hurry, too; we're a long way off still,
and I don't fancy, now, being caught out here in the dark."

It was two hours later when we reached the tent; and, without delay, we
set to work to prepare a meal; for we had eaten nothing since our lunch
at midday.

Supper over, we cleared the things out of the way, and lit our pipes.
Then Tonnison asked me to get the manuscript out of my satchel. This I
did, and then, as we could not both read from it at the same time, he
suggested that I should read the thing out loud. "And mind," he
cautioned, knowing my propensities, "don't go skipping half the book."

Yet, had he but known what it contained, he would have realized how
needless such advice was, for once at least. And there seated in the
opening of our little tent, I began the strange tale of _The House on
the Borderland_ (for such was the title of the MS.); this is told in the
following pages.



_II_

THE PLAIN OF SILENCE

I am an old man. I live here in this ancient house, surrounded by huge,
unkempt gardens.

The peasantry, who inhabit the wilderness beyond, say that I am mad.
That is because I will have nothing to do with them. I live here alone