"We must hurry," said Pen. "They must see already that your tent is gone."
Reaching the tenant cottage outside the grounds Pen said: "We could save time by cutting across here, but we'd leave a wide open track through the wet weeds. We'll have to go around."
They followed the road to the broken gate, and making the turn, kept along outside the fence until they got well in the rear of the cottage. Here the faintly marked path worn by Pen crossed the road, and they turned into it. The motor-boat had come to her moorings. Breaking into a sort of staggering run under their burdens they were soon received into the woods.
"I must get back to the house before they do," Pen panted.
The glade with its tiny temple presented a scene of unearthly beauty. A shaft of moonlight was silvering the pale dome. The deep bowl below the bank was full to the brim of moonlight.
A gasp of astonishment escaped Counsell. "What's this?"
"Afraid of ghosts?" asked Pen.
"Try me!" he laughed.
They cast their burdens on the ground. There was no time for lengthy explanations or leave-takings.
"Listen!" said Pen. "Pitch your tent among the bushes at the back of the tomb."