"But the coming back," I suggested. "We raised you up—"
His smile held a faint ironic amusement. "Don't you think, Rob, we can leave that to its proper time?" He saw my look and added, with the ready apology which made him so lovable:
"Naturally you are apprehensive. But I've planned for that, of course. There are many places where the level of this Borderland—as I call it—coincides exactly with the surface of our own realm. The back corner of the garden outside, for instance. I have remarked it—I can find it—when the time comes for us to return."
Bee said, "Will, I've been wondering—you were gone five or six hours. Were you in there very long?"
His smile was enigmatic. "You can have no conception of this experience—I cannot answer that, Bee—that's why I haven't told you anything—you are so soon to feel and see it for yourself." He was impatient for the start. "I think we're ready. There is so little to do—no chance to forget anything."
With sudden irrelevant thought my heart leaped. That hostile watching spectre.... My anxious glance traveled the room. Bee said, "It's not here—I've been expecting—I'm so thankful it's not here."
It was not to be seen. I was relieved for that, at least. With a last deliberation we all three seated ourselves on the mattress. Will was between Bee and me. We connected the batteries; I held mine at my side, my nerve-shaken fingers trembling, though inwardly I cursed them, fumbled at the switch to make sure I could control it. The pellets were in the palm of my other hand; the glass of water was within reach.
Will said earnestly, "One last thing—and this is important—more important than you realize. Whatever comes, we must keep together. Remember that. You two—strive always to keep with me—close beside me. Whatever impulse you feel—fight it—do not yield to it. Remember you must stay by me."
The words themselves were simple to grasp. Yet beneath them lay a vague import, a suggestion of what was to come, which seemed unutterably sinister. I heard Bee murmuring.
"Yes, I understand."