The House on the Borderland

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Authors: William Hope Hodgson
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the Attack
*
    It was now about three a.m., and, presently, the Eastern sky began to
pale with the coming of dawn. Gradually, the day came, and, by its
light, I scanned the gardens, earnestly; but nowhere could I see any
signs of the brutes. I leant over, and glanced down to the foot of the
wall, to see whether the body of the Thing I had shot the night before
was still there. It was gone. I supposed that others of the monsters had
removed it during the night.
    Then, I went down on to the roof, and crossed over to the gap from
which the coping stone had fallen. Reaching it, I looked over. Yes,
there was the stone, as I had seen it last; but there was no appearance
of anything beneath it; nor could I see the creatures I had killed,
after its fall. Evidently, they also had been taken away. I turned, and
went down to my study. There, I sat down, wearily. I was thoroughly
tired. It was quite light now; though the sun's rays were not, as yet,
perceptibly hot. A clock chimed the hour of four.
    I awoke, with a start, and looked 'round, hurriedly. The clock in the
corner, indicated that it was three o'clock. It was already afternoon. I
must have slept for nearly eleven hours.
    With a jerky movement, I sat forward in the chair, and listened. The
house was perfectly silent. Slowly, I stood up, and yawned. I felt
desperately tired, still, and sat down again; wondering what it was that
had waked me.
    It must have been the clock striking, I concluded, presently; and was
commencing to doze off, when a sudden noise brought me back, once more,
to life. It was the sound of a step, as of a person moving cautiously
down the corridor, toward my study. In an instant, I was on my feet, and
grasping my rifle. Noiselessly, I waited. Had the creatures broken in,
whilst I slept? Even as I questioned, the steps reached my door, halted
momentarily, and then continued down the passage. Silently, I tiptoed to
the doorway, and peeped out. Then, I experienced such a feeling of
relief, as must a reprieved criminal—it was my sister. She was going
toward the stairs.
    I stepped into the hall, and was about to call to her, when it occurred
to me, that it was very queer she should have crept past my door, in
that stealthy manner. I was puzzled, and, for one brief moment, the
thought occupied my mind, that it was not she, but some fresh mystery of
the house. Then, as I caught a glimpse of her old petticoat, the thought
passed as quickly as it had come, and I half laughed. There could be no
mistaking that ancient garment. Yet, I wondered what she was doing; and,
remembering her condition of mind, on the previous day, I felt that it
might be best to follow, quietly—taking care not to alarm her—and see
what she was going to do. If she behaved rationally, well and good; if
not, I should have to take steps to restrain her. I could run no
unnecessary risks, under the danger that threatened us.
    Quickly, I reached the head of the stairs, and paused a moment. Then,
I heard a sound that sent me leaping down, at a mad rate—it was the
rattle of bolts being unshot. That foolish sister of mine was actually
unbarring the back door.
    Just as her hand was on the last bolt, I reached her. She had not seen
me, and, the first thing she knew, I had hold of her arm. She glanced up
quickly, like a frightened animal, and screamed aloud.
    'Come, Mary!' I said, sternly, 'what's the meaning of this nonsense? Do
you mean to tell me you don't understand the danger, that you try to
throw our two lives away in this fashion!'
    To this, she replied nothing; only trembled, violently, gasping and
sobbing, as though in the last extremity of fear.
    Through some minutes, I reasoned with her; pointing out the need for
caution, and asking her to be brave. There was little to be afraid of
now, I explained—and, I tried to believe that I spoke the truth—but
she must be sensible, and not attempt to leave the house for a few days.
    At last, I ceased, in despair. It was no use talking to her; she

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