The thing stood waiting as Will drew us toward it. Fear swept over me. Yet the very sense of fear brought with it a reassurance, for it was the physical I feared; the vanished sense of my body was not entirely gone, for now I was fearing its welfare. My voice protested, "Will. Wait. That thing there--" "It is friendly, Rob." The fear died. I remembered what now seemed obvious; Will had been leading us somewhere with a set purpose. To meet this friendly thing, of course; this thing which doubtless he had met before. I stared at it as we approached. A dim, opaque grey shape like ourselves but it seemed formless, sexless; neither human nor unhuman--a shape merely--a something poised there of which my mind seemed able to form no conception. Then I heard Will say to Bee: "A girl, Bee--you understand--Rob, listen. We must cling to the realities of our world. There are no other words--no other conceptions--with which we can think these unthought things. This is a girl----" I thought it was a girl; and at once I fancied that I could distinguish her. Standing there with a phantom barn and haystack of our own world above and behind her. A girl like Bee. I could see the grey-formed outlines of her; vaguely flowing draperies; long hair; a face of human beauty with a queer wistful look--she was smiling at Will--a friendly smile--. All this I thought I saw; and in the thinking, brought it to reality. Into my mind then flashed a clearer understanding. This Borderland--and the other inner realm lying beyond it which soon we were to enter--could no more be compared to the world we had left than an apple can be added to an orange. The very essence of every thought we now were thinking was different--incomparable. Yet within our minds was some lingering, unchangeable quality--call it Ego; so that these new things must be clothed in the fashion of the old. My words grow futile? I can only say then that this first encountered being seemed like a girl, wistful of face; grey, colorless of aspect; yet solid--as solid as ourselves which every moment was seeming a more normal solidity. Will touched her. "Rob--Bee--this is Ala--she has been waiting for us." Her voice said, "I am Ala who will do what I can to help you." The tone seemed soft, liquid, musical and wholly feminine. Soundless words but clearly intoned as though I had heard them with a physical ear. Bee said, "Why, she speaks English." It struck a note of whimsicality; the thought momentarily relieved the tension under which I was laboring. And so I think it was with the others; they were smiling; but Will's smile faded as he turned to us. "You must keep on thinking things like that. Cling always to normality." His voice was earnest. "You also, Ala--English you see, is our language." "But you are speaking my language," she said gravely.