When once Shasta had reached the far end of the bridge he found the crowd melting away； everyone seemed to begoing either to the left or right along the river bank. He went straight ahead up a road that did not appear to be much used， between gardens. In a few paces he was alone， and a few more brought him to the top of the slope. There he stood and stared. It was like coming to the end of the world for all the grass stopped quite suddenly a few feet before him and the sand began： endless level sand like on a sea shore but a bit rougher because it was never wet. The mountains， which now looked further off than before， loomed ahead. Greatly to his relief he saw， about five minutes’ walk away on his left， what must certainly be the Tombs， just as Bree had described them； great masses of mouldering stone shaped like gigantic beehives， but a little narrower. They looked very black and grim， for the sun was now setting right behind them.
