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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 297 pages of information about Red Eve.

The black priests and the white priests heard.  Without struggle, without complaint, as though they were but taking part in some set ceremony, they kneeled down in lines upon the snow.  Naked from the waist up, executioners with great swords appeared.  They advanced upon the kneeling lines without haste, without wrath, and, letting fall the heavy swords upon the patient, outstretched necks, did their grim office till all were dead.  Then they turned to find her of the flowers who had danced before, and her of the tattered weeds who had followed after, purposing to cast them to the funeral flames.  But these were gone, though none had seen them go.  Only out of the gathering darkness from some temple or pagoda-top a voice spoke like a moaning wind.

“Fools,” wailed the voice, “still with you is Murgh, the second Thing created; Murgh, who was made to be man’s minister.  Murgh the Messenger shall reappear from beyond the setting sun.  Ye cannot kill, ye cannot spare.  Those priests you seemed to slay he had summoned to be his officers afar.  Fools!  Ye do but serve as serves Murgh, Gateway of the Gods.  Life and death are not in your hands or in his.  They are in the hands of the Master of Murgh, Helper of man, of that Lord whom no eye hath seen, but whose behests all who are born obey—­yes, even the mighty Murgh, Looser of burdens, whom in your foolishness ye fear.”

So spoke this voice out of the darkness, and that night the sword of the great pestilence was lifted from the Eastern land, and there the funeral fires flared no more.

CHAPTER I

THE TRYSTING-PLACE

On the very day when Murgh the Messenger sailed forth into that uttermost sea, a young man and a maiden met together at the Blythburgh marshes, near to Dunwich, on the eastern coast of England.  In this, the month of February of the year 1346, hard and bitter frost held Suffolk in its grip.  The muddy stream of Blyth, it is true, was frozen only in places, since the tide, flowing up from the Southwold harbour, where it runs into the sea between that ancient town and the hamlet of Walberswick, had broken up the ice.  But all else was set hard and fast, and now toward sunset the cold was bitter.

Stark and naked stood the tall, dry reeds.  The blackbirds and starlings perched upon the willows seemed swollen into feathery balls, the fur started on the backs of hares, and a four-horse wain could travel in safety over swamps where at any other time a schoolboy dared not set his foot.

On such an eve, with snow threatening, the great marsh was utterly desolate, and this was why these two had chosen it for their meeting place.

To look on they were a goodly pair—­the girl, who was clothed in the red she always wore, tall, dark, well shaped, with large black eyes and a determined face, one who would make a very stately woman; the man broad shouldered, with grey eyes that were quick and almost fierce, long limbed, hard, agile, and healthy, one who had never known sickness, who looked as though the world were his own to master.  He was young, but three-and-twenty that day, and his simple dress, a tunic of thick wool fastened round him with a leathern belt, to which hung a short sword, showed that his degree was modest.

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