rld beyond that curtain of thick darkness. Behold! A
vast city of fantastic houses half buried in winter snows and reddened
by the lurid sunset breaking through a saw-toothed canopy of cloud.
Everywhere upon the temple squares and open spaces great fires burning a
strange fuel--the bodies of thousands of mankind. Pestilence was king
of that city, a pestilence hitherto unknown. Innumerable hordes had died
and were dying, yet innumerable hordes remained. All the patient East
bore forth those still shapes that had been theirs to love or hate, and,
their task done, turned to the banks of the mighty river and watched.

Down the broad street which ran between the fantastic houses advanced a
procession toward the brown, ice-flecked river. First marched a company
of priests clad in black robes, and carrying on poles lanterns of black
paper, lighted, although the sun still shone. Behind marched another
company of priests clad in white robes, and bearing white lanterns, also
lighted. But at these none looked, nor did they listen to the dirges
that they sang, for all eyes were fixed upon him who filled the centre
space and upon his two companions.

The first companion was a lovely woman, jewel-hung, wearing false
flowers in her streaming hair, and beneath her bared breasts a kirtle of
white silk. Life and love embodied in radiance and beauty, she danced
in front, looking about her with alluring eyes, and scattering petals
of dead roses from a basket which she bore. Different was the second
companion, who stalked behind; so thin, so sexless that none could
say if the shape were that of man or woman. Dry, streaming locks of
iron-grey, an ashen countenance, deep-set, hollow eyes, a beetling,
parchment-covered brow; lean shanks half hidden with a rotting rag,
claw-like hands which clutched miserably at the air. Such was its awful
fashion, that of new death in all its terrors.

Between them, touched of neither, went a man, naked save for a red
girdle and a long red cloak that was fastened round his throat and hung
down from his broad shoulders. There was nothing strange about this man,
unless it were perhaps the strength that seemed to flow from him and the
glance of his icy eyes. He was just a burly yellow man, whose age none
could tell, for the hood of the red cloak hid his hair; one who seemed
to be far removed from youth, and yet untouched by time. He walked on
steadily, intently, his face immovable, taking no heed.

Only no