, Dick obeyed, and began to hollow out a grave in
the soft and boggy soil.

Hugh watched him like one who dreams, wondering who was destined to fill
that grave. Presently a sound behind caused him to turn his head.

Oh! certainly he was mad, for there over the rise not a dozen yards away
came the beautiful ghost of Eve Clavering, clad in her red cloak. With
her was another ghost, that of old Sir Andrew Arnold, blood running down
the armour beneath his robe and in his hand the hilt of a broken sword.

Hugh tried to speak, but his lips were dumb, nor did these ghosts take
any heed of him, for their eyes were fixed elsewhere. To Murgh they went
and stood before him silent. For a while he looked at them, then asked
in his cold voice:

"Who am I, Eve Clavering?"

"The Man who came to visit me in my dream at Avignon and told me that I
should live," she answered slowly.

"And who say you that I am, Andrew Arnold, priest of Christ the God?"

"He whom I visited in my youth in far Cathay," answered the old
knight in an awed whisper. "He who sat beside the pool behind the
dragon-guarded doors and was named Gateway of the Gods. He who showed to
me that we should meet again in such a place and hour as this."

"Whence come you now, priest and woman, and why?"

"We come from Avignon. We fled thence from one who would have done this
maiden grievous wrong. He followed us. Not an hour gone he overtook
us with his knaves. He set them on to seize this woman, hanging back
himself. Old as I am I slew them both and got my death in it," and he
touched the great wound in his side with the hilt of the broken sword.
"Our horses were the better; we fled across the swamp for Blythburgh, he
hunting us and seeking my life and her honour. Thus we found you as it
was appointed."

Murgh turned his eyes. Following their glance, for the first time they
saw Hugh de Cressi and near him Grey Dick labouring at the grave. Eve
stretched out her arms and so stood with head thrown back, the light of
the daybreak shining in her lovely eyes and on her outspread hair. Hugh
opened his lips to speak but Murgh lifted his hand and pointed behind
them.

They turned and there, not twenty paces from them, clad in armour
and seated on a horse was Edmund Acour, Count de Noyon, Seigneur of
Cattrina.

He saw, then wheeled round to fly.

"Archer, to your work!" said Murgh, "you know it."

Ere the words had left his lips the great black bow was bent and ere the