gh at their appointed hour; Murgh does not come to them.
You sought him before your hour, and therefore he refused you. Yet you
will meet him again, as all flesh must when its hour comes, and because
you are bold and have not cringed before my strength, for your comfort
I will show you when and how. Stand by me, but lay no hand on me or my
robe, and look into my glass while for a moment, for your sake, I stay
the stream of time and show you what lies beneath its foam that blinds
the eyes of men.'

"He waved his arms and the black doves and the white doves ceased to
appear and disappear, and the eternal soughings of their wings was
silent. He pointed to the water at his feet and I saw, not a picture,
but a scene so real that I could have sworn it was alive about me. Yes,
those who took part in it stood in front of me as though the pool were
solid ground that their feet pressed. _You_ were one of them, son, _you_
were one of them," and the old knight paused, supporting himself against
the mantel-shelf as though that recollection overcame him.

"What did you see?" whispered Hugh.

"By God's holy name, I saw the Blythburgh Marshes deep in snow that was
red, blood-red with the light of sunrise. Oh! I could not be mistook,
and there ran the wintry river, there the church tower soared, there
were the frowning, tree-clad banks. There was the rough moorland over
which the east wind piped, for the dead bracken bent before it, and not
twenty paces from me leaped a hare, disturbed suddenly from its form by
a hungry fox, whose red head peeped through the reeds. Yes, yes, I saw
the brute's white teeth gleam as it licked its disappointed lips, and
I felt glad that its prey had beaten it! When you look upon that scene,
Hugh, as one day you shall, remember the hare and the head of the hungry
fox, and by these judge my truth."

"A fox and a hare!" broke in Hugh. "I'd show you such to-morrow; was
there no more?"

"Ay, much. For instance, a hollow in the Marsh, an open grave, and an
axe; yes, an axe that had delved it where the bog was soft beneath the
snow. Grey Dick held the axe in one hand and his black bow in the other,
while Red Eve, your Eve, stood at its edge and stared into it like one
in a dream. Then at the head of the grave an old, old man clad in mail
beneath his priestly robes, and that man _myself_, Hugh, grown very
ancient, but still myself, and no other.

"And at the foot of the grave _you_, Hugh de Cressi, you and no