AT AVIGNON Hard upon two months had gone by when at length these three, Hugh, Grey Dick, and David Day, set eyes upon the towers of stately Avignon standing red against the sunset and encircled by the blue waters of the Rhone.

Terrible beyond imagination had been the journey of these men, who followed in the footsteps of Murgh.

They saw him not, it is true, but always they saw his handiwork.

Death, death, everywhere death, nothing but death! One night they supped at an inn with the host, his family and servants, twelve folk in all, in seeming health.

When they rose in the morning one old woman and a little child alone remained; the rest were dead or dying.