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The Tent Of The Purple Mat
by
At last he came to the door of the Tent in the late evening, and, intent not only to buy back the soul he had marketed–for the sake of the memory of the woman, and believing that none would die for him and that he must die for himself–he lifted the curtain and entered. Then he gave a great cry, for there she lay asleep, face downward, her forehead on the Purple Mat.
“Sherah! Sherah!” he cried, dropping on his knees beside her and lifting up her head.
“Ambroise!” she called out faintly, her pale face drawing away from his breast.
“Sherah, why didst thou come here?” he said. “Thou! thou!”
“To buy back my soul, Ambroise. And this is the last day of the year that I have spent here. Oh, why, why didst thou come? To-morrow all should have been well!”
“To buy back thy soul–thou didst no wrong!” But at that moment their eyes drew close, and changed, and he understood.
“For me–for me!” he whispered.
“Nay, for me!” she replied.
Then they noticed that the Purple Mat on which they knelt was red under their knees, and a goodly light shone through the Tent, not of the day or night. And as they looked amazed, the curtain of the Tent drew open, and one entered, clothed in red from head to foot; and they knew him to be the Scarlet Hunter, the lover of the lost, the Keeper of the Kimash Hills.
Looking at them steadfastly he said to Sherah: “Thou has prevailed. To-night, at the setting of the sun, an old man died in Syria who uttered thy name as in a dream when he passed. The soul of Ambroise hath been bought back by thee.”
Then he spoke to Ambroise. “Because thy spirit was willing, and for the woman’s sake thou shalt have peace; but this year which she has spent for thee shall be taken from thy life, and added to hers. Come, and I will start ye on the swift trail to your own country, and ye shall come here no more.”
As they rose, obeying him, they saw that the red of the Mat had gone a perfect white, and they knew not what to think, for they had acted after the manner of the heathen; but that night, as they travelled with joy towards that Inn called Home, down at the Fort, a preacher with rude noise cried to those who would hear him: “Though your sins be as scarlet they shall become whiter than snow.”