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Haggard, H. Rider (Henry Rider), 1856-1925

"The People of the Mist"

Lo! the veil of
mist that hid the mountain's upper heights grew thin:--it was the moment
of dawn, but would it be a red dawn or a white? As he looked the vapours
disappeared from the peak, though they still lay thick upon the slopes
below, and in their place were seen its smooth and shining outlines
clothed in a cloak of everlasting snows.
The ordeal was ended. No touch of colour, no golden sunbeam or crimson
shadow stained the ghastly surface of those snows, they were pallid as
the faces of the dead.
"A white dawn! A white dawn!" roared the populace. "Away with the false
gods! Hurl them to the Snake!"
"It is finished," whispered Otter again into Francisco's ear; "now take
your medicine, and, friend, farewell!"
The priest heard and, clasping his thin hands together, turned his
tormented face, in which the soft eyes shone, upwards towards the
heavens. For some seconds he sat thus; then Otter, peering beneath his
hood, saw his countenance change, and once more a glory seemed to shine
upon it as it had shone when, some hours since, Francisco promised to do
the deed that now he was about to dare.
Again there was silence below, for the spokesman of the Council of
Elders had risen, and was crying the formal question to the priests
above:
"Is the dawn white or red, ye who stand on high?"
Nam turned and looked upon the snow.
"The dawn is fully dawned and it is white!" he answered.
"Be swift," whispered Otter into Francisco's ear.


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