Norwich Bulletin Newspaper, October 8, 1910, Page 14

7 [Copyright, 1910, by ‘he New York Herald Company—All MURGE THE DEATH. HEY knew nothing of it in Eng- 2nd they pointed to a cloud of smoke | land or all the western lands in|°T Vaper, in which terrible shapes| . H.RIDER. HAGGARD Rights Reserved.] of the West. Look! It follows hlm,”[those days you have growr’ rich with vour fishing fleets, your wool mart and vour ferry dues at Walberswick and Southwold. We, too, are rich in manors those days before Crecy was|Seemed to move dimly, that trailed after fought, when the third Edward sat upon the throne. There was none to teill them of the doom that the East, whence comes light and life, death and the decrees of God, had loosed upon the world. Not one in a mul- titude in Europe had ever even heard of those vast countries of far Cathay, peo- pled with hundreds of millions of cold- faced, vellow men, lands which had grown very old before our own familiar states and empires were carved out of mountain, of forest and of shvage-haunted plain. 'the departing, red-sailed ship. land in land, counting our acres by the The black priests and the white| ipriests heard, and without struggle, without complaint, as though they were ibut taking part in some set ceremony, kneeled down in lines upon the sno /Naked from the waist up, excutioners ith great swords appeared. They ad- | vanced upon the kneeling lines without | haste, without wrath, and, letting fall the heavy swords upon the| patient, | outstretched necks, did their grim office till all were dead. Then they turned to, | find her of the flowers who had danced thousand, but yet poor, lacking your gold, though yvonder manor,” and she pointed to some towers which rose far away above the trees upon the high land, “has many mouths to feed. Alsc the sea has robbed .us at Dunwich, where T was born, taking our great house and many a street that paid us rent, and your market of Southwold has starved out ours at Blythburgh.” “Well, what has all this to do with you and me, Eve?” “Much, Hugh, as you should know who Yet if their eves had been opened 80 thatipafore and her of the tattered weeds have been bred to trade,” and she glanced they could see well might they havelwho had followed after, purposing to at his merchant's dress. |cast them to the funeral flames trembied. King, prince, priest, merchant, But eaptain, ocitizen and poor laboring hind— these were gone, though none had seen well might they all have trembled when the East sent forth her gifts! Look across the world beyond that cur- ®ain of thick darkness. Behold! A vast eity of fantastic houses half buried in the winter snows, reddened by the lurid sun- set breaking through a saw-toothed opy of clond. Everywhere upon the temple squares and open spaces great fires burning a strange fuel—the bodies of thousands of mankind. Pestilence was king of that city, a pestilence hitherto unknown. Innumerable hordes had died and were dying, vet innumerable hordes remained. All the patient East bore forth those still shapes that had been theirs to love or hate, and, their task done, turned to the banks of the mighty river and watched. Down the broad street which ran be- tween the fantastio houses advanced a procession toward the brown, ice flecked river. First marched a company of priests clad in plaip black robes and carrying on poies umez;u of biack paper, Yghted, altheugh the sun still Behind marched another company of priests clad in white robes and bearing white lanterns, also lighted. But at these none looked, nor @id they listen to the dirges that they sang, for all oyes were fixed upon him who filled the centre space and upon his two companions. first companion was a lovely woman, jewel hung, wearing false flowers in her streaming hair and beneath her bared breasts = kirtle of white silk. Life and Jove embodied in radiance and beauty, she danced In front, looking about her with alluring eyes and scattering petals of dead Dif- who shone. , roses from a basket which she bore. ferent was the second companion, stalked behind, so none could say if thin, so sexless that e shape were that of a man or woman. Dry, streaming locks of fron gray, an ashen countenance, deep s parchment cov- ered brow; lean shanks half hidden with a ched rotting rag, clawlike hands whi miserably at the air. This was its awful fashion, that of new death in all his terror, Between them, touched of neither, went a man, naked save for a red girdle and a long red cloak that was fastened round his throat and that hung down from his broad shoulders. ing siurange about tb nere man unless, seemed to flow haps, the strength that from him and the glance of his fey eyes. He was just a burly yellow man whose age none could tell, for the hood of the red cloak hid his hair—one who seemed to be far removed from youth and yet untouched by time. He walked on steadily as though of set purpose, his face Immovabhle, faking no heed. Only now and sgain We,turned those long eyes of his upon one of the multitude who watched him . pass crouched upon their knees in solemn silence—always upon one, whether it were man, woman or child, with a glance meant for that one and no other. And always the one upon whom it fell rose from knee, and, turning, departed as though filled with some inspired purpose. Down to the qu the went the black priests, the red cloaked man, preceded by rosy life and followed by ashen death. Through the funeral fires they wended and the lurid sunset shone upon them all. To the pillars of this quay was fastened a strange, high pooped ship with crimson sails sat upon her masts. /The white priests and the black priests formed lines upon either side of the broad gang- way of that ship and bowed as the red cloaked man walked over it between them quite alone, for now she with the dead roses and she with the ashen countenance had fallen back. As the sun sank he turned, and, standing on the lofty stern, cried aloud: — “Here the work is done. Now I, the Eat- ing Fire, I, the Messenger, turn me to the Wwest. Among you for a while I cease to burn, yet forget me not, for I return As he spoke the ropes of the ship were loosened, the wind caught her crimson sails and she departed into the night, one blood red spot against its blackness. The multitude watched until they could her no longer and then flamed up with mingled joy and rage. They laughed madly. They cursed him who Lad departed. the white priests, “We live! we Nve! we lve!” they cried. ‘“Murgh is gomne! Murgh 1s Bone! Kill his priests! Make sacrifice ©f bis shadows! Murgh is &oue bearing the course of the East inte the bosom was noth- per- made .obeisance ., ithem go. Only out of the gathering !darkness from some temple or pagoda e spole like a moaning wind. wailed the voice, “still with} you is Murgh, tho second thing create—| Murgh, who was made to be man’s min- Murgh the Messenger shall re- appear from beyond the setting sun. Ye top a v ister. cannot kill, ye cannot spare. Those, priests vou seemed to slay he had sum-| moned to be his officers afar. Fool!| Ye do but serve as serves Murgh, gate-| way of the gods. Life and n are hands or in his. They are| de not in yonr in the hands of the Master of Murgh, Helper of man, o that Lord whom no eve hath seen but whose behests ail who are born obey—yes, even the| mighty Murgh, Looser of burdens,| whom in your foolishness you faar.” | So spoke tirts voice out of the darkness, night the sword of the great| pestilence was lifted from the I land and there’the funeral fires flared no but that stern more. Chapter I. The Trysting Place, hat Murg N the very day s a young man and a maiden toge marshes near to Dunwich, on the eastern In this, the month of hard and met coast of England. February of the vear 1346, bitter frost held Suffolk in its grip. The muddy stream of Blyth, it is true, was frozen only in places, since the tide, » from the Southwold Harbor, vhere it runs into the sea between that ancient town and the hamlet of Walbers- wick, had broken up the ice. But all else| was Set hard and fast, and now toward| sunset the cold was bitter. Stark and naked stood the tall, dry reeds. The! blackbirds and starlings perched upon| " the willows seemed swollen into| feathery balls, the fur started on the/ backs of hares and a four-horse wain could travel in safety over swamps where at any other time a schoolboy dared not| set his foot. On such an eve, with the snow threatening, the gre marsh was | utterly desolate, and his was why 1ad chosen it for their meet- & place. To look on they were a goodly palr—the girl, who was clothed in the red she always wo tall, dark, | well shaped, with large black eyes and| a determined face, one who would make = a very stately woman; the man, broad shouldered, with gray eyes that were| almost fierce, long lin\bed,i agile and healthy, one who had known sickness, who looked as though the world were made for him to master. He was young, but one and twenty that day; and his simple dress, | a tunic of thick wool, fastened round | him with a leather belt, to which hung| a short sword, showed that his degree looked his in her twentieth 3 had becn reared in the hard school of that cruel age, childhood had long departed, leav- ing her a ripened woman before time. girl, she in fact was only from although though her, who her| The pair stood looking at each other. “Well, cousin e Clavering,” said 1, in his clear voice, "why did] sage bid me meet you In this| cold p “Becau se 1 had a word to say to vou,; cousin Hugh de Cressi,” e answered boldiy, “and the marsh being so cold| and so lonesome I thought it suited to| my purpose. Does Gray Dick watch vonder?” “Aye, behind those willows, arrow on string, and God help him on whom Dick draws. But what was that word, | Ev “One easy to understand,” she replied, looking him in the eyes, “Farewell!” He shivered as though with the cold and his face changed. “An ill birthday greeting, yet I feared it,” he muttered huskily, “but why more| now than at any other time?” | “Would you know, Hugh? Well, the| story is short, so T'll set it out. Our| great-grandmother, the heiress of the de Cheneys, married twice—did she not. and from the first husband came the de Cressis and from the segond (he Claverings. But in this wa rin that |we Claverings got the land¥ or most of them, and you de Cressis, the nobler stock, took to merchandise. Nowy siuce READ THE NEW YORK SUNDAY HERALD. [grow up side by Mes- relled abeut the ferry that we had set mi saiied forth into that utter-|pawn, and your father asked his gold back! “Between de Cressi and Clavering there have been ri- valry and feud for three long generations. When were children it abated fer a while, money syffered us we since your father lent mine, and that is why the side. |again and, not getting it, took the ferry, ther in the Blythburgh which I have always held a foolish and| |strife breeding deed, since from that jday forward the war was open. There- fore, Hugh, if we meet at all it must be in these frozen reeds or behind the cover of a thicket, like a village siut and her man.” “I know well enough, Eve, ihatv spoken with you but twice in nine t and h hungry eyes. ‘“But of that word jmonths |face w farewe ¥ t ill word, this, Hugh. I have a tor up yonder, a fine French suito & very great lord indeed, whose wealth, [ told, none can number. From his mother he has the Valley of the W. up to Bu new am town—aye, and beyond—and r a whole county in Norman ay from his fa d bann and with them ten squires and I know not how many men-at-arms. There is feasting yonder at the castle, I can tell you. E his train leaves us our te provender w be done and we'll have to drink small beer till the wine ships come, = in from Feance in sp¥ing. “And what Is this'lord’s name?” “God’s truth! he Has several,” she an- $ir BEdmund Acour in England, and in France the high and puissant Count vered But then they quar- 1 who' 2N he devoured her beautiful! / Five French knights ride behind his| T voice: they may drag you whither you would not walk.” 2 *No,” she answered, "I think I shall take some marrying against my wish. Moreover, T am Dunwich born.” *“What of that, Eve?” “Go ask your godsire and my friend Sir Andrew Arnold, the old priest. In the library of the Temple there he showed me an ancient roll, a copy of the charter granted by John and other kings of Eng- land to the citizens of Dunwich.” ~“What said this writing, Eve?* ~It said, among many other things, that no man or maid of Dunwich can be forced to marry against their will, even in the lifetime of their parents.” “But will it hold to-day?” «Aye, I think so. I think that Is wWhy the holy Sir Andrew showed it to me, knowlng something of our case, for he is my confessor when I can get to him.” “Then, sweet, you are safe!” exclaimed Hugh, with a sigh of rellef. “Aye, so safe that to-morrow Father Nicholas, the French chaplain in his train, has been warned to wed me to My Lord Acour—that iIs, if I am there to wed.” “And if this Acour is there T'll seek him out to-night and challenge him, Eve.” And Hugh laid his hand upon his sword. “Doubtless,” she replied sarcastically, «sir Edmund Acour, Count of\ Noyon, Seigneur of Cattrina, will find it honor to accept the challenge of Hugh de Cressl, the merchant’s youngest son. Oh, Hugh! Hugh! Are your wits frozen like this winter marsh? Not thus can you 3ave me.” The young man thought a while, staring atjthe ground and hiting lips. Then he looked up suddenly and safd:— “How much do you love me, Eve?” With a slow smile she opened her arms, and next moment they were kissing each ““A peewit, no.more," she answered In- differently. Nay, it is my man Di.k, calling like a Deewit. That's his sign when trouble is afoot. Ah! here he comes.” As he spoke a tall, gaunt man appeared, advancing toward them. His gait was a| shambling trot that seemed slow, although in truth he was covering the ground with extraordinary swiftness. Moreover, he moved so silently that even on the frost! held soil his step could not be heard, and so carefully that not a reed stirred as he threaded inh and out among their clumps like &n otter, his head crouched down and his long bow pointed before him as though it were a spear. Half a minute more and he was before them, a very strange man to see. His years were not so many, thirty perhaps, and vet his face looked |quite old because of its lack of coloring, its thinness and the hard lines that marked where the muscles ran down to the tight, straight mouth and up to the big forehead, over which hung hair so light that at a little distance he seemed ashen gray. in his cold, rocky face, set very far apart, were two pale blue eves, which, just now when he chose to lift their lids that gener- Only|denly ashamed. man: ally kept near together, as though he were tertIne? Two of the speakers appeared and! pulled up their horses near to them i i a dry hollow that lay between them) and thé river bank. Peeping through the reeds that grew about the mouth ol\‘v the earth-dwellir~, Eve saw them. : “My father and the Frenchman,” she! whispered. ‘“Look!” and she slid back a’ little so that Hugh might see. ' Peering through the stems of the! undergrowth, set as it were in a little frame against the red and omlnoul} sky, the eves of Hugh de Cressl felli upon Sir Edmund Acour, a gallant, ev-n‘ a splendid looking, knight—that was his first impression of him. Broad; shoulders, graceful, in age mneither, young mnor old, clean featured, quick| eyed, with a mobile mouth and a little,! square cut beard, soft and even languld’ voiced, black haired, richly dressed in! a fur robe and mounted on a fine black| horse—such was the man. Staring at him and remembering that he, too, loved Red Eve, Hugh grew sud- How could he, 8 mere| merchant’'s lad, compare himself with, this magnificent lord, this high bred,, titled favorite of courts and of! How/ could he rival him, hej half asléep, were full of fire and quick{who had never yet travelled a hundred ! N miles from the place where he was! cunning. Reaching the pair this strange fellow dropped to his knees and raised his cap to Eve, the great lady of the Claverings —Red Eve, as they called her through that country side. Then he spoke in a low, husky voice: “They're coming, master! You and your misiress must to earth unless you mean to face them in the open,” and 'the pale eves glittered as he tapped his great black bow. “Who are coming, Richard? Be plain, man.” other as heartily as ever man and maid have kissed since the world began; so te i | | | sped onward when at length she her lovely face was | indeed, that pushed him from her !red as the cloak she wore. “You know well that I love you, to my orrow and undoing,” she said in a broken “From childhood it has been so be- een us, and till the grave takes one or i both it will be so, and for my part beyond |it, 1f the priests speak true. For whatever {may be your case, I am not one to change |my fancy. When I give I give all, thouga {it be of little worth. In truth, Hugh, If { “Sir John Clavering, my lady's father; young John, my lady's brother; the fine JJM.N[ .« aveney | Hugh caught his foot in a willow root and fell, Eve and Gray Dick unknowing, |French Lord who wears a white swan for a crest; three of the knights, his companions, and six—no, seven—men at arms. Also from the other side the grieve, Thomas of Kessland, and with him his marsh men and verderers.” “And what are they coming for?” he lasked again. “Have they hounds and {hawk on wrist?” “Nay, but they have swords and Knife on thigh;” and he let his pale eyes fall on Eve. Oh, have done!” she broke in. “They born, save once when he sailed on a trading vovage to Calais? As well might a hooded crow try to match a peregrine that swooped to snatch away the dove beneath its claws. Yes, he was the gray crow, Eve was the dove whom he had captured, and yonder shifty eyed C-unt was the flest, fierce peregrine who soon woeuld tear out his heart and bear his quarry far away. Hugh shivered® a little as the thought struck him, not with fear for himself, but at the dread of that great and closs bereavement. The girl at his side felt the shiver, and her mind, quickened by love and peril, guessed its purport. She said] nothing, for words were dangerous:| only turned her beautiful face and, pressed her lips upon her lover’s hand., Tt was her message to him; thereby, as! he knew well, humble as he might be, she acknowledged him her lord forever. “I am with you,” said that kiss; “have no fear; in life or in death none shall divide us.” He looked at her with grate- ful eyes and would have spoken had she not placed her hand upon his mouth and pointed. Acour speaking in English, which he used with a strong French ac- cent. “Well, we do not find your beautiful runaway, Sir John, he said, in a clear: and cultivated voice, ‘and, although I! am not vain, for my part I cannot be-' lieve she has come to such a place as: this to meet a merchant's clerk—she who should company with kings." Yet I fear it is so, Sir Edmund,” an- swered Sir John Clavering, =& stout, dark man of middle age. “This girl of {m!ns is very heady, as I give warning was you will fird out when she is your wife. For years she has set her fanoy upon [Hugh de Cressi—yes, since they were boy and girl together, as I think—and while he lives I doubt she'll . ‘never change it.” “While he lives. Then why should he continue to live, Sir John?” asked the. Ceunt, indifferently. “Surely the world will not miss a chapman's boy.” “The De Cressis are my kin, although I kate them, Sir Edmund. Also they are rich and _powerful and have many |friends in high places. If this young jman died by my command it would start a blood feud of which none can tell {the end, for, after all, he is nobly born.” “Then, Sir John, he shall die by mine. {No; not at my own hands, since I do not fight with traders; but I have those| about me who are pretty swordsmea| !and know how to pick a quarrel. Be-, ltore a week is out there will be a fu- {neral in Dunwich.” “I know nothing of your men amd do. not want to hear of their quarrels, past jor future,” said Sir John, testily. “Of course not,” answered the Count. “I pray you, forget my words. Name) of God! what an accursed and ill omened spot is this! I feel as though I were, standing by my u grave; it came; |upon-me suddenly,” and he shivered’ jand turned pale. “To those who talk of death, death | o | | Hugh. of Noyon, and in Italy, near to the city of cculd I would marry you to-night, thougn N aniice tord iieral he has posses-| YOu are naught but a merchant’s lad,.or ame to him through his|even’—and she paused, wiping her eyes of Cat-|With the back of her slim, strong hand. | i too, sions which grandmother—the Seigneur rou,” “'So it is with me. he answered, trembling For you and trina. *And having so much, does he want you, | too, Eve? And if so, why?” “So he ank {no other woman I live and die, and though swears,”’ “and as for the reason, why, [ suppose'lf God keeps me in breath you shall not you must seek it in my tace, which by blush for your man, Eve. Well, ill fortune has pleased his lordship great at words, since first he saw {t a month ago. I am not let us come to deeds. At{W1ll you away with me now? I think that he has asked me in marriage, Father Arnold would find you lodging for er, who jumped at him like & {he nigh ter pike, and so I am betrothed.” | “And do you want him, Eve?” eI from the the least of my f 0 B t and an altar to be wed at, and '}‘n~m\)rraw our ship sails for Flanders and | for France.” want him as far as the sun is| .. n or the world from elther. in beneath the| - earth or anywhere away from me.” ; A VPRV HOESEds conld ot deepen the feud 3ol 7 : between our houses, which already has At these words a light shone in Hugh's! e ST Snos A L R HUSH'S 1o bottom, and if he refused we would e > ‘take one, for the captain is my fri “I'm glad of that, Ee, for I have neard o [i% (OF '1e (8Bl I8 my friend :h of this fine feilow—among other . . S ploToRReb st R : came to me from my mother.” things that he is a traitor come here to| ..o Tachi al spy on Dngland. But should T be al, 0080 FACL =00 said; match for nim, man to man, Eve?” he|." == asked after a little pause. £ She looked him up and down, answered:— “I think so, though he is no weakling; but not for him and the five knights and the ten squires, and my noble father and Ces, but would your father give us pas- m sage in it, Hugh?” I want him heaven or Il a woman Yet ther= T'll go because I am a fool, Hugh, men;and as it chances you are more to me than either, and I hate this fine Frenzh Jord. 1 tell you I sicken at his glance and shiver when he touches me. I'll go, though God only knows the end of it.” “'Our purpose being honest, the end will ¢ ' my br,?[ner and the rest. Oh, HughAVbe good, Eve, though perhaps before all SUEht’ SHS MR ey EALNDL TOU L Giiie e B30y Often think 16 GV b understand that you are but a mer- S now let's away, though I wish that you were dressed in another color.” “Red Eve they name me and red is my chant’s lad, though your blood be as noble as any in this realm—a merchant’s lad, the last of five brothers? Why were you mot born the first of them if you oy, wished for Eve Clavering, for then y red gold might have|bought me!” il not at my robe, Hugh, for it is tne OUr only dowry you will get with Eve Claver- !ing. How shall we go? By the Walbers- Ask that of those who begot me,” said wick ferry? You have no horses.” “Come, now, what's in your mind?| “Nay, I have a skiff hidden In the reeds You're not one to be s0ld like a heifer at five furlongs off. We must keep to the a faring and go whimpering to the altar,'heath above Walberswick, for there they 4nd 1 am not one to see you led there know your red cloak even after dark, ani while I stand upon We are']l would not have you seen tlll we are sate made of & clay too sUff for a French with Sir Arnuld in the Preceptory. Mother lord’s fingers, Eve, though it is true tuat'of Heaven! what is that?” my feet. she answered slowly,|I am so humble T'll be worthy of you vet. | | badge, because it suits my dark face best. | come to take me and T'll not be taken.{often draws near,” replied Clavering, ler o ey r® They come to kill you and I'll not see crossing himself, “though I find the placs I had words w“‘n‘;well enough, seeing the hour and season.” father this morning about the, “Do you, do you, Sir John? Leok at |Frenchman and, I fear, let out the!that sky; look at the river beneath; truth. He told me then that ere the|that has turned to blood. Hark to the Dunwich roses bloomed again she who howl of the wind in the reeds and the, loved you wouid have naught but bones|cry of the birds we cannot see. Avye, to kiss. Dick, you know the fen; where|and look at our shadows on the snow. can we hide till nightfall?” |Mine lies flat by a great hole, ana “Follow me,” said the man, “and keep|yours rising against yonder bank low.” {that of a hooded man with hollow eyes— | Plunging into the dense brake of|Death hinself as I should limn him! .one! What a fool am reeds, through which he glided like a There, it is polecat, Dick led them over ground on|or how strong i. that wine of yours. which save in times of hard frost mo|Shall we be going also?” could tread, toward the| *“Nay; here comes my son with tid- river bank. For two hundred paces or | ings. Well, Jack, have you found your {more they went thus, till, quite near to sister?” he added, addressing a {the lip of the stream, they came to a'and somewhat saturnine young man {patch of reeds higher and tiicker than|Who now rode up to them from over |the rest, in the centre of which was althe crest of the hollow. you slain and live. | my is man heading dark little mound hid in a tangle of scrub! ‘No, #ir, though we have beat the land rush Once, perhaps a hundred or mars!. through and through, so that a thousand years before, some old carce an otter could have escaped us. Imarsh dweller had lived upon this And yet she’s here, for Thomas of Kess- |mound or been buried in it. At any land caught sight of her red cloak irate, on its southern side, hidden by among the reeds, and, what's more, Ireeds and a withered willow, was a Hugh de Cressi is with her, and Gray/ |cavity, of which the mouth could not be ! Dick, too, for both were seen.” seen, that may once have been a cham.| “I am glad thc:e's a third,” said Sir {Bex o nie living or the dead. |John dryly, “though God save me from Rhrusting aside the growths thatjhis arrow This Gray Dick,” he added imasked it, Dick bade them enter and lie to ihe Count, “is a wild, homeless half- 'stilL i“'“' whom they cal' Hugh de Cressi's) | “None will find us here,” he said as shadow, but the finest wrcher in Suffolk,, he lifted up the reeds wvehind them, with Norfolk thrown in; one who can “unless they chance to have hounds, put a shaft through every button on iwhich I did not see. Hist! be still; your doublet at nhity paces—aye, and bring down wild geese on the wing {they come.” 1 twice out of four times, for I have seen {him do it with that black bow of his.” “Indeed! Ther 1 should like to ses Chapter II. The Fight by the River. |him shoot—at somebody else,” an- |swered Acour; for in those days such ':OR a while, Hugh and Eve heard| ;) wags of interest to all soldie nothing, for Gray Dick’s ears were|«17j]] Hugh de Cre: if you will, friend, sharper than theirs, quick as these|but spare Gray Dick; he might be use- About half a minute later,|ful.” might be }hu\\evcx' they caught the sound ofl —AYe Sir Edmund” broke in the : gyer, they £ he s i young juan turivusly, “1'll kil him if [ can horses’ hoofs ringlng on the hard earth| gtch him, the dog Who dares to briug 1scandal on my sister’s name. let the !saints but give me five minutes face (o {face with hln alone, with none tu help ‘either of us, and I'll beat him to « land hang whats left of him upo., nearest tree o be & warning i such puppies.” and the crackle of breaking reeds, fol- lowed by that of voices. i uly’ the, to alll This story wiil be continued exclySiv,ely in the New York Sundav Herald October 9.,