She nodded. “Listen. ’Tis my little brother who has spoken of her. Truly I have thought his words but imagining, since he is a dreamer and over-apt to fancies, at least so I have held. But more than once he has spoken of this woman, and in much the same words that you have given me. Once I thought ’twas the Blessed Virgin he had believed to see, but he assured me to the contrary. This woman, he avows, is purple-robed, her face white as jasmine flowers, and half hidden in a veil; her eyes, when she looks at you, are like moonlit lakes among mountains,—lakes unruffled by the least breath of wind. This is what my brother Aelred has told me.” “Then,” said Peregrine very firmly, “I will speak with Aelred.” Méllisande pointed to the right. “You will find him yonder, most like,” she said. “Follow the road through the village, bear upwards along a rocky path, and you will hear the sound of falling water. Make for the sound. A stream comes out of the rock near here, emptying itself into a cup-shaped hollow. ’Tis there where Aelred plays most often, or dreams rather, for he is not over-given to play, being somewhat crippled. Question him gently, and perchance he will tell you more. But he cares not to speak too freely of such matters, since men are apt to mock at him.” “I thank you well,” said Peregrine, and turned to go. “Not too fast,” cried Méllisande, “first you must have reward for your song. Hold out your cloak.” Peregrine, laughing, spread out his cloak as bidden. She tossed apples to him till he vowed he could carry no more. Bestowing them about his person, he gave merry thanks. “Farewell, orchard egoist,” he said, “perchance we meet again.” “Who knows!” she nodded. “Fare you well.” She saw him depart light-footed. Once again she turned singing to her apples. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XXVI AELRED’S BELIEF THE sound of falling water caught on Peregrine’s ear as he came to the foot of the small ravine. It was but a faint musical tinkle, since rain had been scarce during the past weeks. His way led him up a narrow pathway, somewhat rough, and steep-rocked on either side. The rocks were covered with stonecrop, a mass of white and yellow flowers earlier in the year; now merely small succulent leaves remained. Here and there grew patches of heather, its flowers likewise gone; only an occasional purple spray lingered among the withered brownness. The sun beat warmly on the path, falling very straight between the rocks.