He stood within the doorway, arms folded. He had no mind to bend the knee. Ancient memories were hotly astir within him. Age-old custom, or something stronger, called loudly to him: pride mocked at the call. Aelred limped up the aisle; made for a bench on his right. Here he came to his knees, while Peregrine watched motionless. An’ she passed not him to enter, she must needs come by a small door by the Lady Chapel. His eyes for the most part on this, though now and again turning to the kneeling boy, he waited. The minutes passed leaden-footed. At length Aelred got up from his knees. Very sick at heart, Peregrine came through the porch, and into the sunlight. There he awaited the boy. Aelred came towards him, his face radiant. “You saw her!” he cried. Peregrine stared. “I saw her!” he echoed dumbfounded. “She came even as I knelt,” he said joyous. Then stopped, struck mute by the sight of the man’s face. “Ah, what is it?” he asked on a note almost piteous. “Bah!” laughed Peregrine mockingly. “I might have known it but a figment of the brain. Yet that a child should be deceived!” “What mean you?” asked Aelred trembling. “There was no one near you.” He shot forth the words bitterly. Then turning strode away. White-faced the boy looked after him. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XXVII THE RECLUSE AN’ you knew Greatoak Forest,—a vast place and well named by reason of its trees,—you might perchance have heard rumour of its recluse. Men spoke of him as a tall man, clad in a white woollen garment, feeding on roots and berries, and in league with mysterious powers. This was but half truth, as such rumours are like to be. That he was a tall man may be safely accorded; that he wore a white woollen garment fashioned after the manner of a sleeved cloak, and girt about the waist with a leathern belt, may be also accorded. Given these two matters, further rumour was not over accurate. Forest roots and berries he would have found poor sustenance for his muscular body. He gained better nourishment from the wheat and vegetables he grew in the ground around his cabin; from snared rabbits, dressed and seasoned with herbs and onions. At leaguing with mysterious powers he would have laughed frankly and very truly. Nature was the goddess he worshipped, and he saw in her an all-sufficient mistress.