“I must onward,” said Peregrine. “Still mad,” grumbled Simon. “You must eat first.” He produced more bread and honeycomb. They mealed in silence. The meal ended, Peregrine got to his feet. “An’ gratitude were substantial reward,” he said, “you were very substantially rewarded. ’Tis all I have to offer.” “’Tis rare enough to be appreciated,” said Simon very grim. Peregrine laughed. “I bid you adieu,” he said. He had got to the door when Simon came beside him. “An’ you would find her you seek,” he said, “seek her in death’s chamber. She closes the eyes of the dead.” “What mean you?” asked Peregrine. “You speak in parable.” “No parable; in very truth. She has passed through this village more than once.” “You have seen her, and yet you term me mad,” cried Peregrine. Simon laughed. “I have spoken,” he said, and turned within the hovel. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XVI ILLUSION THE sun was not yet risen when Peregrine left the cottage. To the west, behind the hills, the sky glowed faintly luminous. Around him the valley lay yet in dusk, through which the trees and bushes reared ghostly arms, white-shrouded, very spectre-like. The air was alive with an intense purity, exceeding still, yet vital. Away to the right, beyond the church, he saw a square building. A cross crowning it at one end, he judged it the retreat of holy men or women,—monks or nuns. Through the narrow slits of windows came the gleam of pale candlelight, showing the occupants of the building already astir, busy with _Ave_ or _Paternoster_, possibly kneeling devout at Mass. Even as he looked a bell rang out, its clear tone piercing the silence. Habit caused him to bow his head. The action was involuntary; he had done with such matters long since, or fancied to have done with them. In either case it comes to the same for the time being. We need not be nice as to the interpolation of a word. Turning to the south he took the road towards the opening between the hills. It lay, very smoothly white, between a snow-shrouded wall on the one side, and a fence on the other. Now he noticed a single line of footprints in the snow, small and clear, passing on before him. His imagination fired on the instant, he followed in their wake. They led him clean through the village to a pine wood on its outskirts, beyond which lay the route between the hills. The sun was up by the time he reached its edge, gilding the western sky, flooding the earth with its beams. Following the footsteps he entered the wood, found himself caught in its mystic silence. Here was the brooding stillness, the peace of some vast cathedral. Between the aisles of the pine trees the chequered light straggled but a little way. This emphasized the solitude. The soul of the place seemed withdrawn from sensible light and warmth into a great silence.