By the hearth a man was sitting reading from a large book propped on a stand before him. Behind him was a shelf holding bottles, crucibles, and other glass vessels, some containing dark shapes, exceeding unpleasant to look upon. On three pedestals stood three figures; Clotho, who according to the Ancients spins the Thread of Life; Lachesis, who sees to its guiding, and whom Menippus had taken for his patroness; Atropus, who cuts it when she and her sisters will. Peregrine looked at this last with interest. He fancied she had but lately had her shears in hand for him, frustrated only by her sister, Lachesis. In this thought he possibly shot pretty near the mark. Then he saw that Menippus had turned towards him, was surveying him gravely, the while one skinny finger kept the place in his book. “So you have come to yourself,” said Menippus. “I have evidently you to thank as my rescuer,” said Peregrine struggling to his elbow. “Lie still,” said Menippus briefly. “It is sometimes doubtful whether thanks are due in such a matter. On this occasion, however, believing that you owe them, I accept them from you. It were well that you rested for a time. I would, however, converse with you. What brought you hither?” “Foolishness,” said Peregrine very dryly. “There I take leave to differ from you,” remarked Menippus. “Curiosity or wisdom might have led you an’ you had come of set purpose. Believing neither to have had a hand in the matter, I see rather the guidance of my patroness Lachesis.” Turning he bowed towards one of the three figures. “Truly,” smiled Peregrine ruefully, “her sister had her shears ready to the thread.” “Ha! you recognize them. That is well. Yet, despite the guidance of Lachesis, I can fancy you imagined some guidance of your own?” “Rather the guidance of a myth I pursued to my own undoing,” said Peregrine. “There again I must make correction,” remarked Menippus very suavely. “Whatever myth you pursued, you pursued it to your advantage, since it led you hither.” “Have it your own way,” laughed Peregrine, “I am too weary to do combat with you.” Menippus took his finger out of the book and leaned back in his chair. He looked gravely at Peregrine. There was a note in the laughter which showed less respect than he considered his due. Briefly, his vanity, a tender commodity, was pricked. “Putting for the nonce,” he said, “laughter aside, I would have you speak more plainly. Show me shortly the myth you pursued.” Here was a slight air of command, which for a moment stung the Jester. The next, humour prevailed. He saw matter for amusement in the evident seriousness of the other. It was plain that he took himself by no means lightly. “Well,” quoth Peregrine, “since you desire brevity in the account you shall have it. I had a dream, a vision, call it what you will.” “What manner of vision?” demanded Menippus.