He made a sign with his hand, and the birds went wheeling in circles above him. The dog crept up and thrust his snout into the old man's palm. The garden lay above them, ripe with an autumn mellowness; yet there was no regret though winter would soon be piping, and the man's hair was grey. "What think you of life?" said Igraine. "You should know, sister, as well as I." "But you see, father, I am not a nun,--only a novice." He stared at her a moment with a slight smile. "Remain a novice," he said. "You advise me so!" "Why subordinate your soul to chains forged of men." "These seem strange words." He patted his dog's head, and, half stooping, looked at her with keen grey eyes. "Have you ever loved a man?" "Yes," she said, with a clear laugh and a slight colour. "Is he worthy?" "I believe him a noble soul." "Naturally." "He ran away and left me because he thought I was a nun." The hermit applauded. "That sounds like honour," he said critically. "I am seeking him to tell him the truth." "And I will pray that you may soon meet," said the old man, "for there is nothing like the love of a good man for a clean maid. If I had married a true woman, I should never have taken to the scourge or the stone bed. Marry wisely and you are halfway to Heaven." They broke fast that morning in the garden, it being the man's custom to make his meals on the granite slab that served him as a bed. The little dale looked very green and gracious in the tranquil light, with its curling brook and dark barriers of trees. Igraine, as she sat on the great stone and ate the hermit's bread, followed the brook with her thoughts, wondering whether it became the stream that ran through Eudol's meadows. She was for Sarum that day, where she would throw off her grey habit and take some dress more likely to baffle Gorlois. She had enough money in her purse. Worldling again, she could give herself to winning sight of this Uther, and to learning whether he was the Pelleas she sought or no. As she sat and fingered her bread, something she saw down the dale made her rigid and still as a priestess smitten with the vision of a god in some heathen oratory. Her eyes were very wide, her lips open and very white, her whole air as of one watching in a sudden stupor of awe. Another moment and she had broken from the mood like a torrent from a cavern. With eyes suddenly amber bright, she touched the hermit's hand and pointed down the dale, gave him a word or so, then left him and ran down the hill.