Chapter Seven.
In the cell of the Grey Lady.
“Blood must be my body’s balmer,—
While my soule, like peaceful palmer,
Travelleth toward the Land of Heaven,
Other balm will not be given.”
Sir Walter Raleigh.
Elaine tapped softly on the weatherbeaten door of the cell. It was merely hollowed out in the rock, and built up in front, with a low door and a very little window.
“Who is it?” asked a soft voice from within.
“Elaine and Annora,” replied the little girl.
“Come in, my children.”
Motioning Philippa to wait for her an instant, Elaine lifted the latch and entered, half closing the door behind her. Some low-toned conversation followed within the cell; and then Elaine opened the door, and asked Philippa to enter. The Grey Lady stood before her.
What she saw was a tall, slender, delicate figure, attired in dark grey. The figure alone was visible, for over the face the veil was drawn down. But Philippa’s own knowledge of aristocratic life told her in an instant that the reverence with which she was received was that of a high-born lady. It was plain that the eremitess was no peasant.
Elaine seemed to know that she was no longer wanted, and she drew Annora away. The children went dancing through the wood, and Philippa, desiring Lena and Oliver to await her pleasure, shut the door of the cell.