“Oh!” Méllisande opened dark eyes, braced herself against the ladder. “Tell me more,” said she interested.
“There is little enough to tell,” returned Peregrine, “and that being so, the quest appears the more mad.”
Briefly he gave her the history of the past months, eliminating matter he held undesirable to repeat. She listened, gravely intent.
“I have heard tell of the woman,” she said as he came to an end of the story, “veiled, and with quiet eyes.”
“You have heard tell of her!” cried Peregrine.
She nodded. “Listen. ’Tis my little brother who has spoken of her. Truly I have thought his words but imagining, since he is a dreamer and over-apt to fancies, at least so I have held. But more than once he has spoken of this woman, and in much the same words that you have given me. Once I thought ’twas the Blessed Virgin he had believed to see, but he assured me to the contrary. This woman, he avows, is purple-robed, her face white as jasmine flowers, and half hidden in a veil; her eyes, when she looks at you, are like moonlit lakes among mountains,—lakes unruffled by the least breath of wind. This is what my brother Aelred has told me.”
“Then,” said Peregrine very firmly, “I will speak with Aelred.”
Méllisande pointed to the right.
“You will find him yonder, most like,” she said. “Follow the road through the village, bear upwards along a rocky path, and you will hear the sound of falling water. Make for the sound. A stream comes out of the rock near here, emptying itself into a cup-shaped hollow. ’Tis there where Aelred plays most often, or dreams rather, for he is not over-given to play, being somewhat crippled. Question him gently, and perchance he will tell you more. But he cares not to speak too freely of such matters, since men are apt to mock at him.”
“I thank you well,” said Peregrine, and turned to go.