The place was cool and dusky, smelling faintly of incense and candle fumes. A great Crucifix hung above the Rood Loft, dimly discernible in the shadows overhead. The Pyx Light shone soft and red.
They looked round: saw the building empty. Disappointment fell cold to Peregrine’s heart. Aelred lifted a reassuring face.
“Anon she may come,” he whispered. “Shall we wait and pray.”
“Pray you an’ you will,” said Peregrine somewhat coldly, “I will bide here.”
He stood within the doorway, arms folded. He had no mind to bend the knee. Ancient memories were hotly astir within him. Age-old custom, or something stronger, called loudly to him: pride mocked at the call.
Aelred limped up the aisle; made for a bench on his right. Here he came to his knees, while Peregrine watched motionless. An’ she passed not him to enter, she must needs come by a small door by the Lady Chapel. His eyes for the most part on this, though now and again turning to the kneeling boy, he waited. The minutes passed leaden-footed. At length Aelred got up from his knees.
Very sick at heart, Peregrine came through the porch, and into the sunlight. There he awaited the boy. Aelred came towards him, his face radiant.
“You saw her!” he cried.
Peregrine stared. “I saw her!” he echoed dumbfounded.
“She came even as I knelt,” he said joyous. Then stopped, struck mute by the sight of the man’s face.