None warn you well as I.
The song died away. A figure moved to the window. Backed by brilliant light it made a dark patch in the square opening.
“Who sings warningly of love?” demanded a voice.
“I do,” said Peregrine through the darkness.
“And who are you, if one may be allowed the question?”
“A wanderer.”
“Truly one who has wandered to good purpose since he finds himself at so fair a goal. Wilt show yourself, Sir Wanderer?”
Peregrine stepped into the square of light cast upon the grass from the window. He saw looking out at him a big man clad in scarlet, somewhat full-bodied. His face, as well as Peregrine could see it against the light, was sufficiently humorous, with small twinkling eyes deep-set.
“What brought you hither?”
“Fate an’ it please you,” returned Peregrine. “Folly an’ it like you better.”