"Your dreams are distraught," she said; "it is your wound, Pelleas. In faith we should need the great Merlin for such a vision."
"Ah," said he, "I can read you the riddle, Igraine. Our barge lies by the land bank ready for any foe. That is where the dream touches us."
Igraine brought him a bowl of crushed bread and fruit, and made as though to feed him.
"Never worry," she said; "the barge is moored safe at the stage."
Pelleas put the bowl aside with one hand, and stared at her from his pillows.
"Did the barge swim the mere of herself," quoth he, "and anchor for us so fairly?"
Igraine went red of a sudden, and looked at her knees.
"Sooth, Pelleas," she said, "I must have been the dragon of your dream; God pardon me."
"I never knew I seemed so fearful a creature."
He half rose on his pillows in his enthusiasm. Igraine put him gently back, and took up the bowl of bread and fruit.
"That will do, my dear Pelleas," she said; "now just lie still and have your breakfast."
What boots it to chronicle at length their sojourn in the island manor. Twelve days Igraine nursed the man there, giving all her heart for service, tending him from sunrise to the fall of night. She seemed to have no other joy than to sit and talk to him, to make music with voice and hand, to keep his couch posied round with flowers. On waking Pelleas would find her by him, fresh as the dawn and full of a golden tenderness; at night his eyes closed upon her gracious figure as she sat in the gloaming and sang. She was near to hear his voice, quick to see his needs and to remedy them with soft hands and softer looks. The very atmosphere about the man seemed touched and mellowed by her, and the hours seemed to trip to the measure of a golden rhyme.
Pelleas mended very rapidly under her care. His wound, sweet and innocent, gave him no trouble save some slight feverishness on the third day. The sixth morning found him so stalwart of temper that Igraine consented to his leaving bed for a morning provided he obeyed her to the letter. His first steps were taken in the atrium with Igraine's arm about his waist, and his upon her shoulders. So well did he bear himself that the girl led him to the chapel, and there side by side on the altar steps they winged up their devotion to heaven. Igraine's prayers, be it known, were all for love; Pelleas's for the threatening shadows over his own soul.