Through the murmur of excitement that went round the chapter-house, PriorRobert’s voice rose in reverent triumph: “Father Abbot, we are beingguided! Our quest for a saint has drawn to us this sign of favour, in tokenthat we should persevere.”

“Winifred!” said the abbot doubtfully. “I do not recallclearly the story of this saint and martyr. There are so many of them in Wales.Certainly we ought to send Brother Columbanus to her holy spring, it would beingratitude to neglect so clear an omen. But exactly where is it to befound?”

Prior Robert looked round for the few Welshmen among the brothers, passedsomewhat hurriedly over Brother Cadfael, who had never been one of hisfavourites, perhaps by reason of a certain spark in his eye, as well as hisnotoriously worldly past, and lit gladly upon Old Brother Rhys, who wasvirtually senile but doctrinally safe, and had the capacious if capricious memoryof the very old. “Brother, can you tell us the history of this saint, andwhere her well is to be found?”

The old man was slow to realise that he had become the centre of attention.He was shrunken like a bird, and toothless, and used to a tolerant oblivion. Hebegan hesitantly, but warmed to the work as he found all eyes upon him.

“Saint Winifred, you say, Father? Everybody knows of Saint Winifred.You’ll find her spring by the name they gave the place, Holywell,it’s no great way in from Chester. But she’s not there. Youwon’t find her grave at Holywell.”

“Tell us about her,” coaxed Prior Robert, almost fawning in hiseagerness. “Tell us all her story.”

“Saint Winifred,” declaimed the old man, beginning to enjoy hishour of glory, “was the only child of a knight named Tevyth, who lived inthose parts when the princes were yet heathens. But this knight and all his