"The choice lies in your hand," said the priest. "It is for you to decide."

As he spoke they came in front of a fair-showing tower and manor-house, where were knights and ladies, who welcomed Bors warmly. When he was disarmed there was brought him a mantle furred with ermine. Then he was led to the company of knights and ladies, who received him so gladly, and did so much to make his stay pleasant, that all thoughts of his brother Lionel and of the danger of Lancelot were driven from his mind.

As they stood in gay converse there came out of a chamber a lady whom Bors had not before seen, and whose beauty was such that he felt he had never beheld so lovely a face, while her dress was richer than Queen Guenever had ever worn.

"Here, Sir Bors," said those present, "is the lady to whom we all owe service. Richer and fairer lady the world holds not, and she loves you above all other knights, and will have no knight but you."

On hearing this, Bors stood abashed. This, then, he thought, was the white bird of his dream. Her love he must return or lose Lancelot,—so fate had spoken.

As he stood deeply thinking, the lady came up and saluted him, taking his hand in hers, and bidding him sit beside her, while her deep eyes rested upon him with looks that made his soul tremble. Never had he gazed into such eyes before.

Then she spoke of many things, luring him into pleasant conversation, in which he forgot his fears, and began to take delight in her presence. At the end she told him how deeply and how long she had loved him, and begged him to return her love, saying that she could make him richer than ever was man of his age.

These words brought back all his trouble of soul. How to answer the lady he knew not, for his vow of chastity was too deep to be lightly broken.

"Alas!" she said, "must I plead for your love in vain?"

"Madam," said Bors, "I cannot think of earthly ties and delights while my brother lies dead, and awaits the rites of the Church."

"I have loved you long," she repeated, "both for your beauty of body and soul, and the high renown you have achieved. Now that chance has brought you to my home, think not ill of me if I let you not go without telling my love, and beseeching you to return it."

"That I cannot do," said Bors.

At these words she fell into the deepest sorrow, while tears flowed from her beautiful eyes.

"You will kill me by your coldness," she bewailed. Then she took him by the hand and bade him look upon her. "Am I not fair and lovely, and worthy the love of the best of knights? Alas! since you will not love me, you shall see me die of despair before your eyes."

"That I do not fear to see," he replied.

"You shall see it within this hour," she said, sadly.

Then she left him, and, taking with her twelve of her ladies, mounted to the highest battlement of the tower, while Bors was led to the court-yard below.

"Ah, Sir Bors, gentle knight, have pity on us!" cried one of the ladies. "We shall all die if you are cruel to our lady, for she vows that she and all of us shall fall from this tower if you disdain her proffered love."

Bors looked up, and his heart melted with pity, to see so many fair faces looking beseechingly down upon him, while tears seemed to rain from their eyes. Yet he was steadfast of heart, for he felt that he could not lose his soul to save their lives, and his vow of chastity in the quest of the Sangreal was not to be broken for the delights of earthly love.

As he stood, some of the maidens flung themselves from the tower, and lay dead and bleeding at his feet, while above he saw the fair face of the lady looking down, as she stood balanced on the battlement, like a fair leaf that the next wind would sweep to certain death.

"God help me and guide me!" cried Bors in horror. "What shall I do? Here earthly endurance is too weak; I must put my trust in heaven." And he made the sign of the cross on his forehead and his breast.

Then came a marvel indeed. A roar was heard as if thunder had rent the sky, and a cry as if all the fiends of hell were about him. For the moment he closed his eyes, stunned by the uproar. When he opened them again all had gone,—the tower, the lady, the knights, and the chapel where he had placed his brother's body,—and he stood in the road, armed and mounted, while only a broad, empty plain spread before him.

Then he held up his hands to heaven and cried fervently: "Father and Creator, from what have I escaped! It is the foul fiend in the likeness of a beautiful woman who has tempted me. Only the sign of the holy cross has saved me from perdition."

Putting spurs to his horse he rode furiously away, burning with anxiety to get from that accursed place, and deeply glad at his escape. As he proceeded a loud clock-bell sounded to the right, and turning thither he came to a high wall, over which he saw the pinnacles of an abbey.

Here he asked shelter for the night, and was received with a warm welcome, for those within deemed he was one of the knights that sought the Sangreal. When morning came he heard mass, and then the abbot came and bade him good-morning. A conversation followed, in which he told the abbot all that had happened to him, and begged his interpretation thereof.

"Truly you are strong in the service of the Lord," said the abbot, "and are held for great deeds. Thus I interpret your adventures and visions. The great fowl that fed its young with its own blood is an emblem of Christ, who shed his blood for the good of mankind. And the bare tree on which it sat signifies the world, which of itself is barren and without fruit. Also King Aniause betokens Jesus Christ, and the lady for whom you took the battle the new law of Holy Church; while the older lady is the emblem of the old law and the fiend, which forever war against the Church.

"By the black bird also was emblemed the Holy Church, which saith, 'I am black but he is fair.' The white bird represented the fiend, which, like hypocrisy, is white without and foul within. As for the rotten chair and the white lilies, the first was thy brother Lionel, who is a murderer and an untrue knight; while the lilies were the knight and the lady. The one drew near to the other to dishonor her, but you forced them to part. And you would have been in great peril had you, for the rescue of a rotten tree, suffered those two flowers to perish; for if they had sinned together they had both been damned.

"The seeming man of religion, who blamed you for leaving your brother to rescue a lady, was the foul fiend himself. Your brother was not slain, as he made it appear, but is still alive. For the corpse, and the chapel, and the tower were all devices of the evil one, and the lady who offered her love was the fiend himself in that showing. He knew you were tender-hearted, and he did all. Much you may thank God that you withstood his temptation, and that until now you have come through all your adventures pure and unblemished."

This gladdened the heart of the virtuous knight, and a warm hope of winning the Sangreal arose in his soul. Much more passed between them, and when Bors rode forth it was with the fervent blessing of the holy abbot.

On the morning of the second day Bors saw before him a castle that rose in a green valley, and met with a yeoman, whom he stopped and asked what was going on in that country.

"Sir knight," he answered, "there is to be held a great tournament before that castle."

"By what people?" asked Bors.

"The Earl of Plains," was the answer, "leads one party, and the nephew of the Lady of Hervin the other."

With this the yeoman rode on, and Bors kept on his course, thinking he might meet Lionel or some other of his old comrades at the tournament. At length he turned aside to a hermitage that stood at the entrance to the forest. And to his surprise and joy he saw his brother Lionel sitting armed at the chapel door, waiting there to take part in the tournament the next morning.

Springing from his horse, Bors ran up gladly, crying, "Dear brother, happy is this meeting!"

"Come not near me!" cried Lionel, leaping to his feet in a burst of fury. "False recreant, you left me in peril of death to help a yelping woman, and by my knightly vow you shall pay dearly for it. Keep from me, traitor, and defend yourself. You or I shall die for this."

On seeing his brother in such wrath Bors kneeled beseechingly before him, holding up his hands, and praying for pardon and forgiveness.

"Never!" said Lionel. "I vow to God to punish you for your treachery. You have lived long enough for a dog and traitor."

Then he strode wrathfully away, and came back soon, mounted and with spear in hand.

"Bors de Ganis," he cried, "defend yourself, for I hold you as a felon and traitor, and the untruest knight that ever came from so worthy a house as ours. Mount and fight. If you will not, I will run on you as you stand there on foot. The shame shall be mine and the harm yours; but of that shame I reck naught."

When Bors saw that he must fight with his brother or die he knew not what to do. Again he kneeled and begged forgiveness, in view of the love that ought to be between brothers.

But the fiend that sought his overthrow had put such fury into Lionel's heart that nothing could turn him from his wrathful purpose. And when he saw that Bors would not mount, he spurred his horse upon him and rode over him, hurting him so with his horse's hoofs that he swooned with the pain. Then Lionel sprang from his horse and rushed upon him sword in hand to strike off his head.

At this critical moment the hermit, who was a man of great age, came running out, and threw himself protectingly on the fallen knight.

"Gentle sir," he cried to Lionel, "have mercy on me and on thy brother, who is one of the worthiest knights in the world. If you slay him, you will lose your soul."

"Sir priest," said Lionel, sternly, "if you leave not I shall slay you, and him after you."

"Slay me if you will, but spare your brother, for my death would not do half so much harm as his."

"Have it, then, meddler, if you will!" cried Lionel, and he struck the hermit a blow with his sword that stretched him dead on the ground.

Then, with unquenched anger, he tore loose the lacings of his brother's helmet, and would have killed him on the spot but for a fortunate chance.

As it happened, Colgrevance, a fellow of the Round Table, rode up at that moment, and wondered when he saw the hermit dead, and Lionel about to slay his brother, whom he greatly loved.

Leaping hastily to the ground, he caught the furious knight by the shoulders and drew him strongly backward.

"What would you do?" he cried. "Madman, would you kill your brother, the worthiest knight of our brotherhood? And are you so lost to honor as to slay any knight thus lying insensible?"

"Will you hinder me?" asked Lionel, turning in rage. "Back, sirrah, or I shall slay you first and him afterwards."

"Why seek you to slay him?"

"He has richly deserved it, and die he shall, whoever says the contrary."

Then he ran upon Bors and raised his sword to strike him on the head. But Colgrevance pushed between them and thrust him fiercely backward.

"Off, you murderer!" he cried. "If you are so hot for blood you must have mine first."

"Who are you?" demanded Lionel.

"I am Colgrevance, one of your fellows. Round Table Knights should be brothers, not foes, but I would challenge King Arthur himself in this quarrel."

"Defend yourself, meddler," cried Lionel, rushing upon him and striking him fiercely on the helm with his sword.

"That shall I," rejoined Colgrevance, attacking him in turn.

Then a hot battle began, for Colgrevance was a good knight, and defended himself manfully.

While the fight went on Bors recovered his senses, and saw with a sad heart Colgrevance defending him against his brother. He strove to rise and part them, but his hurts were such that he could not stand on his feet. And thus he sat watching the combat till he saw that Colgrevance had the worst, for Lionel had wounded him sorely, and he had lost so much blood that he could barely stand.

At this juncture he saw Bors, who sat watching them in deep anguish.

"Bors," he cried, "I am fighting to succor you. Will you sit there and see me perish?"

"You both shall die," cried Lionel, furiously. "You shall pay the penalty of your meddling, and he of his treason."

Hearing this, Bors rose with aching limbs, and painfully put on his helm. Colgrevance again called to him in anguish,—

"Help me, Bors! I can stand no longer. Will you let me die without lifting your hand?"

At this moment Lionel smote the helm from his head, and then with another fierce blow stretched him dead and bleeding upon the earth.

This murderous deed done, he ran on Bors with the passion of a fiend, and dealt him a blow that made him stoop.

"For God's love leave me!" cried Bors. "If I slay you or you me, we will both be dead of that sin."

"May God never help me if I take mercy on you, if I have the better hand," cried Lionel, in reply.

Then Bors drew his sword, though his eyes were wet with tears.

"Fair brother," he said, "God knows my heart. You have done evil enough this day, in slaying a holy priest and one of our own brotherhood of knights. I fear you not, but I dread the wrath of God, for this is an unnatural battle which you force upon me. May God have mercy upon me, since I must defend my life against my brother."

Saying this, Bors raised his sword and advanced upon Lionel, who stood before him with the wrath of a fury.

Then would have been a most unholy battle, had not God come to the rescue. For as they thus stood defiant a voice came to them from the air, which said,—

"Flee, Bors, and touch him not, for if you do, you will surely slay him."

And between them descended a cloud that gleamed like fire, and from which issued a marvellous flame that burned both their shields to a cinder. They were both so affrighted that they fell to the earth, and lay there long in a swoon.

When they came to themselves Bors saw that his brother had received no harm. For this he thanked God, for he feared that heaven's vengeance had fallen upon him. Then came the voice again.

"Bors," it said, "go hence, and bear thy brother company no longer. Take thy way to the sea where Percivale awaiteth thee."

"Forgive me, brother," said Bors, "for what I have done against you."

"God has forgiven you, and I must," said Lionel. "It was the foul fiend that filled my soul with fury, and much harm has come of it."

Then Bors rode away, leaving Lionel in the company of those whom he had slain, and took the most direct road towards the sea.

At length he came to an abbey that was near the water-side. And at midnight as he rested there he was roused from his sleep by a voice, that bade him leave his bed and ride onward.

He started up at this, and made the sign of the cross on his forehead; then took his harness and horse, and rode out at a broken place in the abbey wall. An hour or so brought him to the water-side, and on the strand there lay awaiting him a ship all covered with white samite. Bors alighted, and leaving his horse on the stand entered the ship, commending himself to Christ's fostering care.

Hardly had he done so before the sails spread, as of themselves, and the vessel set out to sea so fast that it seemed to fly. But it was still dark night, and he saw no one about him. So he lay down and slept till day.

When he awaked he saw a knight lying in the middle of the deck, all armed but the helm. A glance told him that it was Percivale de Galis, and he sprang towards him with joy. But Percivale drew back, asking him who he was.

"Know you me not?" asked Bors.

"I do not. But I marvel how you came hither, unless brought by our Lord himself."

Then Bors took off his helm and smiled. Great was Percivale's joy when he recognized him, and long did they converse in gladness, telling each other their adventures and temptations.

And so they went far over the sea, the ship taking them they knew not whither, yet each comforted the other, and daily they prayed for God's grace.

"Now, that we two are together," said Percivale, "we lack nothing but Galahad, the best of knights."

CHAPTER VI.

THE ADVENTURE OF THE MAGIC SHIP.

After Galahad had rescued Percivale from the twenty knights, he rode into a vast forest, through which he journeyed for many days, meeting there many strange adventures. Then fortune took him past a castle where a tournament was in progress, and where the men of the castle had so much the worse of it that they were driven back to their gates, and some of them slain. Seeing this, Galahad rode to the aid of the weaker party, and did marvellous deeds of arms, soon aiding them to drive back their foes.

As it happened, Gawaine and Hector de Maris were with the outer party, and when they beheld the white shield with the red cross, they said to one another,—

"That hewer of helms and shields is Galahad, none less. We should be fools to meet him face to face."

Yet Gawaine did not escape, for Galahad came at full career upon him, and gave him such a blow that his helm was cleft, and so would his head have been but that the sword slanted, and cut the shoulder of his horse deeply.

Seeing Gawaine thus dealt with, Hector drew back, not deeming it wise to meet such a champion, nor the part of nature to fight with his nephew. Galahad continued his onset till he had beaten down all the knights opposed to him. Then, seeing that none would face him, he turned and rode away as he had come, none knowing whither he, who had come upon them with the suddenness of a thunder-clap, had gone.

"Lancelot du Lake told no less than the truth," declared Gawaine, bitterly, "when he said that, for seeking to draw the sword from the stone, I would get a sore wound from that same blade. In faith, I would not for the best castle in the world have had such a buffet."

"Your quest is done, it seems," said Hector.

"As for that, it was done before. You can still seek the Sangreal if you will, but I shall seek my bed; and I fear I shall stay there much longer than I care to."

Then he was borne into the castle, where a leech was found for him, while Hector remained with him, vowing he would not leave till his comrade was well.

Meanwhile Galahad rode on, leaving many a groan and more than one sore head behind him, and at night reached a hermitage near the castle of Carbonek. Here he was welcomed by the hermit; but late at night, when they were asleep, a loud knock came on the door, which roused the host. Going to see who knocked at that untimely hour, he found a lady at the door, who said,—

"Ulfin, rouse the knight who is with you. I must speak with him."

This he did, and Galahad went to the door, and asked her what she wished.

"Galahad," she replied, "I am sent here to seek you. You must arm and mount your horse at once, and follow me. Within three days I shall bring you to the greatest adventure that ever knight met."

Without further question Galahad obeyed, and, having commended himself to God, he bade his fair guide to lead, and he would follow wherever she wished.

Onward they rode during the remainder of the night and the next day, till they came to a castle not far from the sea, where Galahad was warmly welcomed, for the damsel who guided him had been sent by the lady of that castle.

"Madam," said the damsel, "shall he stay here all night?"

"No," she replied; "only until he has dined, and has slept a little. He must ride on until destiny is accomplished."

So at early nightfall Galahad was called and helped to arm by torchlight. Then he and the damsel again took horse, and rode on at speed till they suddenly found themselves at the ocean's brink, with the waves breaking at their feet. And here lay a ship covered with white samite, from which manly voices cried,—

"Welcome, Sir Galahad. We have long awaited you. Come on board."

"What means this?" asked Galahad of the damsel. "Who are they that call?"

"No others than your friends and comrades, Sir Bors and Sir Percivale. Here you must leave your horse, and I mine, and both of us enter the ship, for so God commands."

This they did, taking their saddles and bridles with them, and making on them the sign of the cross. When they had entered the ship the two knights received them with great joy. And as they stood greeting each other the wind suddenly rose and drove the ship from the land, forcing it through the waves at a marvellous speed.

"Whence comes this ship?" asked Galahad.

Then Bors and Percivale told him of their adventures and temptations, and by what miracles they had been brought on board that vessel.

"Truly," said Galahad, "God has aided you marvellously. As for me, had it not been for the lady who led me, I should never have found you."

"If Lancelot, your father, were but here," said Bors, "then it would seem to me that we had all that heart could wish."

"That may not be," answered Galahad, "unless by the pleasure of our Lord."

As they conversed the ship suddenly ran between two rocks, where it held fast, but where they could not land for the raging of the sea. But just before them lay another ship, which they could reach without danger.

"Thither we must go," said the lady, "and there we shall find strange things, for such is the Lord's will."

At this they approached the ship, and saw that it was richly provided, but without man or woman on board. And on its bow there was written in large letters,—

"You who shall enter this ship, take heed of your belief: for I am Faith, and bid you beware. If you fail I shall not help you. He who enters here must be of pure heart and earnest trust."

They stood looking earnestly at one another after having read these words.

"Percivale," said the lady, "know you who I am?"

"I do not," he replied. "Have I ever seen you before?"

"Know, then, that I am your sister, the daughter of King Pellinore. I love no man on earth as I do you. I warn you, therefore, not to enter this ship unless you have perfect belief in our Lord Jesus Christ, for if your faith fails you aught here you shall perish."

"Fair sister," he replied, "happy am I, indeed, to know you. As for the ship, I shall not fail to enter it. If I prove an untrue knight or a misbeliever, then let me perish."

As they spoke, Galahad blessed himself and entered the ship, and after him came the lady, and then Bors and Percivale. On reaching the deck they found it so marvellously fair and rich that they stood in wonder. In the midst of the ship was a noble bed; and when Galahad went thither he found on it a crown of silk. Below this lay a sword, half drawn from its scabbard, the pommel being of stone of many colors. The scales of the haft were of the ribs of two beasts. One beast was a serpent, known in Calidone as the serpent of the fiend; and its bone had the magic virtue that the hand which touched it should never be weary or hurt. The other beast was a fish, that haunted the flood of Euphrates, its name Ertanax; its bone had the virtue that he who handled it should not think on the joys and sorrows of his past life, but only of that which he then beheld. And no man could grasp this sword but the one who passed all others in might and virtue.

"In the name of God," said Percivale, "I shall seek to handle it."

But in vain he tried, he could not grasp the magic hilt. No more could Bors, who attempted it in his turn. Then Galahad approached, and as he did so saw written on the sword in letters like blood, "He who draweth me has peril to endure. His body shall meet with shame, for he shall be wounded to the death."

"By my faith, the risk is too great," said Galahad. "I shall not set my hand to so fatal a blade."

"That you must," said the lady. "The drawing of this sword is forbidden to all men, save you. No one can draw back from that which destiny commands."

Then she told a marvellous story of that strange blade.

"When this ship arrived in the realm of England," she said, "there was deadly war between King Labor and King Hurlame, who was a christened Saracen. Here they fought one day by the sea-side, and Hurlame was defeated and his men slain. Then he fled into this ship, drew the sword which he saw here, and with one stroke smote King Labor and his horse in twain. But a fatal stroke it proved, for with it there came harm and pestilence to all this realm. Neither corn nor grass would grow, fruit failed to ripen, the waters held no fish, and men named this the waste land of the two marches. Nor did King Hurlame escape. When he saw the strange carving of the sword, a craving came into his mind to possess the scabbard. Entering the ship for that purpose, he thrust the sword into the sheath; but no sooner had he done so than he fell dead beside the bed. And there his body lay till a maiden entered the ship and cast it out, for no man could be found hardy enough to set foot on that fatal deck."

The three knights on hearing this looked earnestly at the scabbard, which seemed to them made of serpent's skin, while on it was writing in letters of gold and silver. But the girdle was poor and mean, and ill suited to so rich a sword. The writing was to this effect: "He who shall wield me must be hardy of nature. Nor shall he ever be shamed while he is girt with this girdle; which must never be put away except by the hands of a maiden and a king's daughter. And she, if she shall ever cease to be a maid, shall die the most villanous death that woman ever endured."

"Turn the sword," said Percivale, "that we may see what is on the other side."

On doing so they found it red as blood, with coal-black letters, which said: "He that shall praise me most shall find me most to fail him in time of great need; and to whom I should be most fair shall I prove most foul. Thus is it ordained."

Then Percivale's sister told them the history of the sword, which was a very strange and admirable thing to hear. More than once had it been drawn in modern times; once by Nancien, who afterwards became a hermit, and in whose hands the sword fell in half, and sorely wounded him in the foot. Afterwards it was drawn by King Pellam, and it was for this boldness that he was destined to be deeply wounded by the spear with which Balin afterwards struck him.

The knights now observed the bed more closely, and saw that above its head there hung two swords. With them were three strange spindles, one of which was white as snow, one red as blood, and one as green as emerald. As they gazed at them with curious wonder, the damsel told a strange story of the surprising things they had gazed upon. And thus her story ran.

When mother Eve gathered the fruit for which Adam and she were put out of Paradise, she took with her the bough on which the apple grew. As it kept fair and green, and she had no coffer in which to keep it, she thrust it in the earth, where, by God's will, it took root, and soon grew to a great tree, whose branches and leaves were as white as milk. But afterwards, at the time of Abel's birth, it became grass-green. It was under this tree that Cain slew Abel, and then it quickly lost its green color, and grew red as blood. So it lived and thrived, and was in full life when Solomon, the wise king, came to the throne.

It came to pass that, as Solomon studied over many things, and, above all, despised women in his heart and in his writings, a voice came which told him that of his line would be born the Virgin Mary, the purest and noblest of human kind, and that afterwards would come a man, the last of his blood, as pure in mind as a young maiden, and as good a knight as Joshua of Israel. This revelation he told to his wife, who had questioned him as to the reason of his deep study.

"Sir," she said, "since this knight is to come, it is our duty to prepare for him. Therefore, I shall first have made a ship of the best and most durable wood that man may find."

This was done by Solomon's command. When the ship was built and ready to sail, she made a covering for it of cloth of silk, of such quality that no weather could rot it. And in the midst she placed a great bed, of marvellously rich workmanship, and covered with silk of the finest texture.

"Now, my dear lord," she said to Solomon, "since this last knight of your lineage is to pass in valor and renown all other knights that have been before or shall come after him, therefore I counsel you to go into the Temple of the Lord, where is the sword of the great King David, your father, which is of magic temper and virtue. Take off the pommel of this sword and make one of precious stones, skilfully wrought. And make a hilt and sheath of great richness and beauty. As for the girdle, leave that to me to provide."

Solomon did as she advised, and she took the sword and laid it in the bed; but when he looked at it he grew angry, for the girdle was meanly made of hemp.

"I have nothing," she said, "fit to make a girdle worthy of such a sword. But when the time comes a maiden will change this for a girdle worthy of him that is to wear it."

This done, she went with a carpenter to the tree under which Abel was slain.

"Carve me from this tree as much wood as will make me a spindle," she said.

"Ah, madam," said he, "I dare not cut the tree which our first mother planted."

"Do as you are bidden," she ordered. "Dare not disobey me."

But as he began to cut the tree drops of blood flowed out. Then he would have fled, but she made him cut sufficient to form a spindle. Next she went to the green and the white trees, which had grown from the roots of the other, and bade him cut as much from each of these. From this wood were three spindles wrought, which she hung up at the head of the bed.

"You have done marvellously well," said Solomon, on seeing this. "Wonderful things, I deem, shall come of all this, more than you yourself dream of."

"Some of these things you shall soon know," she answered.

That night Solomon lay near the ship, and as he slept he dreamed. There came from heaven, as it seemed to him, a great company of angels, who alighted in the ship, and took water that was brought by an angel in a vessel of silver, and sprinkled it everywhere. Then the angel came to the sword and drew letters on the hilt, and on the ship's bow he wrote, "You who shall enter this ship take heed of your belief," and further as the knights had read. When Solomon had read these words he drew back, and dared not enter, and there soon arose a wind which drove the ship far to sea, so that it was quickly lost to sight. Then a low voice said, "Solomon, the last knight of thy lineage shall rest in this bed." With this Solomon waked, and lo! the ship was gone.

This was the story that the fair damsel, Percivale's sister, told to the knights, as they stood curiously surveying the bed and the spindles. Then one of them lifted a cloth that lay on the deck, and under it found a purse, in which was a written paper, telling the same strange story they had just heard.

"The sword is here," said Galahad; "but where shall be found the maiden who is to make the new girdle?"

"You need not seek far," said Percivale's sister. "By God's leave, I have been chosen to make that girdle, and have it here."

Then she opened a box which she had brought with her, and took from it a girdle that was richly wrought with golden threads and studded with precious stones, while its buckle was of polished gold.

"Lo, lords and knights," she said, "here is the destined girdle. The greater part of it was made of my hair, which I loved dearly when I was a woman of the world. When I knew that I was set aside for this high purpose, I cut off my hair and wrought this girdle in God's name."

"Well have you done!" cried Bors. "Without you we would have learned nothing of this high emprise."

Then the noble maiden removed the mean girdle from the sword, and put upon it the rich one she had brought, which became it wonderfully.

"By what name shall we call this sword?" they now asked her.

"Its name is," she answered, "the sword with the strange girdle; and that of the sheath is, mover of blood. But no man with blood in him shall ever see the part of the sheath that was made of the tree of life."

Then she took the sword and girded it about Galahad, fastening the golden buckle about his waist.

"Now reck I not though I die," she said, "for I hold that I am one of the world's blessed maidens, since it has been given to me to arm the worthiest knight in the world."

After this they left the magic ship at her bidding, and entered the one in which they had come. And immediately there rose a great wind which blew their vessel from between the rocks, and carried it afar over the sea.

CHAPTER VII.

HOW LANCELOT SAW THE SANGREAL.

The ship that bore the three knights and the maiden came ashore at length near a castle in Scotland, where they landed. From here they journeyed far, while many were their adventures, all of which tried their virtue and belonged to the quest of the Sangreal. In them all the sword with the strange girdle proved of such marvellous worth that no men, were they a hundred in number, could stand before it.

Finally they came to a castle which had the strange custom that every maiden who passed that way should yield a dish full of blood. When they asked the reason of this dreadful custom, they were told,—

"There is in this castle a lady to whom the domain belongs, and who has lain for years sick of a malady which no leech can cure. And a wise man has said that she can only be cured if she have a dish full of blood from a pure virgin and a king's daughter, with which to anoint her."

"Fair knights," said Percivale's sister, "I alone can aid the sick lady, who must die otherwise."

"If you bleed as they demand, you may die," said Galahad. "Is not your life worth more than hers?"

"This I answer," said she. "If I yield not my blood there will be mortal war between you and the knights of the castle to-morrow, and many men must die that one woman may not bleed. If I die to heal the sick lady I shall gain renown and do God's will, and surely one harm is better than many. That you will fight for me to the death, I know, but wherefore should you?"

Say what they would, she held to her will, and the next morning bade the people of the castle bring forth the sick lady. She lay in great pain and suffering, and bent her eyes pleadingly on the devoted maiden.

Then Percivale's sister bared her arm, and bade them bleed her. This they did till a silver dish was filled with her life blood. Then she blessed the lady, and said,—

"Madam, I have given my life for yours; for God's love, pray for me!" and she fell in a swoon.

Galahad and his fellows hastened to stanch the blood, but it was too late, her life was ebbing fast.

"Fair brother Percivale," she said, "death is upon me. But before I die I have this to tell you. It is written that I shall not be buried in this country. When I am dead, seek you the sea-shore near by, and put my body in a boat, and let it go where fortune bears it. But when you three arrive at the city of Sarras, in Palestine, which you will in God's good time, you shall find me arrived there before you. There bury me in consecrated soil. This further I may say, that there the holy Grail shall be achieved, and there shall Galahad die and be buried in the same place."

And as they stood there weeping beside her a voice came to them, saying,—

"Lords and comrades, to-morrow at sunrise you three must depart, each taking his own way, and you shall not meet again till adventure bring you to the maimed king."

After that all was done as had been foreseen and desired. The maiden died, and the same day the sick lady was healed, through the virtue of her blood. Then Percivale wrote a letter telling who she was and what things she had done. This he put in her right hand, and laid her body in a vessel that was covered with black silk. The wind now arose and drove it far from the land, while all stood watching it till it was out of sight.

Then they returned towards the castle. But suddenly a tempest of wind, thunder, and rain broke from the sky, so furious that the very earth seemed to be torn up. And as they looked they saw the turrets of the castle and part of its walls totter and fall, and in a moment come crashing in ruin to the earth.

That night they slept in a chapel, and in the morning rode to the castle, to see how it had fared in the storm. But when they reached it they found it in ruins, while of all that had dwelt there not one was left alive. All of them, man and woman alike, had fallen victims to the vengeance of God. And they heard a voice that said,—

"This vengeance is for the shedding of maidens' blood."

But at the end of the chapel was a church-yard in which were threescore tombs, over which it seemed no tempest had passed. And in these lay all the maidens who had shed their blood and died martyrs for the sick lady's sake. On these were their names and lineage, and all were of royal blood, and twelve of them kings' daughters.

The knights turned away, marvelling much at what they had seen and heard.

"Here we must part," said Galahad. "Let us pray that we may soon meet again."

Then they kissed each other, and wept at the parting, and each rode his own way into the forest before them.

But we must now leave them and return to Lancelot, whom we left sorely repentant of his sins. After he departed from the hermitage he rode through many lands and had divers adventures, and in the end came to the sea-shore, beside which he lay down and slept.

In his slumber, words came to his ear, saying, "Lancelot, rise and take thine armor, and enter into the first ship that thou shalt find." On hearing these words he started up, and saw that all about him was strangely clear, the skies giving out a light like that of midday. Then he blessed himself, and took his arms, and advanced to the strand, where he saw a ship without sails or oars. This he entered, as he had been bidden, and when he was within it his heart was filled with such joy as he had never before known.

Naught had he ever thought of or desired but what seemed come to him now, and in his gladness he returned thanks fervently to the Lord.

"I know not what has happened to me," he said, "but such joy as I feel I never dreamed the human heart could hold."

Then he lay down and slept on the ship's deck, and when he woke the night had passed and it was broad day.

And in the ship he found a bed, whereon lay a dead lady, with a letter in her right hand which Lancelot read. From this he learned that the fair corpse was that of Percivale's sister, together with many of the strange things that had happened to her and the chosen knights.

For a month or more Lancelot abode in this ship, driven about the seas, and sustained by no food, but by the grace of the Holy Ghost, for he prayed fervently for God's aid night and morning.

At length came a night when the ship touched the shore. Here he landed, being somewhat weary of the deck. And as he stood on the strand he heard a horse approach, and soon one rode by that seemed a knight.

When he came to the ship he checked his horse and alighted. Then, taking the saddle and bridle from the horse, he turned it free and entered the ship. Lancelot, in surprise, drew near.

"Fair knight," he said, "I know not who you are or why you come. But since you seek passage on my ship you are welcome."

The other saluted him in turn, and asked,—

"What is your name? I pray you, tell me, for my heart warms strangely towards you."

"My name is Lancelot du Lake."

"Then are we well met indeed. You are my father."

"Ah! then you are Galahad?"

"Yes, truly," and as he spoke he took off his helm, and kneeled, and asked his blessing.

Joyful indeed was that meeting, and gladly there father and son communed, telling each other all that had happened to them since they left the court. When Galahad saw the dead maiden he knew her well, and told his father the story of the sword, at which he marvelled greatly.

"Truly, Galahad," he said, "I never heard of aught so strange, and can well believe you were born for wondrous deeds."

Afterwards for nearly half a year the father and son dwelt together within that ship, serving God day and night with prayer and praise. Now they touched on peopled shores, and now on desert islands where only wild beasts abode, and perilous and strange adventures they met. But these we shall not tell, since they had naught to do with the Sangreal.

But at length came a Monday morning when the ship touched shore at the edge of a forest, before a cross, where they saw a knight armed all in white, and leading a white horse. He saluted them courteously, and said,—

"Galahad, you have been long enough with your father. You must now leave the ship, and take this horse, and ride whither destiny shall lead you in the quest of the Sangreal."

Hearing this command, Galahad kissed his father, and bade him farewell, saying,—

"Dear father, I know not if we shall ever meet again."

"Then I bid you," said Lancelot, "to pray to the great Father that He hold me in His service."

There came in answer a mysterious voice that spoke these words,—

"Think each to do well; for you shall never see each other till the dreadful day of doom."

This voice of destiny affected them greatly, and they bade each other a tearful farewell, Lancelot begging again the prayers of his son in his behalf. Then Galahad mounted the white horse and rode into the forest, while a wind arose which blew the ship from shore, and for a month drove it up and down the seas.

But at length came a night when it touched shore on the rear side of a fair and stately castle. Brightly shone the moon, and Lancelot saw an open postern in which stood on guard two great lions. As he looked he heard a voice.

"Lancelot," it said, "leave this ship and enter the castle. There shalt thou see a part of that which thou desirest."

Lancelot at this armed himself and went to the gate, where the lions rose rampant against him. With an instinct of fear he drew his sword, but at that instant appeared a dwarf, who struck him on the arm so sharply that the sword fell from his hand.

"Oh, man of evil hope and weak belief," came the mysterious voice, "trust you more in your armor than in your Maker? Does He who brought you here need a sword for your protection?"

"Truly am I reproved," said Lancelot. "Happy am I to be held the Lord's ward and servant."

He took up his sword and put it in the sheath, then made a cross on his forehead, and advanced to the lions, which raged and showed their teeth as if ready to rend him in pieces. Yet with a bold step and tranquil mien he passed between them unhurt, and entered the castle.

Through it he went, room by room, passage by passage, for every door stood wide and no living being met him as he advanced. Finally he came to a chamber whose door was closed, and which yielded not to his hand when he sought to open it. He tried again with all his force, but the door resisted his strength.

Then he listened, and heard a voice that sang more sweetly than he had ever heard. And the words seemed to him to be, "Joy and honor be to the Father of Heaven!"

Lancelot no longer sought to open the door, but kneeled before it, feeling in his heart that the Sangreal was within that chamber.

"Sweet Father Jesus," he prayed, "if ever I did aught in thy service, in pity forgive me my sins, and show me something of that which I seek."

As he prayed the door opened without hands, and from the room came a light brighter than if all the torches of the world had been there. He rose in joy to enter, but the voice spoke sternly in his ear,—

"Forbear, Lancelot, and seek not to enter here. If you enter, you shall repent it dearly."

Then he drew back hastily, and looked into the chamber, where he saw a table of silver, on which was the holy vessel covered with red samite, with angels about it, one of which held a burning candle of wax, and one a cross. And before the holy vessel stood a priest, who seemed to be serving the mass. In front of the priest appeared to be three men, two of whom put the youngest between the priest's hands, who held him up high as if to show him. Yet so heavy seemed the figure that the priest appeared ready to fall with weakness, and with a sudden impulse Lancelot rushed into the room, crying, "Fair Lord Jesus, hold it no sin that I help the good man, who seems in utmost need."

But as he rashly entered and came towards the table of silver, a breath that seemed half fire smote him so hotly in the face that he fell heavily to the earth, and lay like one bereft of all his senses. Then many hands seemed to take him up, and bear him without the door, where he lay to all seeming dead.

When morning dawned he was found there by the people of the castle, who marvelled how he got there, and could not be sure if he were dead or alive. But they laid him in a bed, and watched him closely, for days passed without signs of life or death. At length, on the twenty-fifth day, he gave a deep sigh, and opened his eyes, and gazed in wonder on the people about him.

"Why have you wakened me?" he cried. "Why left you me not to my blessed visions?"

"What have you seen?" they asked, eagerly.

"Such marvels as no tongue can tell nor ear understand," he said. "And more had I seen but that my son was here before me. For God's love, gentlemen, tell me where I am."

"Sir, you are in the castle of Carbonek."

"I thank God of His great mercy for what I have seen," he said. "Now may I leave the quest of the Sangreal, for more of it shall I never see, and few men living shall see so much."

These words said, he arose and dressed in new clothing that they brought him, and stood in his old strength and beauty before the people.

"Sir Lancelot!" they cried, "is it you?"

"Truly so," he answered.

Then word was brought to King Pellam, the maimed king, who now dwelt in that castle, that the knight who had lain so long between death and life was Lancelot. Glad was the king to hear this, and he bade them bring Lancelot to him.

"Long has my daughter Elaine been dead," he said. "But happy she lived in having been loved by you, and in the grace of her noble son Galahad."

"I was but cold to her," answered Lancelot, "for she was a lovable lady. But in truth I have been held from love and life's delights, for my fate has not been my own to control."

For four days he abode at the castle, and then took his armor and horse, saying that now his quest of the Sangreal was done, and duty bade him return to Camelot.

Back through many realms he rode, and in time came to the abbey where Galahad had won the white shield. Here he spent the night, and the next day rode into Camelot, where he was received with untold joy by Arthur and the queen.

For of the Knights of the Round Table who had set out on that perilous quest more than half had perished, and small was the tale of that gallant fellowship that could now be mustered. So the coming of Lancelot filled all hearts with joy.

Great was the marvel of the king when Lancelot told him of what he had seen and done, and of the adventures of Galahad, Percivale, and Bors.

"God send that they were all here again," said the king.

"That shall never be," said Lancelot. "One of them shall come again, but two you shall never see."