/>


"That is true," said the good man. "He that wins the Sangreal will be

counted the best knight and the purest soul among men. None can hope to

attain it except through cleanness of spirit."



Then they rode together till they came to a hermitage. Here Bors went

into the chapel with his companion, and confessed to him, and ate bread

and drank water with him.



"Now," said the good man, "I charge you that you take no other food than

bread and water till you sit at the table where the Sangreal shall be."



"To that I agree. But how know you that I shall ever sit there?"



"I know it, let that suffice; but few of your comrades shall have that

honor."



"All that God sends me will be welcome," said Bors.



"Also, instead of a shirt, and in token of chastisement, you shall wear

this garment," and the good man produced a scarlet coat, which Bors

promised to wear next his skin till the Sangreal should be won.



Then, after further wholesome advice, he resumed his armor and departed.

He had gone but a little way from the hermitage when he passed a tree

that was little more than an old and leafless trunk, and on one of its

boughs he saw a great bird, surrounded by young that were nearly dead

with hunger. As, he continued to look at this strange sight, the bird

smote itself in the breast with its sharp beak, and bled till it died

among its young. Then the young birds fed on their mother's blood, and

were revived thereby.



This to Bors seemed full of deep significance, and he pondered deeply

upon it as he rode onward. By even-song he found himself near a strong

and high tower, where he asked shelter for the night, and was hospitably

welcomed.



When he had disarmed he was led to a richly furnished apartment, where

he found a young and fair lady, who welcomed him gladly to her tower,

and invited him to take supper with her.



The table was set with rich meats and many dainties, but Bors forgot not

the hermit's charge, and bade an attendant to bring him water. In this

he sopped bread and ate it.



"How is this?" asked the lady in surprise. "Like you not my meat?"



"Truly I do, madam; yet I may eat no other food this day."



Then the lady was silent, for she feared to displease him by

questioning. After supper, while they sat talking, a squire came, who

said,--



"Madam, you know well what is set for to-morrow. You must provide a

champion to fight in your quarrel against Pridam le Noire, or your

sister will have this castle and all your lands."



"I know that," she said, with a deep sigh. "May God save me from being

robbed, for I see no earthly aid."



Her sorrow touched Bors, who asked,--



"What means this, madam?"



"Sir," she said, "I shall tell you. There was formerly a king named

Aniause, who owned all these lands. By chance he loved my sister, who is

much older than I,--and much wickeder also, I fear. He gave her this

land to govern; but she brought into it many evil customs, and caused

the death of many of his kinsmen. When the king saw how vilely she

governed, he drove her away, and put me over this district. But he is

now dead, and she is making war on me, and has destroyed many of my

men, and turned others from me, so that I have little left but this

tower, and the few men that guard it. Even this she now threatens to

take from me, unless I can find a knight to fight her champion, who will

appear before my gates to-morrow."



"Is it so?" said Bors. "Who is this Pridam le Noire?"



"He is the most stalwart knight in this country, and has no equal among

us."



"Madam," said Bors, "you have given me shelter; in return I shall aid

you as far as I can in your trouble. You may send word that you have

found a knight who will fight with this Pridam the Black, in God's

quarrel and yours."



"Then may God's blessing rest upon you," she cried, gladly. And word was

sent out that she had found a champion who would take on himself her

quarrel.



That evening she did what lay in her power to make Bors welcome, and

sent him at bedtime to a chamber whose bed was soft as down, and spread

with silken coverings.



But in no bed would he rest, but laid himself on the floor, as he had

vowed to do till he found the Sangreal.



As he lay there asleep there came to him a vision. He seemed to see two

birds, one white as a swan, the other of smaller size, and shaped like a

raven, with plumage of inky blackness. The white bird came to him and

said, "If thou wilt give me meat and serve me, I shall give thee all the

riches of the world, and make thee as fair and white as I am." Then the

white bird departed, and the black bird came and said, "I beg that you

will serve me to-morrow, and hold me in no despite; for this I tell you,

that my blackness will avail you more than the other's whiteness." And

this bird, too, departed.



But his dream continued, and he seemed to come to a great place, that

looked like a chapel. Here he saw on the left side a chair, which was

worm-eaten and feeble. And on the right hand were two flowers of the

shape of a lily, and one would have taken the whiteness from the other

but that a good man separated them, and would not let them touch. And

out of each came many flowers and plentiful fruit. Then the good man

said, "Would not he act with great folly that should let these two

flowers perish to succor the rotten tree, and keep it from falling?"

"Sir," said the dreamer, "it seems to me that the flower is of more

value than the wood." "Then take heed that you never choose the false

for the true."



With this Bors awoke, and made the sign of the cross on his forehead,

and then rose and dressed. When he had come to the lady she saluted him,

and led him to a chapel, where they heard the morning service. Quickly

afterwards there came a company of knights that the lady had sent for,

to lead her champion to battle. After he had armed, she begged him to

take some strengthening food.



"Nay, madam," he answered, "that I shall not do till I have fought this

battle, in which I ask but God's grace to aid me."



This said, he sprang upon his horse, and set out with the knights and

men, closely followed by the lady and her train. They soon came to where

the other party were encamped, and with them the lady of their choice.



"Madam," said the lady of the tower, "you have done me great wrong to

take from me the lands which King Aniause gave me. And I am sorry that

there should be any battle."



"You shall not choose," said the other, "unless you withdraw your knight

and yield the tower."



"That I shall not do. You have robbed me enough already."



Then was the trumpet sounded, and proclamation was made that whichever

champion won the battle, the lady for whom he fought should enjoy all

the land. This done, the two champions drew aside, and faced each other

grimly in their armor of proof.



But when the sound for the onset was blown they put spurs to their

steeds, which rushed together like two lions, and the knights struck

each other with such force that their spears flew to pieces and both

fell to the earth.



They quickly rose and drew their swords, and hewed at each other like

two woodmen, so that soon each was sorely wounded and bleeding

profusely. Bors quickly found that he had a sturdier antagonist than he

expected, for Pridam was a strong and hardy fighter, who stood up

lustily to his work, and gave his opponent many a sturdy blow.



Bors, perceiving this, took a new course, and played with his antagonist

till he saw that he was growing weary with his hard work. Then he

advanced upon him fiercely, and drove him step by step backward, till

in the end Pridam fell. Bors now leaped upon him and pulled so strongly

upon his helm as to rend it from his head. Then he struck him with the

flat of his sword upon the cheek, and bade him yield, or he would kill

him.



"For God's love, slay me not!" cried the knight. "I yield me to thy

mercy. I shall swear never to war against thy lady, but be henceforth

her friend and protector."



With this assurance, Bors let him live; while the covetous old lady fled

in fear, followed by all her knights. The victorious champion now called

to him all those who held lands in that estate, and threatened to

destroy them unless they would do the lady such service as belonged to

their holdings. This they swore to do, and there and then paid homage to

the lady, who thus came to her own again through the mighty prowess of

Sir Bors de Ganis.



Not until the country was well in peace did he take his leave, refusing

the offers of wealth which the grateful lady pressed upon him, and

receiving her warm thanks with a humility that well became him.



Hardly would she let him go; but at length he bade her farewell, and

rode away from her tears and thanks. On he journeyed for all that day,

and till midday of the next, when he found himself in a forest, where a

strange adventure befell him.



For at the parting of two ways he met two knights who had taken prisoner

his brother Lionel, whom they had bound all naked upon a hackney, while

they beat him with thorns till the blood flowed from every part of his

body. Yet so great of heart was he that no word came from his lips, and

he made no sign of pain.



Bors, seeing this, was on the point of rushing to his rescue, when he

beheld on the other side a knight who held as prisoner a fair lady, whom

he was taking into the thickest part of the forest to hide her from

those who sought her. And as they went she cried in a lamentable

voice,--



"Saint Mary, rescue me! Holy mother, succor your maid!"



When she saw Bors she cried out to him grievously for aid and rescue.



"By the faith you owe to the high order of knighthood, and for the noble

King Arthur's sake, who I suppose made you knight, help me, gracious

sir, and suffer me not to come to shame through this felon knight!"



On hearing this appeal the distracted knight knew not what to do. On one

side his brother in danger of his life; on the other a maiden in peril

of her honor.



"If I rescue not my brother he will be slain; and that I would not have

for the earth. Yet if I help not the maiden, I am recreant to my vows of

knighthood, and to my duty to the high order of chivalry."



Tears ran from his eyes as he stood in cruel perplexity. Then, with a

knightly resolution, he cried,--



"Fair sweet Lord Jesus, whose liegeman I am, keep Lionel my brother

that these knights slay him not; since for your service, and for Mary's

sake, I must succor this maid."



Then he turned to the knight who had the damsel, and loudly cried,--



"Sir knight, take your hands from that maiden and set her free, or you

are a dead man."



On hearing this the knight released the maiden as bidden, but drew his

sword, as he had no spear, and rode fiercely at the rescuer. Bors met

him with couched spear, and struck him so hard a blow as to pierce his

shield and his hauberk on the left shoulder, beating him down to the

earth. On pulling out the spear the wounded knight swooned.



"You are delivered from this felon. Can I help you further?" said Bors

to the maiden.



"I beg you to take me to the place whence he carried me away."



"That shall I do as my duty."



Then he seated her on the knight's horse, and conducted her back towards

her home.



"You have done nobly, sir knight," she said. "If you had not rescued me,

five hundred men might have died for this. The knight you wounded is my

cousin, who yesterday stole me away from my father's house, no one

mistrusting him. But if you had not overcome him, there would soon have

been others on his track."



Even as she spoke there came a troop of twelve knights riding briskly

forward in search of her. When they found her delivered their joy was

great, and they thanked Bors profusely, begging him to accompany them

to her father, who was a great lord, and would welcome him with

gladness.



"That I cannot do," said Bors, "much as I should like to; for I have

another matter of high importance before me. I can but say, then,

farewell, and God be with you and this fair maiden."



So saying, he turned and rode briskly away, followed by their earnest

thanks. Reaching the point where he had seen Lionel in custody, he took

the trail of the horses, and followed them far by their hoof-marks in

the road. Then he overtook a religious man, who was mounted on a strong

horse, blacker than a berry.



"Sir knight," he asked, "what seek you?"



"I seek my brother," he replied, "who came this way beaten by two

knights."



"Then seek no further, but be strong of heart, for I have sad tidings

for you. Your brother is dead."



He then led Bors to a clump of bushes, in which lay a newly slain body,

which seemed to be that of Lionel. Seeing this, Bors broke into such

grief that he fell to the earth in a swoon, and long lay there. When he

recovered he said, sadly,--



"Dear brother, I would have rescued you had not a higher duty called me.

But since we are thus parted, joy shall never again enter my desolate

heart. I can now but say, be He whom I have taken for my master my help

and comfort."



Thus grieving, he took up the body in his arms, and put it upon his

saddle-bow. Then he said to his companion,--



"Can you tell me of some chapel, where I may bury this body?"



"Come with me. There is one near by."






They rode forward till they came in sight of a tower, beside which was

an old and half-ruined chapel. Here they alighted, and placed the corpse

in a tomb of marble.



"We will leave him here," said the good man, "and seek shelter for the

night. To-morrow we will return and perform the services for the dead."



"Are you a priest?" asked Bors.



"Yes," he answered.



"Then you may be able to interpret a dream that came to me last night."



Thereupon he told his dream of the birds, and that of the flowers.



"I can interpret the vision of the birds now," said the priest. "The

rest must wait till later. The white bird is the emblem of a rich and

fair lady, who loves you deeply, and will die for love if you pity her

not. I counsel you, therefore, not to refuse her, for this I shall tell

you, that if you return not her love, your cousin Lancelot, the best of

knights, shall die. Men will call you a man-slayer, both of your brother

Lionel and your cousin Lancelot, since you might have saved them both

easily if you would. You rescued a maiden who was naught to you, and let

your brother perish. Which, think you, was your greater duty?"



"I did what I thought my duty," said Bors.



"At any rate, bear this in mind, you will be in sad fault if you suffer

your cousin Lancelot to die for an idle scruple."



"I should be sad, indeed," said Bors. "Rather would I die ten times over

than see my cousin Lancelot perish through fault of mine."



"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."