When he reached the chapel-yard the black knights thronged again in his pathway, and cried to him with voices of thunder,-- "Knight, yield us that sword, or you shall die!" "Whether I live or die, it will need more than loud words to force me to yield it. You may fight for it if you will. And I warn you, you will need to fight hard." Then, as before, they scattered before his bold advance, and left him free passage. Lancelot strode resolutely on through the chapel-yard, but in the highway beyond he met a fair damsel, who said to him,-- "Sir Lancelot, you know not what risk you run. Leave that sword, or you will die for it." "I got it not so easy that I should leave it for a threat," he replied. "You are wise," she answered. "I did but test your judgment. If you had yielded the sword you would never have looked on Queen Guenever again." "Then I would have been a fool indeed to leave it." "Now, gentle knight, I have but one request to make of you ere you depart. That is, that you kiss me." "Nay," said Lancelot, "that God forbid. I save my kisses till my love is given." "Then are you beyond my power," she cried, with a groan of pain. "Had you kissed me your life would have ended; but now I have lost my labor, for it was for you and Gawaine that I prepared this chapel with its enchantments. Gawaine was once in my power, and at that time he fought with Sir Gilbert and struck off his left hand. As for you, I have loved you these seven years. But I know that none but Guenever will ever have your love, and so, as I could not have you alive, I wished to have you dead. If you had yielded to my wiles I should have embalmed and preserved your body, and kissed it daily in spite of Guenever, or any woman living. Now farewell, Lancelot; I shall never look upon your face again." "I pray to Heaven you shall not. And may God preserve me from your vile craft." Mounting his horse, Lancelot departed. Of the lady, we are told by the chronicles that she died within a fortnight of pure sorrow, and that she was a sorceress of high renown. Lancelot rode on till he met the sister of the wounded knight, who clapped her hands and wept for joy on seeing him safely returned. Then she led him to a castle near by, where Sir Meliot lay. Lancelot knew him at sight, though he was pale as death from loss of blood. On seeing Lancelot, he fell on his knees before him, crying, in tones of hope,-- "Oh, my lord Lancelot, help me, for you alone can!" "I can and will," rejoined the knight, and, as he had been advised, he touched his wounds with the sword and rubbed them with the bloody cloth he had won. No sooner was this done, than Meliot sprang to his feet a whole and sound man, while his heart throbbed with joy and gratefulness. And he and his sister entertained their noble guest with the best the castle afforded, doing all in their power to show their gratitude. CHAPTER V. THE ADVENTURE OF THE FALCON.