"I would give much to know who this valiant knight can be," said Gawaine. "He will be known before he departs," answered Arthur. "Trust me for that." Then the king blew to lodging, and the prize was given by the heralds to the knight with the white shield who bore the red sleeve. Around Lancelot gathered the leaders on his side, and thanked him warmly for gaining them the victory. "If I have deserved thanks I have sorely paid for them," said Lancelot, "for I doubt if I escape with my life. Dear sirs, permit me to depart, for just now I would rather have repose than be lord of all the world." Then he broke from them and galloped away, though his wound forced piteous groans from his steadfast heart. When out of sight of them all he checked his horse, and begged Lavaine to help him dismount and to draw the spear-head from his side. "My lord," said Lavaine, "I would fain help you; yet I fear that to draw the spear will be your death." "It will be my death if it remains," said Lancelot. "I charge you to draw it." This Lavaine did, the pain being so deadly that Lancelot shrieked and fell into a death-like swoon, while a full pint of blood gushed from the wound. Lavaine stopped the bleeding as well as he could, and with great trouble got the wounded knight to a neighboring hermitage, that stood in front of a great cliff, with a clear stream running by its foot. Here Lavaine beat on the door with the butt of his spear, and cried loudly,-- "Open, for Jesus' sake! Open, for a noble knight lies bleeding to death at your gate!" This loud appeal quickly brought out the hermit, who was named Baldwin of Brittany, and had once been a Round Table knight. He gazed with pity and alarm on the pale face and bleeding form before him. "I should know this knight," he said. "Who is he?" "Fair sir," said Lancelot, feebly, "I am a stranger and a knight-errant, who have sought renown through many realms, and have come here to my deadly peril." As he spoke the hermit recognized him, by a wound on his pallid cheek. "Ah, my lord Lancelot," he said, "you cannot deceive me thus." "Then, if you know me, help me for heaven's sake. Relieve me from this pain, whether it be by life or death." "I shall do my best," said the hermit. "Fear not that you will die." Then he had him borne into the hermitage, and laid in bed, his armor being removed. This done, the hermit stanched the bleeding, anointed the wound with healing ointments, and gave Lancelot a refreshing and healing draught. Meanwhile King Arthur invited the knights of both parties to a great evening feast, and there asked the king of North Wales to bring forward the knight of the red sleeve, that he might receive the prize he had won. "That I cannot do," was the answer. "He was badly, if not fatally, wounded, and left us so hastily that we know not whither he went." "That is the worst news I have heard these seven years," said Arthur. "I would rather lose my throne than have that noble knight slain."