Arthur’s last tournament was held, and the maiden-knight, Sir Galahad, won the honours of the day. Then, when the tourney was over, the whole assembly went to the Minster, and there, for the last time, joined all together in holy rites of prayer and praise. Then said the King to Sir Gawaine: “Alas! ye have well nigh slain me with the vow and promise that ye have made, for through you ye have bereft me of the fairest fellowship and the truest knighthood that ever were seen together in any realm of the world, for when they shall depart from hence I am sure that all shall never meet more in this world, for then shall many die in this quest, and so it forethinketh me a little, for I have loved them as well as my life.” The next morning the knights rode out of Camelot. But the story of their adventures does not belong to Somerset.[2] Behind all this bravery and fair seeming, however, was rising a dark cloud, which did more to break up Arthur’s Table-round than even the quest of the Sangreal; for rumours had long been rife that Guinivere was unfaithful, and that his best-beloved knight, Sir Launcelot, was the partner of her sin. It was long ere they reached Arthur, who was so guileless that he could not believe in the guilt of those he loved; but at last it became too manifest, and Guinivere’s flight made the unfaithfulness of his wife and his friend patent to the King. Guinivere’s first flight was to Glastonbury; and in a life of Gildas, written by Caradoc of Lancarvon, we are told that whilst he (Gildas) was residing at Glastonbury, Arthur’s Queen was carried off and lodged there, that Arthur immediately besieged the place, but, through the mediation of the Abbot and of Gildas, consented at length to receive his wife again and to depart peaceably.[3] When this first flight took place we are not told; but after a time, and when the rebellion of his nephew, Mordred, took place, Guinivere fled again, this time to Amesbury, in Wiltshire. There she was professed a nun. After her death her body was carried to rest at Glastonbury by Sir Launcelot himself, she having prayed that she might never see him again in life. And when she was put into the earth, Sir Launcelot swooned, and lay long upon the ground. A hermit came and awaked him, and said: “Ye are to blame, for ye displease God with such manner of sorrow-making.” “Truly,” said Sir Launcelot, “I trust I do not displease God, for He knoweth well mine intent, for it was not, nor is for any rejoicing of sin; but my sorrow may never have an end. For when I remember and call to mind her beauty, her bounty, and her nobleness, that was as well with her King, my lord Arthur, as with her; and also when I saw the corpse of that noble King and noble Queen so lie together in that cold grave, made of earth, that sometime were so highly set in most honourable places, truly mine heart would not serve me to sustain my wretched and careful body also. And when I remember me,