The maiden and the pitcher vanished. The knight watched the rude door in vain—he only saw a few streaks of light through the boards. Then he bethought him of questioning her guards, but when he reached their tree they were gone. It was fast growing dark, and he was one of the King’s personal attendants, and subject to the strict regulations of his household; so, dazed and bewildered as he was, he walked hastily back to the hospice, where the King and Queen lodged. Supper had already begun, and the glare of lights dazzled his eyes. In his bewilderment, he served the King with mustard instead of honey from the great silver ship full of condiments, in the centre of the table. “How’s this, Sir John?” said the King, who always had a kindly corner in his heart for this young knight. “Are these the idle days of thy Crusade come again?” “I could well-nigh think so!” half-whispered Sir John. “He looks moonstruck!” cried that spoilt ten years old damsel, Joan of Acre, clasping her hands with mischievous fun. “Oh! has he seen the Queen of the Dew-drops?” “What dost thou know of the Queen of the Dew-drops, my Lady Malapert?” said King Edward, marking the red flush that mounted to the very brow of the downright young knight. “Oh, I know that she is at the well every morning, and is as lovely as the dawn! Ay, and vanishes so soon as the sun is up; but not ere she has bewitched every knight of them all! And did not my Lord of Dunster hold the field in her honour against all comers? No wonder she appears to him.—Oh! tell us, Sir John! what like was she?” “Hush, Joan,” said Queen Eleanor, bending forward, “no infanta in my time ever said so much in a breath.” “No, Lady-mother; because you had to speak whole mouthfuls of grave Castillian words. Now, good English can be run off in a breath. Reyna del Rocio—that’s more majestic, but not so like fairyland as Queen of the Dew-drops!” Princess Joan’s mouth was effectually stopped this time. The adventure of the evening had led to the discovery of the hut of the Queen of the Dew-drops. The young knight had as usual been betimes at the well, but the maiden did not appear there. Then he questioned the cripple—who by day was an absolute helpless cripple—but the man utterly denied all knowledge of any such circumstance. He, why, poor wretch that he was, he never hobbled further than the shed close behind the well; he would give the world if he could get as far as the wood—he knew nothing about ladies or pilgrims—such a leg as his was enough to think about. And the display to which he forthwith treated the Knight of Dunster was highly convincing as to his incapacity.