f away when you lifted that Sir Bors bit
straight out of _Le Morte d'Arthur_ and--"

"But I did say ye sooth, fair sir. Sir Bors did verily succor my
maidenhead. I wot not how there can be two of ye and two of me and
four hackneys when afore there were but two, and I wot not how by
touching the magic board in thy castle in a certain fashion that I
could make the hour earlier and I wot not how the magic steed I did
bestride brought me hither--I wot not none of these matters, fair sir.
I wot only that the magic of thy castle is marvelous indeed."

For a while, Mallory didn't say anything. He couldn't. In the
plum-blue eyes fixed full upon his face, truth shone, and that same
truth had invested her every word. The damosel Rowena, despite all
evidence to the contrary and despite the glaring paradox the admission
gave rise to, was not a phony, never had been a phony, and never would
be a phony. She was, as a matter of fact--with the exception of Sir
Galahad--the only completely honest person he had known in all his
life.

"Tell me," he said, at length, "weren't you afraid to come back
through that passage alone? Weren't you afraid the fiend would get
you?"

"La! fair sir--I had great fear. But it were not fitting that I
bethought me of myself at such a time." She paused. Then, "What might
be thy true name, sir knight?"

"Mallory," Mallory said. "Thomas Mallory."

"I have great joy of thy acquaintance, Sir Thomas."

Mallory only half heard her. He was looking at the samite-covered
Sangraal. No more obstacles stood between him and his quest, and time
was a-wasting. He started to take a step in the direction of the
silver table.

His foot did not leave the floor.

* * * * *

He was acutely aware of Rowena's eyes. As a matter of fact, he could
almost feel them upon his face. It wasn't that they were any different
than they had been before: it was just that he was suddenly and
painfully cognizant of the trust and the admiration that shone in
them. Despite himself, he had the feeling that he was standing in
bright and blinding sunlight.

Again, he started to take a step in the direction of the silver table.
Again, his foot did not leave the floor.

It wasn't so much the fact that she didn't believe he would take the
Sangraal that bothered him: it was the fact that she couldn't conceive
of him taking it. She could be convinced that black was white,
perhaps, and that white was black, a