at once, by
the sinople reversed and the truncated gules on his surcoat, that it was
Sir Gottfried of Godesberg.

"Be ready, father," said the good knight, pointing towards the advancing
boat; and waving his hand by way of respect to the reverend hermit,
without a further word, he vaulted into his saddle, and rode back for
a few score of paces; when he wheeled round, and remained steady. His
great lance and pennon rose in the air. His armor glistened in the
sun; the chest and head of his battle-horse were similarly covered with
steel. As Sir Gottfried, likewise armed and mounted (for his horse had
been left at the ferry hard by), advanced up the road, he almost started
at the figure before him--a glistening tower of steel.

"Are you the lord of this pass, Sir Knight?" said Sir Gottfried,
haughtily, "or do you hold it against all comers, in honor of your
lady-love?"

"I am not the lord of this pass. I do not hold it against all comers. I
hold it but against one, and he is a liar and a traitor."

"As the matter concerns me not, I pray you let me pass," said Gottfried.

"The matter DOES concern thee, Gottfried of Godesberg. Liar and traitor!
art thou coward, too?"

"Holy Saint Buffo! 'tis a fight!" exclaimed the old hermit (who, too,
had been a gallant warrior in his day); and like the old war-horse that
hears the trumpet's sound, and spite of his clerical profession, he
prepared to look on at the combat with no ordinary eagerness, and
sat down on the overhanging ledge of the rock, lighting his pipe, and
affecting unconcern, but in reality most deeply interested in the event
which was about to ensue.

As soon as the word "coward" had been pronounced by Sir Ludwig, his
opponent, uttering a curse far too horrible to be inscribed here, had
wheeled back his powerful piebald, and brought his lance to the rest.

"Ha! Beauseant!" cried he. "Allah humdillah!" 'Twas the battle-cry in
Palestine of the irresistible Knights Hospitallers. "Look to thyself,
Sir Knight, and for mercy from heaven! I will give thee none."

"A Bugo for Katzenellenbogen!" exclaimed Sir Ludwig, piously: that, too,
was the well-known war-cry of his princely race.

"I will give the signal," said the old hermit, waving his pipe.
"Knights, are you ready? One, two, three. LOS!" (let go.)

At the signal, the two steeds tore up the ground like whirlwinds;
the two knights, two flashing perpendicular masses of steel, rapidly
converged; the two lances met