few words as possible. He hesitated for a moment, and
looked at me thoughtfully. I saw that he suspected who I was, but that
he continued uncertain of his suspicion. No doubt he was soon convinced
of its truth; but all the time I was with him, not a word crossed his
lips with reference to what he evidently concluded I wished to leave
unnoticed, if not to keep concealed.

"Squire and knight should be friends," said he: "can you take me by the
hand?" And he held out the great gauntleted right hand. I grasped it
willingly and strongly. Not a word more was said. The knight gave the
sign to his horse, which again began his slow march, and I walked beside
and a little behind.

We had not gone very far before we arrived at a little cottage; from
which, as we drew near, a woman rushed out with the cry:

"My child! my child! have you found my child?"

"I have found her," replied the knight, "but she is sorely hurt. I was
forced to leave her with the hermit, as I returned. You will find her
there, and I think she will get better. You see I have brought you
a present. This wretch will not hurt you again." And he undid the
creature's neck, and flung the frightful burden down by the cottage
door.

The woman was now almost out of sight in the wood; but the husband stood
at the door, with speechless thanks in his face.

"You must bury the monster," said the knight. "If I had arrived a moment
later, I should have been too late. But now you need not fear, for such
a creature as this very rarely appears, in the same part, twice during a
lifetime."

"Will you not dismount and rest you, Sir Knight?" said the peasant, who
had, by this time, recovered himself a little.

"That I will, thankfully," said he; and, dismounting, he gave the reins
to me, and told me to unbridle the horse, and lead him into the shade.
"You need not tie him up," he added; "he will not run away."

When I returned, after obeying his orders, and entered the cottage, I
saw the knight seated, without his helmet, and talking most familiarly
with the simple host. I stood at the open door for a moment, and, gazing
at him, inwardly justified the white lady in preferring him to me. A
nobler countenance I never saw. Loving-kindness beamed from every line
of his face. It seemed as if he would repay himself for the late arduous
combat, by indulging in all the gentleness of a womanly heart. But when
the talk ceased for a moment, he seemed to fall into a reverie. Then the