henceforth put his trust. I go into the vale of Avilion, to a
happy summer island far over the sea, where I shall be healed of my
grievous wound. But when I shall come again no voice may tell. Mayhap I
shall never come, but dwell forever in that sunny vale. If you never
hear more of me, pray for my soul."

Then again the queens and the ladies wept and moaned, and the barge
moved swiftly over the long waves and afar to sea, while Bevidere stood
and watched it till it became a black speck on the waters. Then it
vanished and was seen no more, and the lonely watcher cast himself upon
the beach, weeping like one who has lost all life's happiness.

But when night came near he turned and went wearily away, heavy with the
weight of death that lay upon his soul, for he alone remained of
yesterday's mighty hosts. All that night he journeyed through a great
forest, and in the morning he found himself between two hoary cliffs,
with a chapel and a hermitage in the glen that lay between.

In this hermitage he found the holy man who had been archbishop of
Canterbury, and who had come hither to escape Mordred's rage. With him
Bevidere stayed till he was cured of his wounds, and afterwards he put
on poor clothes, and served the hermit full lowly in fasting and
prayers.

But as for the three queens who went with Arthur to the island of
Avilion, the chronicles say that they were Morgan le Fay his sister, the
queen of Northgalis, and the queen of the Waste Lands. And with them was
Nimue, the lady of the lake. All were skilled in magic, but whither they
bore King Arthur, or where lies the magical isle of Avilion, or if he
shall come again, all this no man can say. These are of the secrets that
time alone can tell, and we only know that his coming is not yet.

CHAPTER VII.

THE DEATH OF LANCELOT AND GUENEVER.

When word was brought to Lancelot du Lake that Mordred had usurped the
throne of England, had besieged Guenever in the Tower of London, and had
sought to prevent Arthur from landing at Dover, his soul was moved to
wrath and sorrow. And still more was he moved by the letter of Sir
Gawaine, with its pitiful self-reproach and earnest wistfulness.

"Is it a time for mourning?" said Sir Bors to Lancelot. "My counsel is
that you cross at once to England, visit Gawaine's tomb, as he requests,
and then revenge my lord Arthur and my lady Guenever on this base
traitor, Mordred."

"It is well advised," said Lancelot. "To England