ay they saw a band of men advancing, who seemed to be guarding a
prisoner, bound hand and foot, as if being carried to execution. The
prisoner was a youthful cavalier, of a noble and ingenuous appearance.
The band bore the ensigns of Count Anselm, head of the treacherous
house of Maganza. Orlando desired Isabella to wait, while he rode
forward to inquire the meaning of this array. Approaching, he demanded
of the leader who his prisoner was, and of what crime he had been
guilty. The man replied that the prisoner was a murderer, by whose hand
Pinabel, the son of Count Anselm, had been treacherously slain. At
these words the prisoner exclaimed, "I am no murderer, nor have I been
in any way the cause of the young man's death." Orlando, knowing the
cruel and ferocious character of the chiefs of the house of Maganza,
needed no more to satisfy him that the youth was the victim of
injustice. He commanded the leader of the troop to release his victim,
and, receiving an insolent reply, dashed him to the earth with a stroke
of his lance; then by a few vigorous blows dispersed the band, leaving
deadly marks on those who were slowest to quit the field.

Orlando then hastened to unbind the prisoner, and to assist him to
reclothe himself in his armor, which the false Magencian had dared to
assume. He then led him to Isabella, who now approached the scene of
action. How can we picture the joy, the astonishment, with which
Isabella recognized in him Zerbino, her husband, and the prince
discovered her whom he had believed overwhelmed in the waves! They
embraced one another, and wept for joy. Orlando, sharing in their
happiness, congratulated himself in having been the instrument of it.
The princess recounted to Zerbino what the illustrious paladin had done
for her, and the prince threw himself at Orlando's feet, and thanked
him as having twice preserved his life.

While these exchanges of congratulation and thankfulness were going on,
a sound in the underwood attracted their attention, and caused the two
knights to brace their helmets and stand on their guard. What the cause
of the interruption was we shall record in another chapter.

MEDORO

France was at this time the theatre of dreadful events. The Saracens
and the Christians, in numerous encounters, slew one another. On one
occasion Rinaldo led an attack on the infidel columns, broke and
scattered them, till he found himself opposite to a knight whose armor
(whether by accide