his senses.

"Whoever he be," cried Gawaine, "he has overturned my comrades, and I
must encounter him. Defend yourself, sir knight."

Then the two knights rode fiercely together, each striking the other in
the midst of the shield. But Gawaine's spear broke, while that of
Lancelot held good, and struck so strong a blow that the horse was
overturned, Gawaine barely escaping being crushed beneath him.

This done, Lancelot rode slowly on, smiling to himself, and saying, "God
give joy to the man that made this spear, for a better no knight ever
handled."

"What say you of this knight, who with one spear has felled us all?"
said Gawaine. "To my thinking, it is Lancelot or the devil. He rides
like Lancelot."

"We shall find out in good time," said the others; "but he has left us
sore bodies and sick hearts, and our poor horses are the worse for the
trial."

Lancelot rode on through the forest, thinking quietly to himself of the
surprise he had given to his late assailants, and of the sport it would
thereafter make in the court. But new and stranger adventures awaited
him, for he was now coming into a land of enchantment, where more than
mere strength would be needed.

What he saw, after he had ridden long and far, was a black brachet,
which was coursing as if in the track of a hurt deer; but he quickly
perceived that the dog was upon a trail of fresh blood. He followed the
brachet, which looked behind as it ran, as if with desire to lead him
on. In time he saw before him an old manor, over whose bridge ran the
dog. When Lancelot had ridden over the bridge, that shook beneath his
hoofs as if it was ready to fall, he came into a great hall, where lay a
dead knight whose wounds the dog was licking. As he stood there a lady
rushed weeping from a chamber, and wrung her hands in grief as she
accused him of having slain her lord.

"Madam, it was not I," said Lancelot. "I never saw him till his dog led
me here, and I am sorry enough for your misfortune."

"I should have known it could not be you," she said. "I was led by my
grief to speak wildly. For he that killed my husband is sorely wounded
himself, and I can promise him this, that he will never recover. I have
wrought him a charm that no leech's skill can overcome."

"What was your husband's name?" asked Lancelot.

"Sir Gilbert," she replied. "As for him that slew him, I know not his
name."

"God send you better comfort," said Lancelot. "I am sorry for your
misfor