length succeeded in reaching
the hawk. He now tied the lines to a rotten branch and threw it and the
bird down to the lady.

But as she picked it up with a show of joy, there suddenly came from a
grove an armed knight, who rode rapidly up, with his drawn sword in his
hand.

"Now, Lancelot du Lake," he cried, "I have you as I wanted you. Your day
has come."

And he stood by the trunk of the tree, ready to slay him when he should
descend.

"What treason is this?" demanded Lancelot. "False woman, why have you
led me into this?"

"She did as I bade her," said Phelot. "I hate you, Lancelot, and have
laid this trap for you. You have fought your last fight, my bold
champion, for you come out of that tree but to your death."

"That would be a shameful deed," cried Lancelot, "for you, an armed
knight, to slay a defenceless man through treachery."

"Help yourself the best you can," said Phelot; "you get no grace from
me."

"You will be shamed all your life by so base an act," cried Lancelot.
"If you will do no more, at least hang my sword upon a bough where I may
get it, and then you may do your best to slay me."

"No, no," said Phelot. "I know you too well for that. You get no weapon
if I can hinder you."

Lancelot was now in the most desperate strait he was likely ever to
endure. He could not stay forever in the tree, and if he should attempt
to descend there stood that armed villain awaiting him with ready sword.
What to do he knew not, but his eyes glanced warily round, till he saw
just above him a big leafless branch, which he broke off close to the
body of the tree. Thus armed, he climbed down to a lower bough, and
looked down to note the position of the knight and his own horse.

A quick look told him that there was still a chance for life, and with a
nimble leap he sprang to the ground on the other side of his horse from
the knight.

Phelot at once struck at him savagely with his sword, thinking to kill
him with the blow; but Lancelot parried it with his heavy club, and in
return dealt his antagonist so fierce a blow on the head as to hurl him
from his horse to the ground. Then wrenching the sword from his hand, he
struck off his villanous head.

"Alas!" cried the lady, "you have slain my husband!"

"If I should slay you with him it would be but justice," said Lancelot,
"for you would have killed me through falsehood and treachery, and you
have but your deserts."

Then the lady swooned away as if she