And he and Sir Lancelot
rode against each other, with their horses at full speed, and furiously
smote each other on the middle of their shields; but Sir Gawain's spear
broke short asunder, and Sir Lancelot charged so mightily upon him, that
his horse and he both fell, and rolled upon the ground.

"Ah," said Sir Lancelot, smiling, as he rode away from the four knights,
"heaven give joy to him who made this spear, for never held I better in my
hand."

But the four knights said to each other, "Truly one spear hath felled us
all."

"I dare lay my life," said Sir Gawain, "it is Sir Lancelot. I know him by
his riding."

So they all departed for the court.

And as Sir Lancelot rode still in the forest, he saw a black bloodhound,
running with its head towards the ground, as if it tracked a deer. And
following after it, he came to a great pool of blood. But the hound, ever
and anon looking behind, ran through a great marsh, and over a bridge,
towards an old manor house. So Sir Lancelot followed, and went into the
hall, and saw a dead knight lying there, whose wounds the hound licked.
And a lady stood behind him, weeping and wringing her hands, who cried, "O
knight! too great is the sorrow which thou hast brought me!"

"Why say ye so?" replied Sir Lancelot; "for I never harmed this knight,
and am full sorely grieved to see thy sorrow."

"Nay, sir," said the lady, "I see it is not thou hast slain my husband,
for he that truly did that deed is deeply wounded, and shall never more
recover."

"What is thy husband's name?" said Sir Lancelot.

"His name," she answered, "was Sir Gilbert--one of the best knights in all
the world; but I know not his name who hath slain him."

"God send thee comfort," said Sir Lancelot, and departed again into the
forest.

And as he rode, he met with a damsel who knew him, who cried out, "Well
found, my lord! I pray ye of your knighthood help my brother, who is sore
wounded and ceases not to bleed, for he fought this day with Sir Gilbert,
and slew him, but was himself well nigh slain. And there is a sorceress,
who dwelleth in a castle hard by, and she this day hath told me that my
brother's wound shall never be made whole until I find a knight to go into
the Chapel Perilous, and bring from thence a sword and the bloody cloth in
which the wounded knight was wrapped."

"This is a marvellous thing!" said Sir Lancelot; "but what is your
brother's name?"

"His name, sir," she replied, "is Sir M