r company, saw
clearly enough that all her lady's thoughts were set upon the knight,
who, for his healing, sojourned in the chamber. She did not know
whether his thoughts were given again to the dame. When, therefore,
the lady had entered in the chapel, the damsel went straightway to the
knight. He welcomed her gladly, and bade her be seated near the bed.
Then he inquired, "Friend, where now is my lady, and why did she rise
so early from her bed?"

Having spoken so far, he became silent, and sighed.

"Sir," replied the maiden softly, "you love, and are discreet, but be
not too discreet therein. In such a love as yours there is nothing to
be ashamed. He who may win my lady's favour has every reason to be
proud of his fortune. Altogether seemly would be your friendship, for
you are young, and she is fair."

The knight made answer to the maiden, "I am so fast in the snare, that
I pray the fowler to slay me, if she may not free me from the net.
Counsel me, fair sweet friend, if I may hope of kindness at her hand."

Then the maiden of her sweetness comforted the knight, and assured him
of all the good that she was able. So courteous and debonair was the
maid.

When the lady had heard Mass, she hastened back to the chamber. She
had not forgotten her friend, and greatly she desired to know whether
he was awake or asleep, of whom her heart was fain. She bade her
maiden to summon him to her chamber, for she had a certain thing in
her heart to show him at leisure, were it for the joy or the sorrow of
their days.

Gugemar saluted the lady, and the dame returned the knight his
courtesy, but their hearts were too fearful for speech. The knight
dared ask nothing of his lady, for reason that he was a stranger in a
strange land, and was adread to show her his love. But--as says the
proverb--he who will not tell of his sore, may not hope for balm to
his hurt. Love is a privy wound within the heart, and none knoweth of
that bitterness but the heart alone. Love is an evil which may last
for a whole life long, because of man and his constant heart. Many
there be who make of Love a gibe and a jest, and with specious words
defame him by boastful tales. But theirs is not love. Rather it is
folly and lightness, and the tune of a merry song. But let him who
has found a constant lover prize her above rubies, and serve her with
loyal service, being altogether at her will. Gugemar loved in this
fashion, and therefore Love came swiftly to h