eld a lady with yellow hair
falling over her shoulders, and stained with blood; and about her a dress
of yellow satin, which was torn. Upon her feet were shoes of variegated
leather. And it was a marvel that the ends of her fingers were not
bruised, from the violence with which she smote her hands together. Truly
she would have been the fairest lady Owain ever saw, had she been in her
usual guise. And her cry was louder than the shout of the men, or the
clamour of the trumpets. {30} No sooner had he beheld the lady, than he
became inflamed with her love, so that it took entire possession of him.

Then he enquired of the maiden who the lady was. "Heaven knows," replied
the maiden, "she may be said to be the fairest, and the most chaste, and
the most liberal, and the wisest, and the most noble of women. And she
is my mistress; and she is called the Countess of the Fountain, the wife
of him whom thou didst slay yesterday." "Verily," said Owain, "she is
the woman that I love best." "Verily," said the maiden, "she shall also
love thee not a little."

And with that the maid arose, and kindled a fire, and filled a pot with
water, and placed it to warm; and she brought a towel of white linen, and
placed it around Owain's neck; and she took a goblet of ivory, and a
silver basin, and filled them with warm water, wherewith she washed
Owain's head. Then she opened a wooden casket, and drew forth a razor,
whose haft was of ivory, and upon which were two rivets of gold. And she
shaved his beard, and she dried his head, and his throat, with the towel.
Then she rose up from before Owain, and brought him to eat. And truly
Owain had never so good a meal, nor was he ever so well served.

When he had finished his repast, the maiden arranged his couch. "Come
here," said she, "and sleep, and I will go and woo for thee." And Owain
went to sleep, and the maiden shut the door of the chamber after her, and
went towards the Castle. When she came there, she found nothing but
mourning, and sorrow; and the Countess in her chamber could not bear the
sight of any one through grief. Luned came and saluted her, but the
Countess answered her not. And the maiden bent down towards her, and
said, "What aileth thee, that thou answerest no one to-day?" "Luned,"
said the Countess, "what change hath befallen thee, that thou hast not
come to visit me in my grief? It was wrong in thee, and I having made
thee rich; it was wrong in thee that tho