came to a splendid castle. Here the knight dashed across the
bridge that spanned the moat, and entered the gate, but as soon as he
was safe inside, the drawbridge was pulled up and caught Owen's horse in
the middle, so that half of him was inside and half out, and Owen could
not dismount and knew not what to do.

While he was in this sore plight a little door in the castle gate
opened, and he could see a street facing him, with tall houses. Then a
maiden with curling hair of gold looked through the little door and bade
Owen open the gate.

'By my troth!' cried Owen, 'I can no more open it from here than thou
art able to set me free.'

'Well,' said she, 'I will do my best to release thee if thou wilt do
as I tell thee. Take this ring and put it on with the stone inside thy
hand, and close thy fingers tight, for as long as thou dost conceal it,
it will conceal thee. When the men inside have held counsel together,
they will come to fetch thee to thy death, and they will be much grieved
not to find thee. I will stand on the horse block yonder and thou canst
see me though I cannot see thee. Therefore draw near and place thy hand
on my shoulder and follow me wheresoever I go.'

Upon that she went away from Owen, and when the men came out from the
castle to seek him and did not find him they were sorely grieved, and
they returned to the castle.

Then Owen went to the maiden and placed his hand on her shoulder, and
she guided him to a large room, painted all over with rich colours, and
adorned with images of gold. Here she gave him meat and drink, and water
to wash with and garments to wear, and he lay down upon a soft bed, with
scarlet and fur to cover him, and slept gladly.

In the middle of the night he woke hearing a great outcry, and he jumped
up and clothed himself and went into the hall, where the maiden was
standing.

'What is it?' he asked, and she answered that the knight who owned the
castle was dead, and they were bearing his body to the church. Never had
Owen beheld such vast crowds, and following the dead knight was the most
beautiful lady in the world, whose cry was louder than the shout of the
men, or the braying of the trumpets. And Owen looked on her and loved
her.

'Who is she?' he asked the damsel. 'That is my mistress, the countess of
the fountain, and the wife of him whom thou didst slay yesterday.'

'Verily,' said Owen, 'she is the woman that I love best.'

'She shall also love thee not a lit