ster. To southward of the old town there is a
deep grassy hollow, crescent-shaped, its southern slope fringed with
wood; and here in the shade he lay reading the 'Morte d'Arthur' of old
Malory. Coming at length to the Noble Tale of the Sangreal, he read how
King Arthur, having come 'unto Camelot by the houre of undorn on
Whytsonday,' and feasting with the fellowship of the Round Table, was
told of the marvel wrought unto Balin's sword by Merlin.

You will remember that Balin fought unbeknown with his brother Balan,
that each wounded the other unto death, and that they were buried by
Merlin in the same tomb. Then Merlin 'lete make by his subtylyte that
Balyn's swerd was put in a marbel stone standyng up ryght as grete as a
mylle stone, and the stone hoved alweyes above the water, and dyd many
yeres, and so by adventure it swam doun the streme to the Cyte of Camelot
that is in Englysshe Wynchestre.'

To the west the downs slope steeply into the river valley, and set in the
rich green meadows like a skein of silver threads the book-hunter could
discern the Itchen with its attendant rivulets. So he gazed across to the
stream and pondered over this marvellous stone which 'hoved' always above
the water, a sword set in it so that the pommel alone could be seen, 'and
in the pomel therof were precyous stones wrought with subtyle letters of
gold.' It was the symbol which was to prove the youthful Galahad the
_haut prince_ who should achieve the Sangreal.

That same evening, wandering along the river's bank below the city, his
head full of the wondrous tale, an adventure befell him. It was dusk, and
he had crossed the stream at a ford, when suddenly he saw the stone. It
was lying upon its side, not a dozen paces from the water. There was no
doubt whatever about it. It was roughly five feet long, about half as
wide and thick, and of a curious reddish-brown--the colour of dried
blood.

'Sir,' said the squire who brought the news to the King and his Knights,
'there is here bynethe at the Ryver a grete stone which I saw flete above
the water, and therin I sawe styckyng a swerd. The Kynge sayde, I wille
see that marveill. Soo all the Knyghtes went with hym. And whanne they
came unto the ryver they fonde there a stone fletyng, _as hit were of
reed marbel_, and therin stack a fair ryche swerd.'

I confess that not a little awe was mingled with delight as our
book-hunter gazed upon the stone, walked round it, touched it! Then
suddenl