Tristram joyfully went to the
king's aid, and after mowing down Grip's knights right and left, he killed
the earl himself, and so won the battle.

Right royally was Sir Tristram received after that, and King Howell in his
joy would have given him his whole kingdom had he so desired. But Sir
Tristram would accept no reward. What he had done, was done for Iseult's
sake, he said. And a love grew up in Tristram's heart for the gentle
maiden, for who could help loving one kind and beautiful!

So they were married with great rejoicings, and all the kingdom was glad,
and so was Sir Tristram, for now, he thought, he could quench that fatal
love for Iseult of Cornwall, and could spend the rest of his days in this
sunny land, happy with his sweet child-wife.

Alas! alas! Once more the deadly love-drink did its work! No sooner had
he placed the ring on his bride's finger, than the love for the other
Iseult returned stronger than ever.

"I have been false to my lady!" he cried to himself remorsefully,
"for I swore ever to be her true knight, loyal to her alone."
And such sorrow and repentance filled his heart that his love for his
bride was killed. He concealed his pain so well, though, that little
Iseult was happy, never doubting that her husband loved her,--but all the
days and nights that passed were full for Tristram of yearning for his
love, and a great longing to be again in Cornwall.

At last one day there arrived at the castle a knight from King Arthur's
court at Camelot; and of him Sir Tristram asked, "Say they aught of me at
court?"

"Truly," answered the knight, "they speak of you with shame, for Sir
Launcelot says you are a false knight to your lady, and his love for you
is dead, so that he longs to meet with you that he may joust with you."

Sore troubled indeed was Sir Tristram at this, for he loved Sir Launcelot,
and coveted his respect, and to be deemed traitor to the lady for whom he
would have laid down his life, hurt him most of all.

From that time his longing to return to Tintagel and his love for La Belle
Iseult grew daily more and more unconquerable, until at last he could no
longer bear it, and one day set sail from Brittany, leaving his poor
little lonely wife behind to mourn his absence, and yearn for his return;
for as yet she had not found out that there was no love at all in his
heart for her.

But on a day soon after he had left her there was brought to her the story
of his love for th