serpents and hooting of owls, groans and shrieks, and
other similar sounds, to which they were pretty well accustomed by this
time, till they reached the Magician's castle.

There, in the rock, they beheld the hilt of the magic sword. De
Fistycuff was about to seize hold of it at once; but Saint George warned
him to desist till he wisely had obeyed the Fairy's directions, and
poured the oil upon the rock.

Slowly it trickled down through many a crevice, when the Knight, waiting
patiently for the oil to take effect, grasped the sword with his left
hand, while he kept his own falchion ready to use in the right.

"Who knows but the Magician may come forth to attack me before I have
freed the sword?" he observed to his Squire. Gradually, but surely, the
sword yielded to his unwearied and long-sustained efforts. While still
drawing it forth, a terrific uproar was heard within the castle; the
ground shook, trembled violently, rocking to and fro, and flames darted
forth from the rock; but the Knight held fast the weapon.

Suddenly the brazen gates of the castle burst open, and there issued
forth the Necromancer Ormandine, arrayed in all the terrors with which
he could clothe himself. His helmet had a fiery plume, hissing snakes
were writhing about his casque and shoulders, his armour seemed of
red-hot metal. A hooting owl of hideous aspect sat on his shoulder,
while he brandished an iron club covered with spikes, like his armour,
red-hot. He made directly at Saint George; but Ascalon was in the
Knight's grasp, and wielding it, as he well knew how, he kept the
Magician at bay, while he tugged more vehemently than ever at the magic
sword.

With a clap louder than that of any thunder, it came at length forth
from the rock, and taking it in his right hand he with it furiously
assailed the Magician, who no sooner felt its keen edge than his club
fell from his nerveless grasp, the owl flew hooting away, the serpents
crawled hissing off, and the once-powerful Magician fell humbly on his
knees and craved for mercy.

Saint George, telling De Fistycuff to guard him, entered the castle,
where, on iron beds, he found, bound with chains, his friend and comrade
Saint David, and the faithful Owen, groaning, and sighing, and mourning
their hard fate. Cutting the chains, with as much ease as if they had
been cords of silk, with the magic sword, he set them, to their great
joy, on their legs, when, with a profusion of words, they p