our gentleness and
kindness thus only can I repay you. If you can set your heart upon some
worthy knight who is free to wed you, I shall give to you and your heirs
a thousand pounds yearly, as some small payment of the debt I owe you."

"You speak idly and coldly, Sir Lancelot. Your money I will have none
of; and as for wedding, I have but the choice to wed you or wed my
death."

"You rend my heart, fair Elaine. Would that it could be as you wish.
Alas! that can never be."

At this, with a cry of heart-pain, the distressed maiden fell swooning
at his feet. Thence she was borne by women to her chamber, where she
lay, lamenting like one whose heart is broken.

Sir Bernard now came to Lancelot, who was preparing to depart, and
said,--

"Dear sir, it grieves me to find my daughter Elaine in such a
distressful state. I fear she may die for your sake."

"It grieves me as deeply," said Lancelot. "But what can I do? That she
loves me so deeply I am sorry to learn, for I have done nothing to
encourage it, as your son can testify. I know that she is a true and
noble maiden, and will do all that I can for her as an honest knight;
but love her as she loves me I cannot, and to wed I am forbidden. Yet
her distress wounds me sorely."

"Father," said Lavaine, "I dare avow that she is as pure and good as my
lord Sir Lancelot has said. In loving him she does but what I do, for
since I first saw him I could never depart from him; nor shall I leave
him so long as he will bear my company."

Then Lancelot took his leave, and he and Lavaine rode together to
Camelot, where Arthur and the whole court received the errant knight
with the utmost joy and warmest welcome. Queen Guenever alone failed to
greet him kindly, her jealous anger continuing so bitter that she would
not give him a word or a look, seek as he would.

But the joy and brightness at Camelot were replaced by darkness at
Astolat, for the fair Elaine was in such sorrow day and night that she
neither ate, drank, nor slept; and ever she sadly moaned and bewailed
the cruelty of Sir Lancelot.

Ten days of this brought her so near her end, that her old father, with
sad heart, sent for the priest to give her the last sacraments. But even
then she made her plaints of Lancelot's coldness so mournfully, that the
ghostly father bade her cease such thoughts.

"Why should I?" she cried. "Am I not a woman, with a woman's heart and
feelings? While the breath is in my body I must lame