. 'Now have I performed my promise. Help me
hence to some village, for I am cold and would die beneath a roof, if I
may.'

Then Sir Bedevere took the king upon his back, thinking that he would
find some road in a little while which should lead them to a hamlet.
And as he went along, he passed by the waterside, near the low thorn
whence he had thrown the sword into the water.

There, in the sedges, he marvelled to see a barge draped all in black
cloth, and in it sat many fair ladies, all with black hoods on. When
they saw Sir Bedevere with the king upon his back, they shrieked and
wept.

And one that looked a queen, so fair and stately, yet so sad was she,
held out her arms towards the king, and cried unto him in a voice
wondrous sweet, 'Come to me, brother!'

'Put me into the barge,' said the king to Bedevere, 'for there I shall
have rest.'

Softly did Sir Bedevere lay him in the barge, and the fair ladies wept
over the king with much mourning, and one laid his head in her lap and
caressed it with soft hands.

Then, without sails or oars, the barge went from the shore, and fear
and sorrow shook the soul of Sir Bedevere to see them go from him.

'Alas, my lord Arthur,' he cried, 'what shall become of me if ye are
leaving me lonely?'

'Comfort thyself,' said the king in a faint voice, 'and do as well as
thou mayest, for in me ye may no longer trust. For I will go into the
vale of Avalon to heal me of my grievous wound, and if thou hear never
more of me, pray for my soul.'

Sir Bedevere stood watching till the barge went from his sight in the
mists of evening, and then he wept a little, and so fared forward
through the night, weeping as he thought how all the glory that was
Arthur's was now past, and how he himself was very old and very lonely.

When morning broke he was aware of a little chapel and a hermitage
between two hoar woods upon a knoll beside the marshes, and entering
therein he got cheer of the holy hermit and rested.

* * * * *

Now, when King Arthur had gone westwards to collect his host, Sir Owen,
marvelling that Sir Lancelot had sent no word in reply to the letter of
Sir Gawaine, had charged a trusty squire of his to go across to
Brittany, to tell Sir Lancelot of all that had passed and how King
Arthur longed for his aid and his love. Nigh mad with grief was Sir
Lancelot when he had learned all, and so deep was his sorrow and so
wild was his regret, t