points.

But when Sir Launcelot beheld him coming forth thus armed as for battle,
the love of battle awoke to full life in his heart, wherefore he shouted
aloud. And he rushed at Sir Blyant and he struck Sir Blyant upon the
helm so fierce and terrible a buffet that nor guard nor armor could
withstand that stroke. And had the sword not turned a little in the
hands of Sir Launcelot that had been Sir Blyant's last day upon earth.

[Sidenote: _The madman overthroweth Sir Blyant._]

Natheless, the sword, though turned, fell with full force upon the crest
of Sir Blyant, and at that dreadful, terrible stroke the brains of Sir
Blyant flashed fire into his eyeballs. Then blackness came roaring upon
him and therewith he fell down in a deathly swoon, the blood running out
from his nose and ears from the force of that woeful stroke he had
suffered.

So when Sir Launcelot beheld Sir Blyant fall thus beneath the blow, he
shouted aloud for joy. And straightway with the naked sword in his hand
he ran into the pavilion with intent to find what other enemies there
might be in that place.

Now the lady of Sir Blyant was alone in that pavilion, so when she
beheld that half-naked madman rush therein with the shining sword in his
hand, and a terrible fierce look of madness upon his face, she shrieked
with terror and straightway ran forth from the tent upon the other side
thereof.

So Sir Launcelot stood and gazed all about him, waving his sword from
side to side, but could behold no enemies such as he might assault. And
then he saw where there was a fine soft couch spread with a covering of
flame-colored linen in that place, and therewith he ran to that bed and
leaped into it and straightway covered himself all over with the
coverlet.

[Sidenote: _The Lady is adread._]

When the lady of Sir Blyant ran in that wise out of the pavilion as
aforesaid, she beheld where her lord, Sir Blyant, lay stretched out upon
the ground, and she beheld the dwarf bending over him, removing the helm
from his head. And beholding that sight she shrieked more than ever and
ran frantically to where that stricken knight lay. Therewith, beholding
his face all white as milk and streaked with blood, she thought that he
had certes been killed by that madman, whereupon she flung herself down
upon his body, crying aloud in a most piercing voice, "My lord! My lord!
Assuredly thou art dead!"

"Not so, lady," said the dwarf, "he is not dead, but aswoon." And even