f the silence, missed his beloved friend. "Great God!" he
exclaimed, "what have I done? Left him I know not where, or how!" The
swift runner instantly turned about, and, retracing his steps, came
voluntarily back on the road to his own death. As he approached the scene
where it was to take place, he began to hear the noise of men and horses;
then he discerned voices threatening; then the voice of his unhappy
friend; and at length he saw him, still bearing his load, in the midst of
the whole troop of horsemen. The prince was commanding them to seize him.
The poor youth, however, burdened as he was, rendered it no such easy
matter; for he turned himself about like a wheel, and entrenched himself,
now behind this tree and now behind that. Finding this would not do,
he laid his beloved burden on the ground, and then strode hither and
thither, over and round about it, parrying the horsemen's endeavours
to take him prisoner. Never did poor hunted bear feel more conflicting
emotions, when, surprised in her den, she stands over her offspring with
uncertain heart, groaning with a mingled sound of tenderness and rage.
Wrath bids her rush forward, and bury her nails in the flesh of their
enemy; love melts her, and holds her back in the middle of her fury, to
look upon those whom she bore.[14]

Cloridan was in an agony of perplexity what to do. He longed to rush
forth and die with his friend; he longed also still to do what he could,
and not to let him die unavenged. He therefore halted awhile before
he issued from the trees, and, putting an arrow to his bow, sent it
well-aimed among the horsemen. A Scotsman fell dead from his saddle. The
troop all turned to see whence the arrow came; and as they were raging
and crying out, a second stuck in the throat of the loudest.

"This is not to be borne," cried the prince, pushing his horse towards
Medoro; "you shall suffer for this." And so speaking, he thrust his hand
into the golden locks of the youth, and dragged him violently backwards,
intending to kill him; but when he looked on his beautiful face, he
couldn't do it.

The youth betook himself to entreaty. "For God's sake, sir knight!" cried
he, "be not so cruel as to deny me leave to bury my lord and master. He
was a king. I ask nothing for myself--not even my life. I do not care for
my life. I care for nothing but to bury my lord and master."

These words were spoken in a manner so earnest, that the good prince
could feel nothing