ost of
foes; and surely at that moment she thought that her life was drawing to
its end. Finding, however, that her dark armour befriended her in
the tumult, she mingled with the enemy as though she had been one of
themselves, and so, by degrees, picked her way through the confusion
caused by the fire. As the wolf, with its bloody mouth, seeks covert
in the woods, even so Clorinda got clear out of the multitude into the
darkness and the open country.

Not, however, so clear, alas, but that Tancred perceived her--Tancred,
her foe in creed, but her adoring lover, whose heart she had conquered in
the midst of strife, and whose passion for her she knew. But now she knew
not that he had seen her; nor did he, poor valiant wretch, know that
the knight in black armour whom he pursued, was a woman, and Clorinda.
Tancred had seen the warrior strike down the assailant at the gate; he
had watched him as he picked his way to escape; and Clorinda now heard
the unknown Tancred coming swiftly on horseback behind her as she was
speeding round towards another gate in hopes of being let in.

The heroine at length turned, and said, "How now, friend?--what is thy
business?"

"Death!" answered the pursuer.

"Thou shalt have it," replied the maiden.

The knight, as his enemy was on foot, dismounted, in order to render
the combat equal; and their swords are drawn in fury, and the fight
begins.[4]

Worthy of the brightest day-time was that fight--worthy of a theatre full
of valiant be-holders. Be not displeased, O. Night! that I draw it out of
thy bosom, and set it in the serene light of renown: the splendour will
but the more exhibit the great shade of thy darkness.

No trial was this of skill--no contest of warding and traversing and
taking heed--no artful interchange of blows now pretended, now given in
earnest, now glancing. Night-time and rage flung aside all consideration.
The swords horribly clashed and hammered on one another. Not a cut
descended in vain--not a thrust was without substance. Shame and fury
aggravated one another. Every blow became fiercer than the last. They
closed--they could use their blades no longer; they dashed the pummels of
their swords at one another's faces; they butted and shouldered with helm
and buckler. Three times the man threw his arms round the woman with
other embraces than those of love--three times they returned to their
swords, and cut and slashed one another's bleeding bodies; till at length