ve betrayed me. You have acted a lie. Had you thrown the
sword, something would have happened, some sign would have been
given. Go back now, and throw it into the lake."

Sir Bedivere went back and again picked up Excalibur. As he
looked at it he said aloud:

"Surely it is not right to throw away such a precious thing. It
would please the eyes of people forever. I know it is wrong to
disobey the king. Yet he is sick; perhaps he does not know what
he is doing. If I keep Excalibur and store it in a great
treasure-house, people will look at it throughout all the coming
years, and feel great reverence for the king who fought with it."

So again Sir Bedivere hid the sword and returned to the king, who
asked:

"What have you seen or heard?"

And Sir Bedivere replied:

"I heard the water lapping on the crag, and the long ripple
washing in the reeds."

Then the king was very angry.

"Ah, unkind!" he cried. "You, too, are a traitor. Because I am
dying, I have no authority. You refuse to obey me, you who are
the last of my knights! Yet it is possible for a man to fail in
his duty twice, and succeed the third time. Go now, and throw
Excalibur."

Sir Bedivere ran quickly and seized the sword, shutting his eyes
that he might not see its beauty. He whirled it round his head
and threw it far out over the lake. It flashed in the moonlight
and fell. But before it reached the surface of the water, an arm,
clothed in pure white, rose and caught it, brandished it three
times, and then drew it under the water.

When Sir Bedivere went back to Arthur, the king knew that he had
been obeyed.

"I am dying," he said. "Lift me on your back and carry me to the
lake."

Then Sir Bedivere carried the helpless king, walking quickly
through the place of tombs, and over the crags, and past the
chasms, till he came to the smooth shining lake. There beside the
bank was a barge, all black. The deck was covered with stately
figures of people clad in mourning. Among them were three fair
queens with crowns of gold--the three queens who were to help
Arthur at his need.

They had come to take him away, Sir Bedivere did not know where.
When they saw the wounded king, they gave a cry of grief that
seemed to rise to the stars. Then they lifted him into the barge.
The tallest put his head on her knees, and took off his broken
helmet. She called him by name, weeping bitterly.

Poor Sir Bedivere cried:

"Oh, my Lord Arthur, you are leaving me.