The finding of the chapel
“Ah,” quoth Gawain, “can this be the Green Chapel? Here might the devil say his mattins at midnight! Now I wis there is wizardry here. ’Tis an ugly oratory, all overgrown with grass, and ’twould well beseem that fellow in green to say his devotions on devil’s wise. By my five wits, ’tis the foul fiend himself who hath set me this tryst, to destroy me here! This is a chapel of mischance: ill-luck betide it, ’tis the cursedest kirk that ever I came in!”
Helmet on head and lance in hand, he came up to the rough dwelling, when he heard over the high hill beyond the brook, as it were in a bank, a wondrous fierce noise, that rang in the cliff as if it would cleave asunder. ’Twas as if one ground a scythe on a grindstone, it whirred and whetted like water on a mill-wheel and rushed and rang, terrible to hear.
“By God,” quoth Gawain, “I trow that gear is preparing for the knight who will meet me here. Alas! naught may help me, yet should my life be forfeit, I fear not a jot!” With that he called aloud. “Who waiteth in this place to give me tryst? Now is Gawain come hither: if any man will aught of him let him hasten hither now or never.”