"Sir Knight," she replied, "my home lies on the farther side of the Dark Wood, and the neighbor who was to convey me thither has no doubt forgotten his promise. I have a sick son there for whose sake I made this journey. Wilt thou, for the love of heaven, take me up behind thee and convey me through the Dark Wood to my dwelling? I cannot walk through this tempest, and my son may die."
Then Sir Godfrey was as a man turned into marble by enchantment, and his heart was sore with struggle. Before him were the lights of the castle which held his love. If he carried this woman to her home, he could not see his Lady Beatrice, who, perhaps, would never forgive him for not appearing at her summons.
The thought was as death to him, and he looked broodingly down at the poor woman. "I am bidden to a feast, Mother," he said, "the porter of this castle will give you shelter for the night, and in the morning I will convey you through the Dark Wood to your home."
"The morning may be too late, Sir Knight," she said sadly.
Then without a word Sir Godfrey turned his horse, and though his heart was like lead, he bent a cheerful countenance to the stranger, and assisted her to the place behind the saddle, and off they rode together through the night and storm.
Sir Godfrey spoke but little, since his thoughts were with the Lady Beatrice and the empty chair at the feast which should have been his. He saw her face imprinted on the night's dark veil and heard her voice calling him on the whistling wind. The old woman behind him muttered of the storm while on and on they rode.
At last they entered the Dark Wood, and here they made slower progress, for the light of Sir Godfrey's little lantern was feeble and the trees cast confusing shadows. By and by the old woman began to moan that she was cold, that she felt herself dying of the cold. "O would that we could reach the Tree which sheds warmth and bears fruit even in this bitter weather," she cried. "O Knight, hasten forward to the Tree."
But Sir Godfrey made no answer, for he was now sure that he should never be holy enough to behold the Tree; and he, too, felt the sorrow and cold of death creep upon him, and a dreadful fear that never again should he leave the Dark Wood alive, but would perish there miserably. He could no longer see the path, and the arms of the old woman clinging to him were like the touch of ice. "O Mother!" he cried, "Pray for our deliverance, for I have lost the road."
At that moment his lantern went out, and he gave a cry of despair, for he had nothing wherewith to relight it.
"Fear not," cried the old woman, "but press on."