This Lavaine did, the pain being so deadly that Lancelot shrieked and fell into a death-like swoon, while a full pint of blood gushed from the wound. Lavaine stopped the bleeding as well as he could, and with great trouble got the wounded knight to a neighboring hermitage, that stood in front of a great cliff, with a clear stream running by its foot.
Here Lavaine beat on the door with the butt of his spear, and cried loudly,—
"Open, for Jesus' sake! Open, for a noble knight lies bleeding to death at your gate!"
This loud appeal quickly brought out the hermit, who was named Baldwin of Brittany, and had once been a Round Table knight. He gazed with pity and alarm on the pale face and bleeding form before him.
"I should know this knight," he said. "Who is he?"
"Fair sir," said Lancelot, feebly, "I am a stranger and a knight-errant, who have sought renown through many realms, and have come here to my deadly peril."
As he spoke the hermit recognized him, by a wound on his pallid cheek.
"Ah, my lord Lancelot," he said, "you cannot deceive me thus."
"Then, if you know me, help me for heaven's sake. Relieve me from this pain, whether it be by life or death."
"I shall do my best," said the hermit. "Fear not that you will die."