"Why so?" she demanded.
"For good cause," he answered. "Is the owner of this shield your love?"
"Truly so," she replied. "I love him dearly; would to God he loved me as dearly."
"Then must I say that you have given your love to the noblest and most renowned knight in the world."
"So it seemed to me; for he carries a noble soul in his face."
"This I may say," said Gawaine. "I have known this knight for more than twenty years, and never knew him before to wear a woman's token at joust or tournament. You owe him thanks, indeed, that he wore yours. Yet I dread greatly that you will never see him again, and it is for this that my heart is heavy."
"Why say you so?" she cried, starting up with pallid face. "Is he hurt? Is he slain?"
"Not slain; but sadly hurt. This more it is my duty to tell you: he is the noble knight, Sir Lancelot du Lake. I know him by his shield."
"Lancelot! Can this be so? And his hurt—who gave it? Is it really perilous?"
"Had the knight who wounded him known him, he would have been grieved almost to death. As for Sir Lancelot, I can tell you nothing more. On receiving his hurt he left the lists with his comrade, and cannot be found. He is somewhere concealed."