He tapped at the door of the knight's apartments, and hearing a voice say "Come in," he opened the door, and found Bowerman reclining on a couch, his head bandaged and his eyes closed. He was alone.
"Who's that?" said the wounded page.
"Oh, Bowerman, I am grievous sad to see you look in such parlous case," said Ralph, his conscience pricking him for not having inquired after, or been to see, his wounded comrade before.
At the sound of Ralph's voice, Bowerman's face flushed up; and in a voice whose tones expressed concentrated hate, he said,--
"You fiend you! who asked you to come here?"
"Well, Bowerman, I don't see why you should bear me such ill-will. 'Twas not my fault you met with your mishap."
"Yes, it was. If you had not aimed at the beaver,[*] which you know well enough is the weakest part of the whole armour, I should not have got that splinter in my cheek."
[*] The visor.
"But," said Ralph, taken aback by this novel ground of accusation, "you could have aimed at mine; and, besides, the beaver would never have come open, had it been tightly clasped."
"That's all as may be! but I knew you had never done anything of the kind before, so I hit you where there was least danger; and in return for my good nature, you took a cowardly advantage of me."