Then, to the great relief of Rose, who feared that the boy would die before they could possibly get back to the castle, she saw that they stood in the meadow before the walls. The gate was open, and a stream of knights in red armour was riding hastily toward them. In a few moments the youth was lifted to the saddle of one of these knights and the whole cavalcade, conducting Guinevere and the girls, rode into the donjon keep.
Merlin met them looking grave.
“It was not well, Princess, to leave this castle,” he said. “Now that has happened which cannot be gainsaid. But at least my magic has prevailed, with the help of my friend, the fairy. And now to assist this noble lord.”
With his wand he touched the face of the youth, who lay in a swoon, supported by a knight. At once the young hero opened his eyes and stood up, healed of his hurts.
Gravely he looked into the eyes of the princess, who returned his gaze with steady eyes in which tears shone, however.
“Thou hast saved me from I know not what of evil,” she whispered. “Wilt thou not tell me thy name, fair youth?”
“My name is Lancelot,” answered the youth. And Merlin sighed.
The princess took a knot of ribbon from her dress, and gave it to her rescuer.
“Sometime we shall see each other, when we are both older,” she said. “I feel this to be true. Do not forget me, noble Lord Lancelot, and know well that I shall keep thee secure in my heart and memory.”
“The mischief has begun,” murmured Merlin, but no one noticed the old man.