Then he kissed her and said, “Most noble lady, I beseech ye, as I have ever been your own true knight, take courage; pray for my soul if I be now slain, and trust my faithful friends, Sir Bors and Sir Lavaine, to save you from the fire.”

But ever bitterly she wept and moaned, and cried, “Would God that they would take and slay me, and that thou couldest escape.”

“That shall never be,” said he. And wrapping his mantle round his arm he unbarred the door a little space, so that but one could enter.

Then first rushed in Sir Chalaunce, a full strong knight, and lifted up his sword to smite Sir Lancelot; but lightly he avoided him, and struck Sir Chalaunce, with his hand, such a sore buffet on the head as felled him dead upon the floor.

Then Sir Lancelot pulled in his body and barred the door again, and dressed himself in his armour, and took his drawn sword in his hand.

[But still the knights cried mightily without the door, “Traitor, come forth!”]

“Be silent and depart,” replied Sir Lancelot; “for be ye sure ye will not take me, and to-morrow will I meet ye face to face before the king.”

“Ye shall have no such grace,” they cried; “but we will slay thee, or take thee as we list.”