“I will not leave it,” said Sir Lancelot, “for any asking.”
“Then, gentle knight,” said the damsel, “I pray thee kiss me once.”
“Nay,” said Sir Lancelot, “that God forbid!”
“Alas!” cried she, “I have lost all my labour! but hadst thou kissed me, thy life’s days had been all done!”
“Heaven save me from thy subtle crafts!” said Sir Lancelot; and therewith took his horse and galloped forth.
And when he was departed, the damsel sorrowed greatly, and died in fifteen days. Her name was Ellawes, the sorceress.
Then came Sir Lancelot to Sir Meliot’s sister, who, when she saw him, clapped her hands and wept for joy, and took him to the castle hard by, where Sir Meliot was. And when Sir Lancelot saw Sir Meliot, he knew him, though he was pale as ashes for loss of blood. And Sir Meliot, when he saw Sir Lancelot, kneeled to him and cried aloud, “O lord, Sir Lancelot! help me!”
And thereupon, Sir Lancelot went to him and touched his wounds with the sword, and wiped them with the piece of bloody cloth. And immediately he was as whole as though he had been never wounded. Then was there great joy between him and Sir Meliot; and his sister made Sir Lancelot good cheer. So on the morrow, he took his leave, that he might go to King Arthur’s court, “for,” said he, “it draweth nigh the feast of Pentecost, and there, by God’s grace, shall ye then find me.”
And riding through many strange countries, over marshes and valleys, he came at length before a castle. As he passed by he heard two little bells ringing, and looking up, he saw a falcon flying overhead, with bells tied to her feet, and long strings dangling from them. And as the falcon flew past an elm-tree, the strings caught in the boughs, so that she could fly no further.