“Where am I?” exclaimed Sir Guido, as he awoke with the fisherman’s clamor. “Help; friend,—I am sinking: I am the pilgrim that fought yesterday in the lists—thanks—thanks,” he continued, as he reached the fisherman’s boat; “but how got I here?”
“I hardly know: just now I heard a splash, looked round, and by the moon’s light saw you and your bed floating on the water.”
“Ah! well, the treachery has failed, good friend; to-morrow will confound the traitors.”
The morrow came in fair and bright; again the people hastened to the lists, eager to see the issue of this wondrous combat. The king was seated, the lists were ready, and the heralds sounded. Then stept forth Sir Plebeus with his visor up, and a fair and smiling countenance.
“My lord the king,” said the Dacian champion, as he bowed before the king’s throne, “I demand the combat with the pilgrim.”
“It is well, Sir Plebeus—ho, herald! go to my daughter, and demand of her the pilgrim knight.”
“The princess is even now coming to the royal presence,” replied the herald, as the crowd formed a lane, through which the king’s daughter was seen approaching her father’s throne, with a meek and sorrowful aspect.
“My child,” said the Dacian king, “where is the pilgrim knight, the champion of Sir Tyrius? We await his coming forth.”
“Father, and dear lord,” replied the maiden, “I know not whither he is gone; but last night I left him in deep sleep in his chamber, and now neither he nor his bed whereon he slept are to be found.”
“Cowardly boaster!” exclaimed Sir Plebeus, “dares he not meet me in the list? The coward has fled.”