the chariot, and conveyed him to the bower of Cymoent. Here in a cool chamber, arched overhead by billows through whose watery dome a soft green light suffused the place, they laid him upon a soft couch, spread on the pearly floor. Then they called Tryphon, the surgeon of the sea, to come and look upon the prince and see if any art of his could bring him back to life.
II.
On the day following the adventures we have just related, three knights of Faery were riding along over the plain which spread down to the sea. He whose plumed crest rose high above his companions, was Arthur, Prince of the Round Table. On his left rode the noble Red Cross knight, Sir Guyon, a pattern of spotless knighthood. On his right rode Britomart, her visor open and her yellow hair flowing from her loosened helmet.
As the trio rode on in peaceful converse, they were all at once startled by the clatter of hoofs and the shrill cry of a woman. Looking up, they beheld a beautiful maiden mounted on a white palfrey, which she urged to its utmost speed, flying across the plain not more than a lancer’s throw in advance of them. Close upon her heels, in hot pursuit, came a hideous and grizzled old forester, who looked less like a man than a wolf.
