SIR AGRAVAINEA TALE OF KING ARTHUR'S ROUND TABLE
Some time ago, when spending a delightful week-end at the ancestralcastle of my dear old friend, the Duke of Weatherstonhope (pronouncedWop), I came across an old black-letter MS. It is on this that thestory which follows is based.
I have found it necessary to touch the thing up a little here andthere, for writers in those days were weak in construction. Their ideaof telling a story was to take a long breath and start droning awaywithout any stops or dialogue till the thing was over.
I have also condensed the title. In the original it ran, '"How it cameabout that ye good Knight Sir Agravaine ye Dolorous of ye Table Rounddid fare forth to succour a damsel in distress and after diversjourneyings and perils by flood and by field did win her for his brideand right happily did they twain live ever afterwards," by Ambrose yemonk.'
It was a pretty snappy title for those days, but we have such a highstandard in titles nowadays that I have felt compelled to omit a fewyards of it.
We may now proceed to the story.
* * * * *
The great tournament was in full swing. All through the afternoonboiler-plated knights on mettlesome chargers had hurled themselves oneach other's spears, to the vast contentment of all. Bright eyes shone;handkerchiefs fluttered; musical voices urged chosen champions to knockthe cover off their brawny adversaries. The cheap seats had long sincebecome hoarse with emotion. All round the arena rose the cries ofitinerant merchants: 'Iced malvoisie,' 'Score-cards; ye cannot tell thejousters without a score-card.' All was revelry and excitement.
A hush fell on the throng. From either end of the arena a mountedknight in armour had entered.
The herald raised his hand.
'Ladeez'n gemmen! Battling Galahad and Agravaine the Dolorous. Galahadon my right, Agravaine on my left. Squires out of the ring. Time!'
A speculator among the crowd offered six to one on Galahad, but foundno takers. Nor was the public's caution without reason.
A moment later the two had met in a cloud of dust, and Agravaine,shooting over his horse's crupper, had fallen with a metallic clang.
He picked himself up, and limped slowly from the arena. He was notunused to this sort of thing. Indeed, nothing else had happened to himin his whole jousting career.
The truth was that Sir Agravaine the Dolorous was out of his element atKing Arthur's court, and he knew it. It was this knowledge that hadgiven him that settled air of melancholy from which he derived histitle.
Until I came upon this black-letter MS. I had been under theimpression, like, I presume, everybody else, that every Knight of theRound Table was a model of physical strength and beauty. Malory saysnothing to suggest the contrary. Nor does Tennyson. But apparentlythere were exceptions, of whom Sir Agravaine the Dolorous must havebeen the chief.
There was, it seems, nothing to mitigate this unfortunate man'sphysical deficiencies. There is a place in the world for the strong,ugly man, and there is a place for the weak, handsome man. But to fallshort both in features and in muscle is to stake your all on brain. Andin the days of King Arthur you did not find the populace turning out todo homage to brain. It was a drug on the market. Agravaine was a gooddeal better equipped than his contemporaries with grey matter, but hisheight in his socks was but five feet four; and his muscles, though hehad taken three correspondence courses in physical culture, remaineddistressingly flaccid. His eyes were pale and mild, his nose snub, andhis chin receded sharply from his lower lip, as if Nature, designinghim, had had to leave off in a hurry and finish the job anyhow. Theupper teeth, protruding, completed the resemblance to a nervous rabbit.
Handicapped in this manner, it is no wonder that he should feel sad andlonely in King Arthur's court. At heart he ached for romance; butromance passed him by. The ladies of the court ignored his existence,while, as for those wandering damsels who came periodically to Camelotto complain of the behaviour of dragons, giants, and the like, and toask permission of the king to take a knight back with them to fighttheir cause (just as, nowadays, one goes out and calls a policeman), hesimply had no chance. The choice always fell on Lancelot or some otherpopular favourite.
* * * * *
The tournament was followed by a feast. In those brave days almosteverything was followed by a feast. The scene was gay and animated.Fair ladies, brave knights, churls, varlets, squires, scurvy knaves,men-at-arms, malapert rogues--all were merry. All save Agravaine. Hesat silent and moody. To the jests of Dagonet he turned a deaf ear. Andwhen his neighbour, Sir Kay, arguing with Sir Percivale on currentform, appealed to him to back up his statement that Sir Gawain, thougha workman-like middle-weight, lacked the punch, he did not answer,though the subject was one on which he held strong views. He sat on,brooding.
As he sat there, a man-at-arms entered the hall.
'Your majesty,' he cried, 'a damsel in distress waits without.'
There was a murmur of excitement and interest.
'Show her in,' said the king, beaming.
The man-at-arms retired. Around the table the knights were strugglinginto an upright position in their seats and twirling their moustaches.Agravaine alone made no movement. He had been through this sort ofthing so often. What were distressed damsels to him? His wholedemeanour said, as plainly as if he had spoken the words, 'What's theuse?'
The crowd at the door parted, and through the opening came a figure atthe sight of whom the expectant faces of the knights turned pale withconsternation. For the new-comer was quite the plainest girl thosestately halls had ever seen. Possibly the only plain girl they had everseen, for no instance is recorded in our authorities of the existenceat that period of any such.
The knights gazed at her blankly. Those were the grand old days ofchivalry, when a thousand swords would leap from their scabbards toprotect defenceless woman, if she were beautiful. The present seemedsomething in the nature of a special case, and nobody was quite certainas to the correct procedure.
An awkward silence was broken by the king.
'Er--yes?' he said.
The damsel halted.
'Your majesty,' she cried, 'I am in distress. I crave help!'
'Just so,' said the king, uneasily, flashing an apprehensive glance atthe rows of perturbed faces before him. 'Just _so_. What--er--what isthe exact nature of the--ah--trouble? Any assistance these gallantknights can render will, I am sure, be--ah--eagerly rendered.'
He looked imploringly at the silent warriors. As a rule, this speechwas the signal for roars of applause. But now there was not even amurmur.
'I may say enthusiastically,' he added.
Not a sound.
'Precisely,' said the king, ever tactful. 'And now--you were saying?'
'I am Yvonne, the daughter of Earl Dorm of the Hills,' said the damsel,'and my father has sent me to ask protection from a gallant knightagainst a fiery dragon that ravages the country-side.'
'A dragon, gentlemen,' said the king, aside. It was usually a safedraw. Nothing pleased the knight of that time more than a brisk boutwith a dragon. But now the tempting word was received in silence.
'Fiery,' said the king.
Some more silence.
The king had recourse to the direct appeal. 'Sir Gawain, this Courtwould be greatly indebted to you if--'
Sir Gawain said he had strained a muscle at the last tournament.
'Sir Pelleas.'
The king's voice was growing flat with consternation. The situation wasunprecedented.
Sir Pelleas said he had an ingrowing toe-nail.
The king's eye rolled in anguish around the table. Suddenly it stopped.It brightened. His look of dismay changed to one of relief.
A knight had risen to his feet. It was Agravaine.
'Ah!' said the king, drawing a deep breath.
Sir Agravaine gulped. He was feeling more nervous than he had ever feltin his life. Never before had he risen to volunteer his services in amatter of this kind, and his sta
te of mind was that of a small boyabout to recite his first piece of poetry.
It was not only the consciousness that every eye, except one of SirBalin's which had been closed in the tournament that afternoon, wasupon him. What made him feel like a mild gentleman in a post-office whohas asked the lady assistant if she will have time to attend to himsoon and has caught her eye, was the fact that he thought he hadobserved the damsel Yvonne frown as he rose. He groaned in spirit. Thisdamsel, he felt, wanted the proper goods or none at all. She might notbe able to get Sir Lancelot or Sir Galahad; but she was not going to besatisfied with a half-portion.
The fact was that Sir Agravaine had fallen in love at first sight. Themoment he had caught a glimpse of the damsel Yvonne, he loved herdevotedly. To others she seemed plain and unattractive. To him she wasa Queen of Beauty. He was amazed at the inexplicable attitude of theknights around him. He had expected them to rise in a body to clamourfor the chance of assisting this radiant vision. He could hardlybelieve, even now, that he was positively the only starter.
'This is Sir Agravaine the Dolorous,' said the king to the damsel.'Will you take him as your champion?'
Agravaine held his breath. But all was well. The damsel bowed.
'Then, Sir Agravaine,' said the king, 'perhaps you had better have yourcharger sent round at once. I imagine that the matter is pressing--timeand--er--dragons wait for no man.'
Ten minutes later Agravaine, still dazed, was jogging along to thehills, with the damsel by his side.
It was some time before either of them spoke. The damsel seemedpreoccupied, and Agravaine's mind was a welter of confused thoughts,the most prominent of which and the one to which he kept returningbeing the startling reflection that he, who had pined for romance solong, had got it now in full measure.
A dragon! Fiery withal. Was he absolutely certain that he was capableof handling an argument with a fiery dragon? He would have given muchfor a little previous experience of this sort of thing. It was too latenow, but he wished he had had the forethought to get Merlin to put up amagic prescription for him, rendering him immune to dragon-bites. Butdid dragons bite? Or did they whack at you with their tails? Or justblow fire?
There were a dozen such points that he would have liked to have settledbefore starting. It was silly to start out on a venture of this sortwithout special knowledge. He had half a mind to plead a forgottenengagement and go straight back.
Then he looked at the damsel, and his mind was made up. What did deathmatter if he could serve her?
He coughed. She came out of her reverie with a start.
'This dragon, now?' said Agravaine.
For a moment the damsel did not reply. 'A fearsome worm, Sir Knight,'she said at length. 'It raveneth by day and by night. It breathes firefrom its nostrils.'
'Does it!' said Agravaine. '_Does_ it! You couldn't give someidea what it looks like, what kind of _size_ it is?'
'Its body is as thick as ten stout trees, and its head touches theclouds.'
'Does it!' said Agravaine thoughtfully. '_Does_ it!'
'Oh, Sir Knight, I pray you have a care.'
'I will,' said Agravaine. And he had seldom said anything morefervently. The future looked about as bad as it could be. Any hopeshe may have entertained that this dragon might turn out tobe comparatively small and inoffensive were dissipated. This wasplainly no debilitated wreck of a dragon, its growth stunted byexcessive-fire-breathing. A body as thick as ten stout trees! He wouldnot even have the melancholy satisfaction of giving the creatureindigestion. For all the impression he was likely to make on that vastinterior, he might as well be a salted almond.
As they were speaking, a dim mass on the skyline began to take shape.
'Behold!' said the damsel. 'My father's castle.' And presently theywere riding across the drawbridge and through the great gate, whichshut behind them with a clang.
As they dismounted a man came out through a door at the farther end ofthe courtyard.
'Father,' said Yvonne, 'this is the gallant knight Sir Agravaine, whohas come to--' it seemed to Agravaine that she hesitated for a moment.
'To tackle our dragon?' said the father. 'Excellent. Come right in.'
Earl Dorm of the Hills, was a small, elderly man, with what Agravaineconsidered a distinctly furtive air about him. His eyes were too closetogether, and he was over-lavish with a weak, cunning smile. EvenAgravaine, who was in the mood to like the whole family, if possible,for Yvonne's sake, could not help feeling that appearances were againstthis particular exhibit. He might have a heart of gold beneath theoutward aspect of a confidence-trick expert whose hobby was dog-stealing,but there was no doubt that his exterior did not inspire a genial glowof confidence.
'Very good of you to come,' said the earl.
'It's a pleasure,' said Agravaine. 'I have been hearing all about thedragon.'
'A great scourge,' agreed his host. 'We must have a long talk about itafter dinner.'
It was the custom in those days in the stately homes of England for thewhole strength of the company to take their meals together. The guestssat at the upper table, the ladies in a gallery above them, while theusual drove of men-at-arms, archers, malapert rogues, varlets, scurvyknaves, scullions, and plug-uglies attached to all medieval households,squashed in near the door, wherever they could find room.
The retinue of Earl Dorm was not strong numerically--the householdbeing, to judge from appearances, one that had seen better days; but itstruck Agravaine that what it lacked in numbers it made up intoughness. Among all those at the bottom of the room there was not onewhom it would have been agreeable to meet alone in a dark alley. Ofall those foreheads not one achieved a height of more than one pointnought four inches. A sinister collection, indeed, and one which,Agravaine felt, should have been capable of handling without hisassistance any dragon that ever came into the world to stimulate theasbestos industry.
He was roused from his reflections by the voice of his host.
'I hope you are not tired after your journey, Sir Agravaine? My littlegirl did not bore you, I trust? We are very quiet folk here. Countrymice. But we must try to make your visit interesting.'
Agravaine felt that the dragon might be counted upon to do that. Hesaid as much.
'Ah, yes, the dragon,' said Earl Dorm, 'I was forgetting the dragon. Iwant to have a long talk with you about that dragon. Not now. Lateron.'
His eye caught Agravaine's, and he smiled that weak, cunning smile ofhis. And for the first time the knight was conscious of a curiousfeeling that all was not square and aboveboard in this castle. Aconviction began to steal over him that in some way he was being playedwith, that some game was afoot which he did not understand, that--in aword--there was dirty work at the cross-roads.
There was a touch of mystery in the atmosphere which made him vaguelyuneasy. When a fiery dragon is ravaging the country-side to such anextent that the S.O.S. call has been sent out to the Round Table, aknight has a right to expect the monster to be the main theme ofconversation. The tendency on his host's part was apparently to avoidtouching on the subject at all. He was vague and elusive; and the onetopic on which an honest man is not vague and elusive is that of fierydragons. It was not right. It was as if one should phone for the policeand engage them, on arrival, in a discussion on the day's footballresults.
A wave of distrust swept over Agravaine. He had heard stories of robberchiefs who lured strangers into their strongholds and then held themprisoners while the public nervously dodged their anxious friends whohad formed subscription lists to make up the ransom. Could this be sucha case? The man certainly had an evasive manner and a smile which wouldhave justified any jury in returning a verdict without leaving the box.On the other hand, there was Yvonne. His reason revolted against theidea of that sweet girl being a party to any such conspiracy.
No, probably it was only the Earl's unfortunate manner. Perhaps hesuffered from some muscular weakness of the face which made him smilelike that.
Nevertheless, he certainly wishe
d that he had not allowed himself to bedeprived of his sword and armour. At the time it had seemed to him thatthe Earl's remark that the latter needed polishing and the formerstropping betrayed only a kindly consideration for his guest's well-being.Now, it had the aspect of being part of a carefully-constructed plot.
On the other hand--here philosophy came to his rescue--if anybody didmean to start anything, his sword and armour might just as well not bethere. Any one of those mammoth low-brows at the door could eat him,armour and all.
He resumed his meal, uneasy but resigned.
Dinner at Earl Dorm's was no lunch-counter scuffle. It started earlyand finished late. It was not till an advanced hour that Agravaine wasconducted to his room.
The room which had been allotted to him was high up in the easterntower. It was a nice room, but to one in Agravaine's state ofsuppressed suspicion a trifle too solidly upholstered. The door was ofthe thickest oak, studded with iron nails. Iron bars formed a neatpattern across the only window.
Hardly had Agravaine observed these things when the door opened, andbefore him stood the damsel Yvonne, pale of face and panting forbreath.
She leaned against the doorpost and gulped.
'Fly!' she whispered.
Reader, if you had come to spend the night in the lonely castle of aperfect stranger with a shifty eye and a rogues' gallery smile, and onretiring to your room had found the door kick-proof and the windowbarred, and if, immediately after your discovery of these phenomena, awhite-faced young lady had plunged in upon you and urged you toimmediate flight, wouldn't that jar you?
It jarred Agravaine.
'Eh?' he cried.
'Fly! Fly, Sir Knight.'
Another footstep sounded in the passage. The damsel gave a startledlook over her shoulder.
'And what's all this?'
Earl Dorm appeared in the dim-lit corridor. His voice had a nastytinkle in it.
'Your--your daughter,' said Agravaine, hurriedly, 'was just telling methat breakfast would--'
The sentence remained unfinished. A sudden movement of the earl's hand,and the great door banged in his face. There came the sound of a boltshooting into its socket. A key turned in the lock. He was trapped.
Outside, the earl had seized his daughter by the wrist and wasadministering a paternal cross-examination.
'What were you saying to him?'
Yvonne did not flinch.
'I was bidding him fly.'
'If he wants to leave this castle,' said the earl, grimly, 'he'll haveto.'
'Father,' said Yvonne,' I can't.'
'Can't what?'
'I can't.'
His grip on her wrist tightened. From the other side of the door camethe muffled sound of blows on the solid oak. 'Oh?' said Earl Dorm.'You can't, eh? Well, listen to me. You've got to. Do you understand? Iadmit he might be better-looking, but--'
'Father, I love him.'
He released her wrist, and stared at her in the uncertain light.
'You love him!'
'Yes.'
'Then what--? Why? Well, I never did understand women,' he said atlast, and stumped off down the passage.
While this cryptic conversation was in progress, Agravaine, his worstapprehensions realized, was trying to batter down the door. After a fewmoments, however, he realized the futility of his efforts, and sat downon the bed to think.
At the risk of forfeiting the reader's respect, it must be admittedthat his first emotion was one of profound relief. If he was locked uplike this, it must mean that that dragon story was fictitious, and thatall danger was at an end of having to pit his inexperience against aravening monster who had spent a lifetime devouring knights. He hadnever liked the prospect, though he had been prepared to go throughwith it, and to feel that it was definitely cancelled made up for agood deal.
His mind next turned to his immediate future. What were they going todo with him? On this point he felt tolerably comfortable. Thisimprisonment could mean nothing more than that he would be compelled todisgorge a ransom. This did not trouble him. He was rich, and, now thatthe situation had been switched to a purely business basis, he feltthat he could handle it.
In any case, there was nothing to be gained by sitting up, so he wentto bed, like a good philosopher.
The sun was pouring through the barred window when he was awoken by theentrance of a gigantic figure bearing food and drink.
He recognized him as one of the scurvy knaves who had dined at thebottom of the room the night before--a vast, beetle-browed fellow witha squint, a mop of red hair, and a genius for silence. To Agravaine'sattempts to engage him in conversation he replied only with grunts, andin a short time left the room, closing and locking the door behind him.
He was succeeded at dusk by another of about the same size andugliness, and with even less conversational _elan_. This one didnot even grunt.
Small-talk, it seemed, was not an art cultivated in any great measureby the lower orders in the employment of Earl Dorm.
The next day passed without incident. In the morning the strabismicplug-ugly with the red hair brought him food and drink, while in theevening the non-grunter did the honours. It was a peaceful life, buttending towards monotony, and Agravaine was soon in the frame of mindwhich welcomes any break in the daily round.
He was fortunate enough to get it.
He had composed himself for sleep that night, and was just droppingcomfortably off, when from the other side of the door he heard thesound of angry voices.
It was enough to arouse him. On the previous night silence had reigned.Evidently something out of the ordinary was taking place.
He listened intently and distinguished words.
'Who was it I did see thee coming down the road with?'
'Who was it thou didst see me coming down the road with?'
'Aye, who was it I did see thee coming down the road with?'
'Who dost thou think thou art?'
'Who do I think that I am?'
'Aye, who dost thou think thou art?'
Agravaine could make nothing of it. As a matter of fact, he was hearingthe first genuine cross-talk that had ever occurred in those dim,pre-music-hall days. In years to come dialogue on these lines was tobe popular throughout the length and breadth of Great Britain. Buttill then it had been unknown.
The voices grew angrier. To an initiated listener it would have beenplain that in a short while words would be found inadequate and thedagger, that medieval forerunner of the slap-stick, brought into play.But to Agravaine, all inexperienced, it came as a surprise whensuddenly with a muffled thud two bodies fell against the door. Therewas a scuffling noise, some groans, and then silence.
And then with amazement he heard the bolt shoot back and a key grate inthe keyhole.
The door swung open. It was dark outside, but Agravaine coulddistinguish a female form, and, beyond, a shapeless mass which he tookcorrectly to be the remains of the two plug-uglies.
'It is I, Yvonne,' said a voice.
'What is it? What has been happening?'
'It was I. I set them against each other. They both loved one of thekitchen-maids. I made them jealous. I told Walt privily that she hadfavoured Dickon, and Dickon privily that she loved Walt. And now--'
She glanced at the shapeless heap, and shuddered. Agravaine nodded.
'No wedding-bells for her,' he said, reverently.
'And I don't care. I did it to save you. But come! We are wasting time.Come! I will help you to escape.'
A man who has been shut up for two days in a small room is seldom slowoff the mark when a chance presents itself of taking exercise.Agravaine followed without a word, and together they crept down thedark staircase until they had reached the main hall. From somewhere inthe distance came the rhythmic snores of scurvy knaves getting theireight hours.
Softly Yvonne unbolted a small door, and, passing through it, Agravainefound himself looking up at the stars, while the great walls of thecastle towered above him.
'Good-bye,' sa
id Yvonne.
There was a pause. For the first time Agravaine found himselfexamining the exact position of affairs. After his sojourn in theguarded room, freedom looked very good to him. But freedom meantparting from Yvonne.
He looked at the sky and he looked at the castle walls, and he took astep back towards the door.
'I'm not so sure I want to go,' he said.
'Oh, fly! Fly, Sir Knight!' she cried.
'You don't understand,' said Agravaine. 'I don't want to seem to besaying anything that might be interpreted as in the least derogatory toyour father in any way whatever, but without prejudice, surely he isjust a plain, ordinary brigand? I mean it's only a question of aransom? And I don't in the least object--'
'No, no, no.' Her voice trembled. 'He would ask no ransom.'
'Don't tell me he kidnaps people just as a hobby!'
'You don't understand. He--No, I cannot tell you. Fly!'
'What don't I understand?'
She was silent. Then she began to speak rapidly. 'Very well. I willtell you. Listen. My father had six children, all daughters. We werepoor. We had to stay buried in this out-of-the-way spot. We saw no one.It seemed impossible that any of us should ever marry. My father was indespair. Then he said, "If we cannot get to town, the town must come tous." So he sent my sister Yseult to Camelot to ask the king to let ushave a knight to protect us against a giant with three heads. There wasno giant, but she got the knight. It was Sir Sagramore. Perhaps youknew him?'
Agravaine nodded. He began to see daylight.
'My sister Yseult was very beautiful. After the first day Sir Sagramoreforgot all about the giant, and seemed to want to do nothing elseexcept have Yseult show him how to play cat's cradle. They were marriedtwo months later, and my father sent my sister Elaine to Camelot toask for a knight to protect us against a wild unicorn.'
'And who bit?' asked Agravaine, deeply interested.
'Sir Malibran of Devon. They were married within three weeks, and myfather--I can't go on. You understand now.'
'I understand the main idea,' said Agravaine. 'But in my case--'
'You were to marry me,' said Yvonne. Her voice was quiet and cold, butshe was quivering.
Agravaine was conscious of a dull, heavy weight pressing on his heart.He had known his love was hopeless, but even hopelessness is the betterfor being indefinite. He understood now.
'And you naturally want to get rid of me before it can happen,' hesaid. 'I don't wonder. I'm not vain... Well, I'll go. I knew I had nochance. Good-bye.'
He turned. She stopped him with a sharp cry.
'What do you mean? You cannot wish to stay now? I am saving you.'
'Saving me! I have loved you since the moment you entered the Hall atCamelot,' said Agravaine.
She drew in her breath.
'You--you love me!'
They looked at each other in the starlight. She held out her hands.
'Agravaine!'
She drooped towards him, and he gathered her into his arms. For anovice, he did it uncommonly well.
It was about six months later that Agravaine, having ridden into theforest, called upon a Wise Man at his cell.
In those days almost anyone who was not a perfect bonehead could set upas a Wise Man and get away with it. All you had to do was to live in aforest and grow a white beard. This particular Wise Man, for a wonder,had a certain amount of rude sagacity. He listened carefully to whatthe knight had to say.
'It has puzzled me to such an extent,' said Agravaine, 'that I feltthat I must consult a specialist. You see me. Take a good look at me.What do you think of my personal appearance? You needn't hesitate. It'sworse than that. I am the ugliest man in England.'
'Would you go as far as that?' said the Wise Man, politely.
'Farther. And everybody else thinks so. Everybody except my wife. Shetells me that I am a model of manly beauty. You know Lancelot? Well,she says I have Lancelot whipped to a custard. What do you make ofthat? And here's another thing. It is perfectly obvious to me that mywife is one of the most beautiful creatures in existence. I have seenthem all, and I tell you that she stands alone. She is literallymarooned in Class A, all by herself. Yet she insists that she is plain.What do you make of it?'
The Wise Man stroked his beard.
'My son,' he said, 'the matter is simple. True love takes no account oflooks.'
'No?' said Agravaine.
'You two are affinities. Therefore, to you the outward aspect is nothing.Put it like this. Love is a thingummybob who what-d'you-call-its.'
'I'm beginning to see,' said Agravaine.
'What I meant was this. Love is a wizard greater than Merlin. He playsodd tricks with the eyesight.'
'Yes,' said Agravaine.
'Or, put it another way. Love is a sculptor greater than Praxiteles. Hetakes an unsightly piece of clay and moulds it into a thing divine.'
'I get you,' said Agravaine.
The Wise Man began to warm to his work.
'Or shall we say--'
'I think I must be going,' said Agravaine. 'I promised my wife I wouldbe back early.'
'We might put it--' began the Wise Man perseveringly.
'I understand,' said Agravaine, hurriedly. 'I quite see now. Good-bye.'
The Wise Man sighed resignedly.
'Good-bye, Sir Knight,' he said. 'Good-bye. Pay at ye desk.'
And Agravaine rode on his way marvelling.