fine linen, and bound the wound strictly, to his exceeding comfort. So
after the vesper meal was eaten, the lady departed to her own chamber,
leaving the knight in much ease and content.

Now Gugemar set his love so fondly upon the lady that he forgot his
father's house. He thought no more of the anguish of his hurt, because
of another wound that was beneath his breast. He tossed and sighed in
his unrest, and prayed the maiden of his service to depart, so that
he might sleep a little. When the maid was gone, Gugemar considered
within himself whether he might seek the dame, to know whether her
heart was warmed by any ember of the flame that burned in his. He
turned it this way and that, and knew not what to do. This only was
clear, that if the lady refused to search his wound, death, for him,
was sure and speedy.

"Alas," said he, "what shall I do! Shall I go to my lady, and pray her
pity on the wretch who has none to give him counsel? If she refuse
my prayer, because of her hardness and pride, I shall know there is
nought for me but to die in my sorrow, or, at least, to go heavily all
the days of my life."

Then he sighed, and in his sighing lighted on a better purpose; for he
said within himself that doubtless he was born to suffer, and that
the best of him was tears. All the long night he spent in vigil and
groanings and watchfulness. To himself he told over her words and her
semblance. He remembered the eyes and the fair mouth of his lady, and
all the grace and the sweetness, which had struck like a knife at his
heart. Between his teeth he cried on her for pity, and for a little
more would have called her to his side. Ah, had he but known the fever
of the lady, and how terrible a lord to her was Love, how great had