emerges from a postern between gate and portcullis and conveys the
intruder safe to her own chamber. Here a magic bed makes him invisible:
though the whole castle, including the very room, is ransacked by the
dead knight's people and would-be revengers, at the bidding of his
widow.

This widow, however, is rather an Ephesian matron. The sagacious Lunet,
whose confidante she is, suggests to her that, unless she enlists some
doughty knight as her champion, the king will confiscate her fief; and
that there is no champion like a husband. A very little more finesse
effects the marriage, even though the lady is made aware of the identity
of her new lover and her own husband's slayer. (It is of course
necessary to remember that the death of a combatant in fairly challenged
and fought single contest was not reckoned as any fault to his
antagonist.) Ywain actually shows his prowess against the King: and has
an opportunity of showing Kay once more that it is one thing to blame
other people for failing, and another to succeed yourself. And after
this the newly married pair live together happily for a time. But it was
reckoned a fault in a knight to take too prolonged a honeymoon: and
Ywain, after what the French call _adieux déchirants_, obtains leave for
the usual "twelvemonth and a day," at the expiration of which, on St.
John's Eve, he is without fail to return, the engagement being sealed by
the gift from his lady of a special ring. He forgets his promise of
course: and at the stated time a damsel appears, sternly demands the
ring, and announces her lady's decision to have nothing further to do
with him. There is in such cases only one thing for any true knight,
from Sir Lancelot to Sir Amadis, to do: and that is to go mad, divest
himself of his garments, and take to the greenwood. This Ywain duly
does, supporting himself at first on the raw flesh of game which he
kills with a bow and arrows wrested from a chance-comer; and then on