which Eustace held. The two Squires stood with lifted swords
before their fallen master, but it cost only another of those
irresistible strokes to stretch Gaston beside Sir Reginald, and
Eustace was left alone to maintain the struggle. A few moments
more, and the Lances would come up--but how impossible to hold
out! The first blow cleft his shield in two, and though it did
not pierce his armour, the shock brought him to his knee, and
without the support of the staff of the pennon he would have
been on the ground. Still, however, he kept up his defence,
using sometimes his sword, and sometimes the staff, to parry the
strokes of his assailant; but the strife was too unequal, and
faint with violent exertion, as well as dizzied by a stroke which
the temper of his helmet had resisted, he felt that all would be
over with him in another second, when his sinking energies were
revived by the cry of "St. George," close at hand. His enemy
relaxing his attack, he sprang to his feet, and that instant found
himself enclosed, almost swept away, by a crowd of combatants
of inferior degree, as well as his own comrades as Free Lances,
all of whose weapons were turned upon his opponent. A sword
was lifted over the enemy's head from behind, and would the
next moment have descended, but that Eustace sprang up, dashed
it aside, cried "Shame!" and grasping the arm of the threatened
Knight, exclaimed, "Yield, yield! it is your only hope!"

"Yield? and to thee?" said the Knight; "yet it is well meant. The
sword of Arthur himself would be of no avail. Tiphaine was right!
It is the fated day. Thou art of gentle birth? I yield me then,
rescue or no rescue, the rather that I see thou art a gallant youth.
Hark you, fellows, I am a prisoner, so get off with you.
Your name, bold youth?"