So thus he sorrowed till it was day, and he heard the birds sing; then was he somewhat comforted, and departing from the cross on foot, he came into a wild forest, and to a high mountain, and there he found a hermitage; and, kneeling before the hermit down upon both his knees, he cried for mercy for his wicked works, and prayed him to hear his confession.  But when he told his name, the hermit marvelled to see him in so sore a case, and said, “Sir, ye ought to thank God more than any knight living, for He hath given thee more honour than any; yet for thy presumption, while in deadly sin to come into the presence of His flesh and blood, He suffered thee neither to see nor follow it.  Wherefore, believe that all thy strength and manhood will avail thee little, when God is against thee.”

Then Sir Lancelot wept and said, “Now know I well ye tell me truth.”

Then he confessed to him, and told him all his sins, and how he had for fourteen years served but Queen Guinevere only, and forgotten God, and done great deeds of arms for her, and not for Heaven, and had little or nothing thanked God for the honour that he won.  And then Sir Lancelot said, “I pray you counsel me.”

“I will counsel thee,” said he:  “never more enter into that queen’s company when ye can avoid it.”

So Sir Lancelot promised him.

“Look that your heart and your mouth accord,” said the good man, “and ye shall have more honour and more nobleness than ever ye have had.”

Then were his arms and horse restored to him, and so he took his leave, and rode forth, repenting greatly.

Now Sir Percival had ridden back to the recluse, to learn who that knight was whom she had called the best in the world.  And when he had told her that he was Sir Percival, she made passing great joy of him, for she was his mother’s sister, wherefore she opened her door to him, and made him good cheer.  And on the morrow she told him of her kindred to him, and they both made great rejoicing.  Then he asked her who that knight was, and she told him, “He it is who on Whit Sunday last was clad in the red robe, and bare the red arms; and he hath no peer, for he worketh all by miracle, and shall be never overcome by any earthly hands.”

“By my goodwill,” said Sir Percival, “I will never after these tidings have to do with Sir Galahad but in the way of kindness; and I would fain learn where I may find him.”

“Fair nephew,” said she, “ye must ride to the Castle of Goth, where he hath a cousin; by him ye may be lodged, and he will teach you the way to go; but if he can tell you no tidings, ride straight to the Castle of Carbonek, where the wounded king is lying, for there shall ye surely hear true tidings of him.”

So Sir Percival departed from his aunt, and rode till evensong time, when he was ware of a monastery closed round with walls and deep ditches, where he knocked at the gate, and anon was let in.  And there he had good cheer that night, and on the morrow heard mass.  And beside the altar where the priest stood, was a rich bed of silk and cloth of gold; and on the bed there lay a man passing old, having a crown of gold upon his head, and all his body was full of great wounds, and his eyes almost wholly blind; and ever he held up his hands and said, “Sweet Lord, forget not me!”