Soon there came into the hall many servitors, who brought forth the tables and set thereon all manner of meats, haunches of venison and boars’ heads and great pasties, together with huge flagons of wine.  Then when all was set, there came trooping to the board the whole company of Earl Limours’ retainers; last of all came the Earl himself and took his place on the raised dais.  Suddenly, as he feasted and made merry, he espied Enid, who, mistrusting him utterly, would fain have escaped his eye.  And when he saw her, he cried:  “Lady, cease wasting sorrow on a dead man and come hither.  Thou shalt have a seat by my side; ay, and myself, too, and my Earldom to boot.”  “I thank you, lord,” she answered meekly, “but, I pray you, suffer me to be as I am.”  “Thou art a fool,” said Limours; “little enough he prized thee, I warrant, else had he not put thy beauty to such scorn, dressing it in faded rags!  Nay, be wise; eat and drink, and thou wilt think the better of me and my fair proffer.”  “I will not,” cried Enid; “I will neither eat nor drink, till my lord arise and eat with me.”  “Thou vowest more than thou canst perform.  He is dead already.  Nay, thou shalt drink.”  With the word, he strode to her and thrust into her hand a goblet brimming with wine, crying, “Drink.”  “Nay, lord,” she said, “I beseech you, spare me and be pitiful.”  “Gentleness avails nothing with thee,” cried the Earl in wrath; “thou hast scorned my fair courtesy.  Thou shalt taste the contrary.”  So saying, he smote her across the face.

Then Enid, knowing all her helplessness, uttered an exceeding bitter cry, and the sound roused Geraint.  Grasping his sword, with one bound he was upon the Earl and, with one blow, shore his neck in two.  Then those who sat at meat fled shrieking, for they believed that the dead had come to life.

But Geraint gazed upon Enid and his heart smote him, thinking of the sorrow he had brought upon her.  “Lady and sweet wife,” he cried, “for the wrong I have done thee, pardon me.  For, hearing thy words not three days since at morn, I doubted thy love and thy loyalty.  But now I know thee and trust thee beyond the power of words to shake my faith.”  “Ah! my lord,” cried Enid, “fly, lest they return and slay thee.”  “Knowest thou where is my charger?” “I will bring thee to it.”  So they found the war-horse and Geraint mounted it, setting Enid behind him; thus they went forth in the direction of the nearest town, that they might find rest and succour.  Then, as they rode, there came forth from a glade of the forest a knight, who, seeing Geraint, at once laid lance in rest as if he would ride upon him.  And Enid, fearing for her husband, shrieked aloud, crying:  “Noble knight, whosoever ye be, encounter not with a man nigh wounded to the death.”  Immediately the knight raised his lance and looking more attentively upon, them, he exclaimed:  “What! is it Prince Geraint?  Pardon me, noble knight, that I knew you not at once.  I am that Edeyrn