But in that very nick of time there came forth one from amidst the bushes that edged the pool of the stream and strode dripping on to the shallow; a man brown and hairy, and naked, save for a green wreath about his middle.  Tall he was above the stature of most men; awful of aspect, and his eyes glittered from his dark brown face amidst of his shockhead of the colour of rain-spoilt hay.  He stood and looked while one might count five, and then without a word or cry rushed up from the water, straight on Ursula, who was riding first of the three lingerers, and in the twinkling of an eye tore her from off her horse; and she was in his grasp as the cushat in the claws of the kite.  Then he cast her to earth, and stood over her, shaking a great club, but or ever he brought it down he turned his head over his shoulder toward the cliff and the cave therein, and in that same moment first one blade and then another flashed about him, and he fell crashing down upon his back, smitten in the breast and the side by Richard and Ralph; and the wounds were deep and deadly.

Ralph heeded him no more, but drew Ursula away from him, and raised her up and laid her head upon his knee; and she had not quite swooned away, and forsooth had taken but little hurt; only she was dizzy with terror and the heaving up and casting down.

She looked up into Ralph’s face, and smiled on him and said: 
“What hath been done to me, and why did he do it?”

His eyes were still wild with fear and wrath, as he answered:  “O Beloved, Death and the foeman of old came forth from the cavern of the cliff.  What did they there, Lord God? and he caught thee to slay thee; but him have I slain.  Nevertheless, it is a terrible and evil place:  let us go hence.”

“Yea,” she said, “let us go speedily!” Then she stood up, weak and tottering still, and Ralph arose and put his left arm about her to stay her; and lo, there before them was Richard kneeling over the wild-man, and the Sage was coming back from the river with his headpiece full of water; so Ralph cried out:  “To horse, Richard, to horse!  Hast thou not done slaying the woodman?”

But therewith came a weak and hoarse voice from the earth, and the wild-man spake.  “Child of Upmeads, drive not on so hard:  it will not be long.  For thou and Richard the Red are naught lighthanded.”

Ralph marvelled that the wild-man knew him and Richard, but the wild-man spake again:  “Hearken, thou lover, thou young man!”

But therewith was the Sage come to him and kneeling beside him with the water, and he drank thereof, while Ralph said to him:  “What is this woodman? and canst thou speak my Latin?  What art thou?”

Then the wild-man when he had drunk raised him up a little, and said:  “Young man, thou and Richard are deft leeches; ye have let me blood to a purpose, and have brought back to me my wits, which were wandering wide.  Yet am I indeed where my fool’s brains told me I was.”