Therewith he rose up from Ralph, who raised himself a little, and sat up dazed and feeble.  The Knight of the Sun stood up over him beside the lady with his hands clasped on his sword-hilt, and said to Ralph:  “Young man, canst thou hear my words?” Ralph smiled feebly and nodded a yea-say.  “Dost thou love thy life then?” said the Knight.  Ralph found speech and said faintly, “Yea.”  Said the Knight:  “Where dost thou come from, where is thine home?” Said Ralph, “Upmeads.”  “Well then,” quoth the big knight, “go back to Upmeads, and live.”  Ralph shook his head and knit his brows and said, “I will not.”  “Yea,” said the Knight, “thou wilt not live?  Then must I shape me to thy humour.  Stand on thy feet and fight it out; for now I am cool I will not slay a swordless man.”

Ralph staggered up to his feet, but was so feeble still, that he sank down again, and muttered:  “I may not; I am sick and faint;” and therewith swooned away again.  But the Knight stood a while leaning on his sword, and looking down on him not unkindly.  Then he turned about to the Lady, but lo! she had left his side.  She had glided away, and got to her horse, which was tethered on the other side of the oak-tree, and had loosed him and mounted him, and so sat in the saddle there, the reins gathered in her hands.  She smiled on the knight as he stood astonished, and cried to him; “Now, lord, I warn thee, draw not a single foot nigher to me; for thou seest that I have Silverfax between my knees, and thou knowest how swift he is, and if I see thee move, he shall spring away with me.  Thou wottest how well I know all the ways of the woodland, and I tell thee that the ways behind me to the Dry Tree be all safe and open, and that beyond the Gliding River I shall come on Roger of the Ropewalk and his men.  And if thou thinkest to ride after me, and overtake me, cast the thought out of thy mind.  For thy horse is strong but heavy, as is meet for so big a knight, and moreover he is many yards away from me and Silverfax:  so before thou art in the saddle, where shall I be?  Yea,” (for the Knight was handling his anlace) “thou mayst cast it, and peradventure mayst hit Silverfax and not me, and peradventure not; and I deem that it is my body alive that thou wouldest have back with thee.  So now, wilt thou hearken?”

“Yea,” quoth the knight, though for wrath he could scarce bring the word from his mouth.

“Hearken,” she said, “this is the bargain to be struck between us:  even now thou wouldst not refrain from slaying this young man, unless perchance he should swear to depart from us; and as for me, I would not go back with thee to Sunhome, where erst thou shamedst me.  Now will I buy thy nay-say with mine, and if thou give the youngling his life, and suffer him to come his ways with us, then will I go home with thee and will ride with thee in all the love and duty that I owe thee; or if thou like this fashion of words better, I will give thee my body for his life.  But if thou likest not the bargain, there is not another piece of goods for thee in the market, for then I will ride my ways to the Dry Tree, and thou shalt slay the poor youth, or make of him thy sworn friend, like as was Walter—­which thou wilt.”