and mingled their waters, making a pleasing murmur.  Believing herself far from Rinaldo, and overcome by fatigue and the summer heat, she saw with delight a bank covered with flowers so thick that they almost hid the green turf, inviting her to alight and rest.  She dismounted from her palfrey, and turned him loose to recruit his strength with the tender grass which bordered the streamlets.  Then, in a sheltered nook tapestried with moss and fenced in with roses and hawthorn-flowers, she yielded herself to grateful repose.

She had not slept long when she was awakened by the noise made by the approach of a horse.  Starting up, she saw an armed knight who had arrived at the bank of the stream.  Not knowing whether he was to be feared or not, her heart beat with anxiety.  She pressed aside the leaves to allow her to see who it was, but scarce dared to breathe for fear of betraying herself.  Soon the knight threw himself on the flowery bank, and leaning his head on his hand fell into a profound reverie.  Then arousing himself from his silence he began to pour forth complaints, mingled with deep sighs.  Rivers of tears flowed down his cheeks, and his breast seemed to labor with a hidden flame.  “Ah, vain regrets!” he exclaimed; “cruel fortune! others triumph, while I endure hopeless misery!  Better a thousand times to lose life, than wear a chain so disgraceful and so oppressive!”

Angelica by this time had recognized the stranger, and perceived that it was Sacripant, king of Circassia, one of the worthiest of her suitors.  This prince had followed Angelica from his country, at the very gates of the day, to France, where he heard with dismay that she was under the guardianship of the Paladin Orlando, and that the Emperor had announced his decree to award her as the prize of valor to that one of his nephews who should best deserve her.

As Sacripant continued to lament, Angelica, who had always opposed the hardness of marble to his sighs, thought with herself that nothing forbade her employing his good offices in this unhappy crisis.  Though firmly resolved never to accept him as a spouse, she yet felt the necessity of giving him a gleam of hope in reward for the service she required of him.  All at once, like Diana, she stepped forth from the arbor.  “May the gods preserve thee,” she said, “and put far from thee all hard thoughts of me!” Then she told him all that had befallen her since she parted with him at her father’s court, and how she had availed herself of Orlando’s protection to escape from the beleaguered city.  At that moment the noise of horse and armor was heard as of one approaching; and Sacripant, furious at the interruption, resumed his helmet, mounted his horse, and placed his lance in rest.  He saw a knight advancing, with scarf and plume of snowy whiteness.  Sacripant regarded him with angry eyes, and, while he was yet some distance off, defied him to the combat.  The other, not moved by his angry tone to make reply,