quickly lost to sight; even while Sir Bedivere was returning back to the place where he had left the King.

When he saw that the King was gone, he stood dismayed for some little space, and Sir Thomas, who had seen all, came up, and climbing up to his side, began to speak.

"Ha!" cried he, "little pigmy, whence comest thou?" "What has chanced?" asked the knight. "How befell this woful fight? I left all in peace but seven days since."

"Seven days! It is seven years since thou didst vanish. Where hast thou been?" 55

"In Fairy-land," replied Sir Thomas, and he told his tale. "Ha!" said Sir Bedivere, "some there were who would have it that thou hadst gone over to Sir Mordred; but when the King saw thy sword lying unsheathed where thou wast wont to keep watch, he said that thou hadst met with some foul play, and he and Queen Guenever made great moan for thee."

When the trusty champion heard that, his heart leaped as never had it done at any of the joys of Fairy-land.

Sir Bedivere further told him, how the traitor, Sir Mordred, had fled away with the signet-ring, levied an army, and made war on his uncle, and how the gentle Sir Gawayne had been slain and buried at Dover, and how the greater part of Britain had gone after the traitor, till, with a mighty host, he gave battle to the good King Arthur here at Camelford, and how the King and his nephew had fought hand to hand, so fiercely, that though King Arthur had pierced the traitor from side to side with his lance, Sir Mordred had at the same moment smitten through his uncle's skull.

Sir Bedivere then dug a grave for the burial of Sir Lukyn; and, as night was now far spent, both he and Sir Thomas lay down to sleep, that they might consider with morning light, whether they should seek their master further, or return to Queen Guenever.

Still Sir Thomas could not sleep for sorrow, and as he lay awake, mourning over the ruin that had come upon the fair

realm of Britain, and for the loss of his lord, a hand touched him, and a damsel stood over him, beauteous to look upon.

"Gallant little champion," she said, "I am sent to bring thee comfort. Thy King beheld thy tears, and knows thy trustiness and loyalty. I am here to tell thee, that he is not dead, but Morgain his sister hath borne him away to her secret Isle of Avallon, where he rests in green meadows, beside glassy streams, till the hour shall come when he shall awaken, take Excalibar in his hand, and come to deliver Britain from all her woes.

So saying, the damsel vanished out of his sight, and he slept, sorrowful, yet more at peace than he had been in King Oberon's halls.

CHAPTER XIV.

OF THE DEATH AND BURIAL OF THE GOOD KNIGHT SIR
THOMAS THUMB.

T morning light, Sir Bedivere awoke, and Sir Thomas told him what had been his vision of the night, on hearing which, he was of opinion that it were better not to lose time in seeking for the King, but rather to return and bear the tidings to Caerleon to Queen Guenever.

So he took his little companion before him on his horse, and they rode through the whole day, coming at nightfall to Owen's hut, where Sir Thomas prayed the knight to rest until morning.

Great was the joy of good Owen to see his little son again; and as for his mother, she fondled him and rejoiced over him as in old times, and was still more glad when she heard how bravely he had resisted all the beguilements of the fairies. Poor Sleekfoot, too, came forth, for she had brought him home from Court, and had so fed and tended him, that he was far too plump to

curvet as formerly, though he waved his tail, and shewed all joy at seeing his little master again.

"And now," said his mother, "that your office towards the King is finished with honour, come home, my son, and cheer our hearts in our old age."

"I will, mother," said Tom; "but first must I pay my duty to Queen Guenever, and when she shall have dismissed me from her service, then will I gladly return home.”

Owen said that he was in the right; and with morning the two knights again set forth, and came to Caerleon.

56

Queen Guenever wept full sore at their tidings, and vowed to become a nun in the Convent of Ambresbury. She desired Sir Thomas to be one of those who should escort her thither, after which he should have free license to go wherever he would.

In the meantime, she shut herself into her own chamber to weep, while Tom Thumb ranged through the Castle. The halls were desolate and empty, feasting was no more, state at an end; the hounds were gone from their lairs, the horses from their stables, the hawks from their perches, the wind moaned through the open windows, and not a footstep was to be heard where once the mailed tread of the warrior had been answered by the light tripping of the lady. The sparrows flew boldly in and out, and sought vainly for crumbs where costly banquets had once been spread in profusion. One of the bold birds even alighted on the Round Table, and would have settled where the good King Arthur was wont to sit, but the spirit of the