At the next sound of the friendly voice, he hastened towards the voice, the torch borne before him. ‘Forsooth,’ he replied, ‘I come for to furnysh succour unto thee, and fare with thee unto that place happy, wherein we twayn may know solace!’ He strode over an slight incline to reveal a miry depression between a grove of tall elms. The darkness retreated below him and the gloom unveiled a dishevelled but still beautiful figure propped against one tree, her garments torn and dirty undoubtedly in travel through the rough undergrowth. One foot was raised slightly and turned, looking wounded.<br/><br/>‘Fair damosel,’ he began at once as he leapt down, his boots slopping into the wet moss, ‘because thou art wounded, I shall bear thee to mine horse, and thou shalt have my stead thereupon of thine ease. I vow to deliver thee to this house of gingerbread as ever I might. But if thou wouldst hold token of my faith whilest I lead, I would fain assent thereunto, for then thou shalt know the truth of my person.’<br/><br/>He struck the torch into the ground at her side, and knelt, extending his hands before him in an offer to carry her.