Let us then turn to Sir Launcelot now making his way along the road over which Allan had been seen to depart. Though the knight had denied that he purposed to seek the lad, yet had his horse taken that way. A growing fondness for the boy which he had not made too obvious, for it was not his wont to show too easily his feelings. Display or show of emotion ever embarrassed him. He had noted the long absence of Allan and so had mounted his horse intent to all appearance on a short canter.
Half way to where Allan had made his couch, the road over which he had ridden branched right and left and some miles down came together again. Now when Allan returned he took the road to his right having ridden the other way earlier in the day. Sir Launcelot made for the road to the right of him and so missed the boy returning.
He found himself at the place at which the boy had slept. He dismounted to observe more closely. Then he beheld the holy man as he stepped from the shadows.
"Good day to you, holy father," the knight greeted him.
"God's blessing stay with thee, son. I have been expecting thee."
"Nay, father, not me. Other knight, mayhap. For I knew not myself I would be here."
"Yet did I know, Sir Launcelot. You came here to seek the youth Allan and knew not that you came in obedience to greater will than your own. And having come, you must, prithee, listen to the things that must be told you."
"Launcelot," and the monk spoke sternly and yet with great sadness, "as measured by men thou art the bravest knight in Christendom. Chivalrous, strong, yet gentle and ever ready to succor the weak and distressed. Your name shall be emblazoned as symbolic of chivalry." The strange man paused for a time.
"I speak now of the Holy Grail," he resumed. "Who would be better fitted to seek and find the Holy Grail? Are there any who hold greater desire to find the same? And who seeks to make himself more worthy?"
"And yet, though you seek until Judgment Day you will never find it. In the innermost soul of you, you know it to be so. The pity of it."
"Strange monk," and a dull red mantled the knight's cheeks, "those are bold words you speak. None but Launcelot himself can tell the things he may or may not do. And since I am not in search of father confessor, nor since I sought not this meeting, I pray thee offer not your counsel nor advice."
"The truth, then, sears, sir knight!" Now the monk's eyes flashed. Straight and tall he stood and his lean figure held so much of that which was not earthly, that even the mighty Launcelot was daunted.
"Who then has more right or reason to tell you of these things. It is I who first picked you, long since, as likely finder of the Holy Grail. And when I found you slipping ever so little, and well you know wherein you have failed me, I sent Merlin to all of you. For since he on whom I had built my faith could not measure to the test I had strong need to find someone else.
"For Britain must hold the Grail. Somewhere in it, there must be the man who measures up to the test, high though it be."
"Son, son, the things you could have done. The fineness of you, coarsened by the temptations you have met and not overcome. The joy you have found in things that are sordid and count for so little."
Low hung the knight's head, His anger had left him now. In its stead was a deep humility.
"Father, you bare my soul. And yet have I striven. High did I hold the ideals which first inspired me, I have overcome much, have tried to keep to the high set purpose. Yet I am but common clay, after all."
"Nay, nay son. I would all men held half thy nobility. Only," and now the monk's tone was again kindly, "there are some we weigh on much finer scales than others. We ask more of them, seek more from them. Forgive less, too. Perhaps we are wrong to desire so much from any mortal soul. Yet have we faith,--we believe."
"I find no complaint, holy father, in the measure you have set for me. For I saw the things, I had the vision to see them. Saw too, the things that were wrong even as I did these things."
"Yet, my son, a great task shall be yours. Now of the boy Allan." The monk paused.
"What of him, father? A fine lad is he. So young, yet is he too, to be burdened with great responsibilities? I pray thee, let him keep his youth."
"Launcelot, my son, when will you grow to thy true self? For there lies your failure. You who took your responsibilities as burdens, when you should have found great joy in that they were yours. Yet, now listen to me as to this boy Allan. I have seen him this day, have spoken to him of the Holy Grail. A dreaming youth, yet is he fired by fine inspiration and great ideals. He is ordained to seek it. That holds no strangeness for there are many such. As to whether he finds it or not is dependent upon him, as it was once upon yourself. And since you cannot find it, seek it as you will, I charge you with helping him keep clean souled. Should he do so, ere many years will pass, he may find it. For you, there will be the joy, the glory of service, of having helped. Without your help, success for him will be so much less likely. Will you help him Launcelot? Think well before you make reply."
Not at once did Sir Launcelot answer. Yet it was the best within him that did give final utterance.
"I promise you father, that such help as I can give the lad I shall. Much have I learned. And with these things that I have learned he shall be guided. No bitterness mine. Since I am not to be the finder of the Holy Grail, I pledge you now my aid to Allan."
"Launcelot, so little fails you for that needed greatness. None have I loved so much. If you have sinned you have been great and glorious even in the sinning.
"Never have you been finer than now. Allan will need your help, your strength. There shall be a maid too, to help him. The threads have also been woven for that now. When the time shall come, you will call this lad Galahad, the Chaste. Treat him ever as your son, Launcelot."
"Son and comrade, too, he shall be for me. Father, I thank you."
"So then I go, son. I could not love you more were you less a mortal sinner."
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