Being still languid, she leaned her head on the turf seat.

Her face was pale as marble, and her long hair, saturated with wet, by its darkness made her look of a more deadly hue.
"Death! how lovely canst thou be!" sighed the knight to himself--he even groaned.

Helen started, and looked around her with alarm.

"Fear not," said he, "I only dreaded your pale looks; but you revive, and will yet bless all that are dear to you.

Suffer me, sweet lady, to drain the dangerous wet from these tresses ?" He took hold of them as he spoke.
She saw the water running from her hair over his hands, and allowing his kind request, he continued wiping her glossy locks with his scarf, till, exhausted by fatigue, she gradually sunk into a profound sleep.
Dawn had penetrated the ruined walls of the hut before Lady Helen awoke.