by the indifference of Marinell, Britomart rode onward to avenge the wrong done to beauty and chivalry by his scorn of the lovely Florimel.
As the warrior-maid approached, Marinell beheld her coming, and his eyes flashed with the desire of meeting some warrior worthy of his prowess. Her sex he could not guess at, through the thick armor and closed visor which she wore; else might the remembrance of the prophecy which he knew threatened his life have made him fear to engage in battle with a woman.
“Hold, rash knight!” cried the prince, as Britomart rode briskly up toward the watery line which the ebbing waves left upon the gray sand. “By what right dost thou venture here? Knowest thou that this is a way forbidden to mortal knights? Fly, then, or with thy life pay for thy daring.”
“Let those fly who fear,” called Britomart in tones like the notes of a bugle, “I am no babe to be frightened by idle threats. And either I pass these waves or die beside them.”
With these bold words she ran at Marinell, who received her with so fierce a welcome that she reeled in her saddle for a second’s space; but recovering, she dashed aside his shield and dealt him so hard a blow upon the breast, that her
