In the morning he woke suddenly in a strange room. It was quite dark, with tapestry over the windows, and he had no headache because his constitution was good. He jumped out of bed and went to the window, to draw the curtain. He was fully aware, in the suddenness of a second, of all that had happened on the previous night - aware of the butler and of the drink and of the love-potion which had perhaps been put in it, of the message from Guenever, and of the dark, solid, cool-fired body in the bed which he had just got out of. He drew the curtain and leaned his forehead against the cold stone of the mullion. He was miserable.
'Jenny,' he said, after minutes which seemed to be hours.
There was no answer from the bed.
He turned round and found himself looking at the boiled girl, Elaine. She lay in the bed, her small bare arms holding the bedclothes to her sides, her violet eyes fixed on his.
Lancelot went over to the chest where his sword was lying.
'I shall kill you.'
She only looked. She was eighteen, ppitifully small in the big bed, and she was frightened.
'Why did you do it?' he cried. 'What have you done? Why have you betrayed me?'
'I had to.'
'But it was treachery!'
'Lancelot!' cried Elaine. 'It was because I loved you. Haven't I given something too? I was a miaden, Lancelot. I didn't rob you. Oh Lancelot - it was my fault. I ought to be killed. Why didn't you kill me with your sword? But it was because I loved you, and I couldn't help it.'

T.H. White, The Once and Future King