As the Marquis, confident in his address, disdained the use of the passe-guarde and the mentonniere, Mounchensey abandoned those defences, though they were used by all the other knights, and placed his reliance in the strength of his breast-plate and gorget, and in the force of his right arm.

When summoned forth by the trumpets, the two champions executed demi-voltes with curvets, and then stood stock-still at either end of the barriers.  Each then selected a lance from the bundle offered them by the esquires, and their choice of a weapon made, they carefully fastened down their visors, which up to this moment had been raised.

Seeing them in readiness, the heralds gave the signal for the encounter.  Starting against each other like thunder-bolts, they met in mid-career.  The shock was tremendous, and many a cry sprang from female lips, while bursts of applause arose from the hardier spectators.

Both lances were shivered, but the results of the strokes dealt on either side were widely different.  Mounchensey maintained his seat firmly in the saddle, though his steed had been forced back upon its haunches by his opponent’s blow, who had touched his gorget; and riding on with all the ease, vigour, and grace, our young knight had previously exhibited, he threw down the truncheon of his lance, and opened his gauntlet to show that his hand was wholly uninjured.

Very differently had it fared with Buckingham, whose defeat was unquestionable.  Unhorsed and unhelmeted, he was rolled in the dust; and as he sprang to his feet, had the mortification of hearing the deafening cheers that greeted his adversary’s triumph.  Eager to hide his confusion, he vaulted upon the back of his steed, which was brought to him by an esquire, the animal’s flanks still quivering and reeking from the terrible shock it had undergone, and dashed beneath the scaffold he had so lately quitted—­his pride severely humbled.

While the crest-fallen favourite thus retired to recover himself, Sir Jocelyn rode slowly towards the royal gallery.  Having now raised his visor, his features were fully revealed to view, and perhaps were never seen to such advantage as at this proud and happy moment.  His emotions were indeed enviable—­but one thing was wanting to complete his satisfaction—­the presence of her, before whom, of all others, he was most eager to distinguish himself.  What mattered it that scarves and kerchiefs were waved to him by some of the fairest dames in the land?  What mattered it that his name was called aloud, and that gloves and knots of ribands fell at his feet, as he rode past the ladies’ gallery?  His heart was untouched by smile or glance, and he paused not to pick up one of the favours showered upon him.

But what means this sudden change in his demeanour?  Why does he start and stop, and look inquiringly towards the back of the gallery?  Whom does he discern amongst that bevy of beauties?  Can it be Aveline?  And if so, how comes she there?