The day rose calm and unclouded.  The thin haze of the morning had disappeared, and an atmosphere of more than common brilliancy succeeded.  Through a great part of the preceding night the armourers had been busily employed altering and refitting the equipments, and the dawn had already commenced ere their labours were suspended.  The lists were carefully scrutinised, and all chance of foul play averted.  The priests, too, had blessed the armour and weapons from magic spells and “foul negromancie.”

The barriers were built of stout boards, firmly riveted together; the royal pavilion being on the southern side, richly canopied and embroidered with costly devices.  Galleries were provided for the nobles, not a few of whom, with their courtly dames, were expected to be present.

The lists were sixty paces in length and forty in breadth between the platforms on which the knights’ tents were erected.  The ground within was made hard and level, the loose stones and other impediments being carefully removed.  There were two entrances, east and west, well guarded and strongly fenced with wooden-bars about seven feet high, so that a horse might not leap over.  The tents of the warriors were fancifully decorated, every one having his shield newly emblazoned and hung out in front, where the pages and esquires watched, guarding vigilantly these sacred treasures.  Nothing was heard but the hoarse call of the trumpet, the clank of mail, and the prancing of horses, pawing and eager for the battle.

Long before the appointed hour the whole city was in motion.  Isabella, too, whose bright eyes had not closed since the first gleam had visited her chamber, was early astir.  An ugly dream, it is said, troubled her.  Though of ripe years, yet, as we have noticed before, love had not yet aimed his malicious shafts at her bosom, nor even tightened his bowstring as she tripped by, defying his power; so that the dream, which in others would appear but as the overflowing of a youthful and ardent imagination, seemed to her altogether novel and unaccountable, raising up new faculties, and endowing her with a train of feelings heretofore unknown.  No wonder that her looks were betrayers:  her whole deportment manifested some hidden power controlling her high spirit, insomuch that her favourite maiden was fain to abate her morning gossip; yet Isabella was not averse to speech, though the words seemed to linger heavily on her tongue, losing that lightness and exuberance which betokens the mind free from care and oppression.

She had dreamed that in her own wild woods a knight accosted her:  she attempted to fly, but was withheld by some secret influence.  He raised his visor, smiling as he bent his knee in token of homage.  He was a stranger.  Grasping her hand, she felt the cold hard pressure of his gauntlet.  She awoke, and sure enough there was the impression as of some mailed hand upon her delicate fingers!  While marvelling at this strange adventure, a deep slumber again overpowered