“Who but the Earl of Sussex, as he died--as noble a chief, as true a counsellor as ever spoke truth to a queen. But truth is not all at court, and Sussex was no flatterer. Leicester bowed under the storm for a moment when Sussex showed him in his true colors; but Sussex had no gift of intrigue, the tide turned, and so he broke his heart and died. But he left a message which I sometimes remember with my collects. ‘I am now passing to another world,’ said he, ‘and must leave you to your fortunes and to the Queen’s grace and goodness; but beware the Gypsy, for he will be too hard for all of you; you know not the beast so well as I do.’ But my Lord Sussex was wrong. One there is who knows him through and through, and hath little joy in the knowing.” The look in the eyes of the Duke’s Daughter became like steel and her voice hardened, and Angèle realized that Leicester had in this beautiful and delicate maid-of-honor as bitter an enemy as ever brought down the mighty from their seats; that a pride had been sometime wounded, suffered an unwarrantable affront, which only innocence could feel so acutely. Her heart went out to the Duke’s Daughter as it had never gone out to any of her sex since her mother’s death, and she showed her admiration in her glance. The other saw it and smiled, slipping a hand in hers for a moment; and then a look, half-debating, half-triumphant, came into her face as her eyes followed Leicester down the green stretches of the tilting-yard. The trumpet sounded, the people broke out in shouts of delight, the tilting began. For an hour the handsome joust went on, the Earl of Oxford, Charles Howard, Sir Henry Lee, Sir Christopher Hatton, and Leicester challenging, and so even was the combat that victory seemed to settle in the plumes of neither, though Leicester of them all showed not the greatest skill, while in some regards greatest grace and deportment. Suddenly there rode into the lists, whence no one seemed to know, so intent had the public gaze been fixed, so quickly had he come, a mounted figure all in white, and at the moment when Sir Henry Lee had cried aloud his challenge for the last time. Silence fell as the bright figure cantered down the list, lifted the gauge, and sat still upon his black steed. Consternation fell. None among the people or the Knights-Tilters knew who the invader was, and Leicester called upon the masters of the ceremonies to demand his name and quality. The white horseman made no reply, but sat unmoved, while noise and turmoil suddenly sprang up around him. Presently the voice of the Queen was heard clearly ringing through the lists. “His quality hath evidence. Set on.” The Duke’s Daughter laughed, and whispered mischievously in Angèle’s ear.