"Nay. I will take Sir John’s and give no loophole to suspicion. Their weight is little more than mine, and I feel strung to a pitch that would make them feel light were they twice the weight." "And for gage? Wilt wear the lady Gertrude’s colours?" "Nay. I fear I cannot do that, or she will be sure ’tis Sir John. I will wear none, as in the mêlée. See now if ’Furore’ be ready." The horse was ready, and, carefully closing his vizor, Edgar stepped outside and vaulted into the saddle. Shield and lance were handed up to him, and after testing his charger’s gear to see that all was fast, he prepared to start. Sir John’s armour was somewhat heavier than his own, but he was so accustomed to wearing armour in his practices and so tense with excitement and determination that he scarcely noticed it. Edgar was now nineteen, and well grown and well developed. Though Sir John was a man of more weighty build, he was no broader and but a fraction taller. The armour, therefore, fitted the esquire well, and, mounted upon "Furore" and with vizor closed, scarce his most intimate friend would have known him from his master. The horse was a splendid animal, far better than Edgar’s, and bore the weight of armour and rider with ease and spirit. It was now the hour for the encounter with Sir Gervaise, and in the distance Edgar could hear the trumpets of the heralds announcing the combat. He could picture De Maupas riding majestically into the lists, confident of adding to his prestige by a victory by default against so well-known an antagonist as Sir John Chartris. How he would make his steed curvet and prance before the populace, as he rode round the lists waiting in vain for his foe to answer to the challenge! A second time the trumpets of the heralds rang out, and, setting spurs to his horse, Edgar rode straight for the enclosure. "Furore" seemed to enter fully into the spirit of the enterprise, and it was at a swinging gallop that Edgar dashed suddenly into the lists. A roar of applause arose from the whole circle of the spectators, who were just beginning to wonder where Sir John Chartris might be. Without a pause, Edgar rode to the earl’s stand and saluted. Then he paced on down to his own end of the lists, saluting the Wolsingham ladies as he passed them by. "He hath come!" cried Gertrude, tense with excitement, the instant horse and man appeared in the lists. Beatrice followed her gaze, and for one instant joyfully agreed. Then she began to doubt. "Nay, nay, Gertrude, this cannot be Sir John. Where are thy colours?" "He hath had no time----" "But Sir John is waxing on in years, and rideth heavily in his saddle. This man rideth with an ease and spring as though younger and of a lighter make. Hush--cry not out--’tis Edgar Wintour, of a certainty! ’Tis to this that I have goaded him on!" "But why should----?"