"But if he should fall?" said the girl, beginning to weep again and clinging desperately to my arm. "If he should fall, not knowing who I am?" "Max will not fall, Yolanda. Dismiss that fear from your heart." My bold words served a double purpose. They at least partially satisfied Yolanda, and they strengthened me. Of course Max and I at once began to prepare for the combat. The charger we had captured from the robbers on the Rhine now came to our hand as if sent by Providence. He was a large, active horse, with limbs like steel. He was an intelligent animal, too, and a good brain is almost as valuable in a horse as in a man. He had evidently borne arms all his life, for when we tried him in the tilt-yard we found him trained at every point. There was no heavy plate at the Peronne armorer's large enough for Max, so Hymbercourt dropped a hint to Duke Charles, and His Grace sent two beautiful suits to our inn. One was of Barcelona make, the other an old suit which we judged had come from Damascus. I tried the latter with my sword, and spoiled a good blade. Although the Damascus armor was too heavy by a stone, we chose it, and employed an armorer to tighten a few nuts, and to adjust new straps to the shoulder plates and arm pieces. We caused lists to be built outside the walls, and Max worked eight hours a day to harden himself. He ran against me, against our squires, who were lusty big fellows, and now and then against Hymbercourt, who was a most accomplished knight. Yolanda was prone to coax Max not to fight, and her fear showed itself in every look and gesture. Her words, of course, could not have turned him, but her fears might have undermined his self-confidence. So I pointed out to her the help he would get from encouragement, and the possible hurt he would take were her fears to infect him. After my admonition, her efforts to be cheerful and confident almost brought tears to my eyes. She would sing, but her song was joyless. She would banter Max and would run imaginary courses with him, taking the part of Calli, and always falling dead at Max's feet; but the moment of relaxation brought a haunting, terrified expression to her eyes. The corners of her sweet mouth would droop, effacing the cluster of dimples that played about her lips, and the fair, childish face, usually so joyful, wore the mask of grief. For the first time in her life real happiness had come, not within her grasp, but within sight; and this combat might snatch it from her. Once when I was helping Max to buckle on his armor for a bout at practice, he said:-- "Yolanda seems to treat this battle as a jest. She laughs and banters me as if it were to be a justing bout. I wonder if she really has a heart?" "Max, I am surprised at your dulness," I said. "Do you not see her manner is assumed, though her fear is small because of her great faith in your prowess?" "I'll try to deserve her faith," answered Max. * * * * *