him for that," she added; "I'd rather be a church-mouse in
Virginia than Croesus' daughter anywhere else."

The twelve horsemen were now sitting their restive mounts in a group at
one end of the lists. Two mounted monitors had stationed themselves on
either side of the rope-barrier; a third stood behind the upright from
whose arm was suspended the silver ring. The herald blew a blast,
calling the title of the first of the knights. Instantly, with lance at
rest, the latter galloped at full speed down the lists. There was a
sharp musical clash, and as he dashed on, the ring flew the full length
of its tether and swung back, whirling swiftly. It had been a close
thrust, for the iron pike-point had smitten its rim. A cheer went up,
under cover of which the rider looped back outside the lists to his
former position.

In an upper tier of the stand a spectator made a cup of his hands. "The
Knight of the Golden Spur against the field," he called. "What odds?"

"Five to one, Spotteswood," a voice answered.

"Ten dollars," announced the first.

"Good." And both made memorandum on their cuffs.

A second time the trumpet sounded, and the Knight of Castlewood flashed
ingloriously down the roped aisle--a miss.

Again and again the clear note rang out and a mounted figure plunged by,
and presently, in a burst of cheering, the herald proclaimed "The Knight
of the Black Eagle--one!" and Chilly Lusk, in old-rose doublet and inky
plume cantered back with a silver ring upon his pike.

The hazards in the stand multiplied. Now it was Westover's Knight
against him of the Silver Cross; now, the Lord of Brandon to win. The
gentlemen wagered coin of the realm; the ladies gloves and chocolates.
One pretty girl, amid a gale of chaff, staked a greyhound puppy. The
arena swam in a lustrous light, and the greensward glistened in its
frame of white and dusky spectators. In the sunshine the horses--every
one of them groomed till his coat shone like black, gray or sorrel
satin--curveted and whinnied, restive and red-nostriled under the tense
rein. The riders sat erect and statuesque, pikes in air, cloaks flapping
from their shoulders, waiting the call that sent each in turn tilting
against the glittering and elusively breeze-swinging silver circlet.

No simple thing, approaching leisurely and afoot, to send that tapering
point straight to the tiny mark. But at headlong gallop, astride a
blooded horse straining to take the bit, a deed requiring