ide his
confusion, he vaulted upon the back of his steed, which was brought to
him by an esquire, the animal's flanks still quivering and reeking from
the terrible shock it had undergone, and dashed beneath the scaffold he
had so lately quitted--his pride severely humbled.

While the crest-fallen favourite thus retired to recover himself, Sir
Jocelyn rode slowly towards the royal gallery. Having now raised his
visor, his features were fully revealed to view, and perhaps were never
seen to such advantage as at this proud and happy moment. His emotions
were indeed enviable--but one thing was wanting to complete his
satisfaction--the presence of her, before whom, of all others, he was
most eager to distinguish himself. What mattered it that scarves and
kerchiefs were waved to him by some of the fairest dames in the land?
What mattered it that his name was called aloud, and that gloves and
knots of ribands fell at his feet, as he rode past the ladies' gallery?
His heart was untouched by smile or glance, and he paused not to pick up
one of the favours showered upon him.

But what means this sudden change in his demeanour? Why does he start
and stop, and look inquiringly towards the back of the gallery? Whom
does he discern amongst that bevy of beauties? Can it be Aveline? And if
so, how comes she there?

As he pauses, all eyes are fixed upon her towards whom his gaze is
directed. There is no difficulty in detecting the object of his regards,
for her attire is simpler than that of all the glittering dames around
her, and of a sadder hue. Her confusion also betrays her. She would not
be seen by him she came to see. She would muffle up her features, but it
is too late; and she is not only fully exposed to his view, but to that
of a hundred other curious eyes. Though many a high-born damsel marvels
at the young knight's insensibility to her own superior attractions,
none can deny that the unknown maiden is exquisitely beautiful, and
demands are eagerly made as to who she may be. No one can answer--and no
clue is given by her companion, for the elderly dame by whom she is
attended, and who resembles a duenna, is likewise unknown to all.

As soon as Sir Jocelyn recovers his surprise, he requests a favour from
the lady of his love, and she cannot refuse him--for immediately all the
dames in front of the gallery move aside, to let her advance.

With her pale cheeks crimsoned with blushes, and her dark eyes flashing
with mingled