than all the duels that had preceded it; the crowd almost broke down the
barriers, and the cheering and cries of encouragement could be heard
upon the hills. Thrice the combatants rested from the engagement, and
thrice at the trumpet call started again to meet each other, at least
those who had sustained the first onslaught.

Blood, indeed, was not shed (for the iron morions saved their skulls),
but nearly half of the number required assistance to reach the tents
pitched for their use. Then came more feasting, the final dinner
prolonged till six in the evening, when the company, constantly rising
from their seats, cheered the Baron, and drank to the prosperity of the
house. After the horn blew at six, the guests who had come from a
distance rapidly dispersed (their horses were already waiting), for they
were anxious to pass the fifteen miles of forest before nightfall. Those
on foot, and those ladies who had come in covered waggons, stayed till
next morning, as they could not travel so speedily. By seven or eight
the castle courtyard was comparatively empty, and the Baron, weary from
the mere bodily efforts of saying farewell to so many, had flung himself
at full length on a couch in the drawing-room.

During the whole of this time Felix had not obtained a single moment
with Aurora; her time, when not occupied in attending to the guests, was
always claimed by Lord Durand. Felix, after the short-lived but pure
pleasure he had enjoyed in watching her upon the grass-grown stage, had
endured three days of misery. He was among the crowd, he was in the
castle itself, he sat at table with the most honoured visitors, yet he
was distinct from all. There was no sympathy between them and him. The
games, the dancing, the feasting and laughter, the ceaseless singing and
shouting, and jovial jostling, jarred upon him.