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his face。
A little boy was playing on Athelstane's knee； Rowena smiling and
patting the Saxon Thane fondly on his broad bullhead； filled him a
huge cup of spiced wine from a golden jug。 He drained a quart of
the liquor； and； turning round； addressed the friar：
〃And so； gray frere； thou sawest good King Richard fall at Chalus
by the bolt of that felon bowman？〃
〃We did； an it please you。 The brothers of our house attended the
good King in his last moments： in truth； he made a Christian
ending！〃
〃And didst thou see the archer flayed alive？ It must have been
rare sport；〃 roared Athelstane； laughing hugely at the joke。 〃How
the fellow must have howled！〃
〃My love！〃 said Rowena； interposing tenderly； and putting a pretty
white finger on his lip。
〃I would have liked to see it too；〃 cried the boy。
〃That's my own little Cedric； and so thou shalt。 And； friar； didst
see my poor kinsman Sir Wilfrid of Ivanhoe？ They say he fought
well at Chalus！〃
〃My sweet lord；〃 again interposed Rowena； 〃mention him not。〃
〃Why？ Because thou and he were so tender in days of yorewhen you
could not bear my plain face； being all in love with his pale one？〃
〃Those times are past now； dear Athelstane；〃 said his affectionate
wife； looking up to the ceiling。
〃Marry； thou never couldst forgive him the Jewess； Rowena。〃
〃The odious hussy！ don't mention the name of the unbelieving
creature；〃 exclaimed the lady。
〃Well； well； poor Wil was a good lada thought melancholy and
milksop though。 Why； a pint of sack fuddled his poor brains。〃
〃Sir Wilfrid of Ivanhoe was a good lance；〃 said the friar。 〃I have
heard there was none better in Christendom。 He lay in our convent
after his wounds； and it was there we tended him till he died。 He
was buried in our north cloister。〃
〃And there's an end of him；〃 said Athelstane。 〃But come； this is
dismal talk。 Where's Wamba the Jester？ Let us have a song。 Stir
up； Wamba； and don't lie like a dog in the fire！ Sing us a song；
thou crack…brained jester； and leave off whimpering for bygones。
Tush； man！ There be many good fellows left in this world。〃
〃There be buzzards in eagles' nests；〃 Wamba said； who was lying
stretched before the fire； sharing the hearth with the Thane's
dogs。 〃There be dead men alive； and live men dead。 There be merry
songs and dismal songs。 Marry； and the merriest are the saddest
sometimes。 I will leave off motley and wear black； gossip
Athelstane。 I will turn howler at funerals； and then； perhaps； I
shall be merry。 Motley is fit for mutes； and black for fools。
Give me some drink； gossip； for my voice is as cracked as my
brain。〃
〃Drink and sing； thou beast； and cease prating；〃 the Thane said。
And Wamba； touching his rebeck wildly； sat up in the chimney…side
and curled his lean shanks together and began：
〃LOVE AT TWO SCORE。
〃Ho！ pretty page； with dimpled chin；
That never has known the barber's shear；
All your aim is woman to win
This is the way that boys begin
Wait till you've come to forty year！
〃Curly gold locks cover foolish brains；
Billing and cooing is all your cheer；
Sighing and singing of midnight strains
Under Bonnybells' window…panes。
Wait till you've come to forty year！
〃Forty times over let Michaelmas pass；
Grizzling hair the brain doth clear；
Then you know a boy is an ass；
Then you know the worth of a lass；
Once you have come to forty year。
〃Pledge me round； I bid ye declare；
All good fellows whose beards are gray：
Did not the fairest of the fair
Common grow； and wearisome； ere
Ever a month was passed away？
〃The reddest lips that ever have kissed；
The brightest eyes that ever have shone；
May pray and whisper and we not list；
Or look away and never be missed；
Ere yet ever a month was gone。
〃Gillian's dead； Heaven rest her bier；
How I loved her twenty years syne！
Marian's married； but I sit here；
Alive and merry at forty year；
Dipping my nose in the Gascon wine。〃
〃Who taught thee that merry lay； Wamba； thou son of Witless？〃
roared Athelstane； clattering his cup on the table and shouting the
chorus。
〃It was a good and holy hermit； sir； the pious clerk of Copmanhurst；
that you wot of； who played many a prank with us in the days that we
knew King Richard。 Ah； noble sir； that was a jovial time and a good
priest。〃
〃They say the holy priest is sure of the next bishopric； my love；〃
said Rowena。 〃His Majesty hath taken him into much favor。 My Lord
of Huntingdon looked very well at the last ball； but I never could
see any beauty in the Countessa freckled； blowsy thing； whom they
used to call Maid Marian： though； for the matter of that； what
between her flirtations with Major Littlejohn and Captain Scarlett；
really〃
〃Jealous againhaw！ haw！〃 laughed Athelstane。
〃I am above jealousy； and scorn it；〃 Rowena answered； drawing
herself up very majestically。
〃Well； well； Wamba's was a good song；〃 Athelstane said。
〃Nay； a wicked song；〃 said Rowena； turning up her eyes as usual。
〃What！ rail at woman's love？ Prefer a filthy wine cup to a true
wife？ Woman's love is eternal； my Athelstane。 He who questions it
would be a blasphemer were he not a fool。 The well…born and well…
nurtured gentlewoman loves once and once only。〃
〃I pray you； madam； pardon me； II am not well；〃 said the gray
friar； rising abruptly from his settle； and tottering down the
steps of the dais。 Wamba sprung after him； his bells jingling as
he rose； and casting his arms around the apparently fainting man；
he led him away into the court。 〃There be dead men alive and live
men dead；〃 whispered he。 〃There be coffins to laugh at and
marriages to cry over。 Said I not sooth； holy friar？〃 And when
they had got out into the solitary court； which was deserted by all
the followers of the Thane； who were mingling in the drunken
revelry in the hall； Wamba； seeing that none were by； knelt down；
and kissing the friar's garment； said； 〃I knew thee； I knew thee；
my lord and my liege！〃
〃Get up；〃 said Wilfrid of Ivanhoe； scarcely able to articulate：
〃only fools are faithful。〃
And he passed on； and into the little chapel where his father lay
buried。 All night long the friar spent there： and Wamba the Jester
lay outside watching as mute as the saint over the porch。
When the morning came； Wumba was gone； and the knave being in the
habit of wandering hither and thither as he chose； little notice
was taken of his absence by a master and mistress who had not much
sense of humor。 As for Sir Wilfrid； a gentleman of his delicacy of
feelings could not be expected to remain in a house where things so
naturally disagreeable to him were occurring； and he quitted
Rotherwood incontinently； after paying a dutiful visit to the tomb
where his old father； Cedric； was buried； and hastened on to York；
at which city he made himself known to the family attorney； a most
respectable man； in whose hands his ready money was deposited； and
took up a sum sufficient to fit himself out with credit； and a
handsome retinue； as became a knight of consideration。 But he
changed his name； wore a wig and spectacles； and disguised himself
entirely； so that it was impossible his friends or the public
should know him； and thus metamorphosed； went about whithersoever
his fancy led him。 He was present at a public ball at York； which
the lord mayor gave； danced Sir Roger de Coverley in the very same
set with Rowena（who was disgusted that Maid Marian took
precedence of her）he saw little Athelstane overeat himself at the
supper and pledge his big father in a cup of sack； he met the
Reverend Mr。 Tuck at a missionary meeting； where he seconded a
resolution proposed by that eminent divine；in fine； he saw a
score of his old acquaintances； none of whom recognized in him the
warrior of Palestine and Templestowe。 Having a large fortune and
nothing to do； he went about this country performing charities；
slaying robbers； rescuing the distressed； and achieving noble feats
of arms。 Dragons and giants existed in his day no more； or be sure
he would have had a fling at them： for the truth is； Sir Wilfrid of
Ivanhoe was somewhat sick of the life which the hermits of Chalus
had restored to him； and felt himself so friendless and solitary
that he would not have been sorry to come to an end of it。 Ah； my
dear friends and intelligent British public； are there not others
who are melancholy under a mask of gayety； and who； in the midst of
crowds； are lonely？ Liston was a most melancholy man； Grimaldi had
feelings； and there are others I wot of：but psha！let us have
the next chapter。
CHAPTER V。