The Lady Rowena sighed deeply, and asked more particularly when the
Knight of Ivanhoe might be expected in his native country, and whether
he would not be exposed to great dangers by the road. On the first
point, the Palmer professed ignorance; on the second, he said that the
voyage might be safely made by the way of Venice and Genoa, and from
thence through France to England. "Ivanhoe," he said, "was so well
acquainted with the language and manners of the French, that there was
no fear of his incurring any hazard during that part of his travels."
"Would to God," said the Lady Rowena, "he were here safely arrived, and
able to bear arms in the approaching tourney, in which the chivalry
of this land are expected to display their address and valour. Should
Athelstane of Coningsburgh obtain the prize, Ivanhoe is like to hear
evil tidings when he reaches England.--How looked he, stranger, when
you last saw him? Had disease laid her hand heavy upon his strength and
comeliness?"
"He was darker," said the Palmer, "and thinner, than when he came from
Cyprus in the train of Coeur-de-Lion, and care seemed to sit heavy on
his brow; but I approached not his presence, because he is unknown to
me."
"He will," said the lady, "I fear, find little in his native land to
clear those clouds from his countenance. Thanks, good Pilgrim, for your
information concerning the companion of my childhood.--Maidens," she
said, "draw near--offer the sleeping cup to this holy man, whom I will
no longer detain from repose."
One of the maidens presented a silver cup, containing a rich mixture of
wine and spice, which Rowena barely put to her lips. It was then offered
to the Palmer, who, after a low obeisance, tasted a few drops.
"Accept this alms, friend," continued the lady, offering a piece of
gold, "in acknowledgment of thy painful travail, and of the shrines thou
hast visited."
The Palmer received the boon with another low reverence, and followed
Edwina out of the apartment.
In the anteroom he found his attendant Anwold, who, taking the torch
from the hand of the waiting-maid, conducted him with more haste than
ceremony to an exterior and ignoble part of the building, where a number
of small apartments, or rather cells, served for sleeping places to the
lower order of domestics, and to strangers of mean degree.
"In which of these sleeps the Jew?" said the Pilgrim.
"The unbelieving dog," answered Anwold, "kennels in the cell next your
holiness.--St Dunstan, how it must be scraped and cleansed ere it be
again fit for a Christian!"