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!"




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