“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, I—­I 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