pleasing thee.'"

"And truly there are some backs which Fortune is always belaboring,"
thought Sir Wilfrid with a groan, "and mine is one that is ever sore."

So, with a moderate retinue, whereof the knave Wamba made one, and
a large woollen comforter round his neck, which his wife's own white
fingers had woven, Sir Wilfrid of Ivanhoe left home to join the King his
master. Rowena, standing on the steps, poured out a series of prayers
and blessings, most edifying to hear, as her lord mounted his charger,
which his squires led to the door. "It was the duty of the British
female of rank," she said, "to suffer all--ALL in the cause of her
sovereign. SHE would not fear loneliness during the campaign: she would
bear up against widowhood, desertion, and an unprotected situation."

"My cousin Athelstane will protect thee," said Ivanhoe, with profound
emotion, as the tears trickled down his basenet; and bestowing a chaste
salute upon the steel-clad warrior, Rowena modestly said "she hoped his
Highness would be so kind."

Then Ivanhoe's trumpet blew: then Rowena waved her pocket-handkerchief:
then the household gave a shout: then the pursuivant of the good Knight,
Sir Wilfrid the Crusader, flung out his banner (which was argent, a
gules cramoisy with three Moors impaled sable): then Wamba gave a lash
on his mule's haunch, and Ivanhoe, heaving a great sigh, turned the tail
of his war-horse upon the castle of his fathers.

As they rode along the forest, they met Athelstane the Thane powdering
along the road in the direction of Rotherwood on his great dray-horse
of a charger. "Good-by, good luck to you, old brick," cried the Prince,
using the vernacular Saxon. "Pitch into those Frenchmen; give it 'em
over the face and eyes; and I'll stop at home and take care of Mrs. I."

"Thank you, kinsman," said Ivanhoe--looking, however, not particularly
well pleased; and the chiefs shaking hands, the train of each took its
different way--Athelstane's to Rotherwood, Ivanhoe's towards his place
of embarkation.

The poor knight had his wish, and yet his face was a yard long and as
yellow as a lawyer's parchment; and having longed to quit home any time
these three years past, he found himself envying Athelstane, because,
forsooth, he was going to Rotherwood: which symptoms of discontent being
observed by the witless Wamba, caused that absurd madman to bring his
rebeck over his shoulder from his back, and to sing--

"ATRA CUR