my dying pallet of
straw.--I forgive thee the insults I have received, the cold and hunger
I have endured, the failing health of my boy, the bitterness of my
prison, thy infatuation about that Jewess, which made our married life
miserable, and which caused thee, I am sure, to go abroad to look after
her. I forgive thee all my wrongs, and fain would bid thee farewell. Mr.
Smith hath gained over my gaoler--he will tell thee how I may see thee.
Come and console my last hour by promising that thou wilt care for my
boy--HIS boy who fell like a hero (when thou wert absent) combating by
the side of ROWENA."

The reader may consult his own feelings, and say whether Ivanhoe was
likely to be pleased or not by this letter: however, he inquired of Mr.
Smith, the solicitor, what was the plan which that gentleman had devised
for the introduction to Lady Rowena, and was informed that he was to get
a barrister's gown and wig, when the gaoler would introduce him into the
interior of the prison. These decorations, knowing several gentlemen of
the Northern Circuit, Sir Wilfrid of Ivanhoe easily procured, and with
feelings of no small trepidation, reached the cell, where, for the space
of a year, poor Rowena had been immured.

If any person have a doubt of the correctness, of the historical
exactness of this narrative, I refer him to the "Biographie Universelle"
(article Jean sans Terre), which says, "La femme d'un baron auquel on
vint demander son fils, repondit, 'Le roi pense-t-il que je confierai
mon fils a un homme qui a egorge son neveu de sa propre main?' Jean
fit enlever la mere et l'enfant, et la laissa MOURIR DE FAIM dans les
cachots."

I picture to myself, with a painful sympathy, Rowena undergoing this
disagreeable sentence. All her virtues, her resolution, her chaste
energy and perseverance, shine with redoubled lustre, and, for the first
time since the commencement of the history, I feel that I am partially
reconciled to her. The weary year passes--she grows weaker and more
languid, thinner and thinner! At length Ivanhoe, in the disguise of a
barrister of the Northern Circuit, is introduced to her cell, and finds
his lady in the last stage of exhaustion, on the straw of her dungeon,
with her little boy in her arms. She has preserved his life at the
expense of her own, giving him the whole of the pittance which her
gaolers allowed her, and perishing herself of inanition.

There is a scene! I feel as if I had made it up, a