“It is well and wisely spoken, brave Robin Hood,” said Wilfred, apart; “and know, moreover, that they who jest with Majesty even in its gayest mood are but toying with the lion’s whelp, which, on slight provocation, uses both fangs and claws.”

“You have touched the very cause of my fear,” said the Outlaw; “my men are rough by practice and nature, the King is hasty as well as good-humoured; nor know I how soon cause of offence may arise, or how warmly it may be received⁠—it is time this revel were broken off.”

“It must be by your management then, gallant yeoman,” said Ivanhoe; “for each hint I have essayed to give him serves only to induce him to prolong it.”

“Must I so soon risk the pardon and favour of my Sovereign?” said Robin Hood, pausing for all instant; “but by Saint Christopher, it shall be so. I were undeserving his grace did I not peril it for his good.⁠—Here, Scathlock, get thee behind yonder thicket, and wind me a Norman blast on thy bugle, and without an instant’s delay on peril of your life.”