“And my ward Rowena,” said Cedric⁠—“I trust you intend not to desert her?”

“Father Cedric,” said Athelstane, “be reasonable. The Lady Rowena cares not for me⁠—she loves the little finger of my kinsman Wilfred’s glove better than my whole person. There she stands to avouch it⁠—Nay, blush not, kinswoman, there is no shame in loving a courtly knight better than a country franklin⁠—and do not laugh neither, Rowena, for grave-clothes and a thin visage are, God knows, no matter of merriment⁠—Nay, an thou wilt needs laugh, I will find thee a better jest⁠—Give me thy hand, or rather lend it me, for I but ask it in the way of friendship.⁠—Here, cousin Wilfred of Ivanhoe, in thy favour I renounce and abjure⁠—Hey! by Saint Dunstan, our cousin Wilfred hath vanished!⁠—Yet, unless my eyes are still dazzled with the fasting I have undergone, I saw him stand there but even now.”

All now looked around and enquired for Ivanhoe, but he had vanished. It was at length discovered that a Jew had been to seek him; and that, after very brief conference, he had called for Gurth and his armour, and had left the castle.