As the Palmer, lighted by a domestic with a torch, passed through the intricate combination of apartments of this large and irregular mansion, the cupbearer coming behind him whispered in his ear, that if he had no objection to a cup of good mead in his apartment, there were many domestics in that family who would gladly hear the news he had brought from the Holy Land, and particularly that which concerned the Knight of Ivanhoe. Wamba presently appeared to urge the same request, observing that a cup after midnight was worth three after curfew. Without disputing a maxim urged by such grave authority, the Palmer thanked them for their courtesy, but observed that he had included in his religious vow, an obligation never to speak in the kitchen on matters which were prohibited in the hall. “That vow,” said Wamba to the cupbearer, “would scarce suit a serving-man.”

The cupbearer shrugged up his shoulders in displeasure. “I thought to have lodged him in the solere chamber,” said he; “but since he is so unsocial to Christians, e’en let him take the next stall to Isaac the Jew’s.⁠—Anwold,” said he to the torchbearer, “carry the Pilgrim to the southern cell.⁠—I give you good night,” he added, “Sir Palmer, with small thanks for short courtesy.”