He then rose from his knee, folded his arm on his bosom, and in a manner rather respectful than submissive, awaited the answer of the King⁠—like one who is conscious he may have given offence, yet is confident in the rectitude of his motive. The blood rushed in anger to the countenance of Richard; but it was the first transient emotion, and his sense of justice instantly subdued it.

“The King of Sherwood,” he said, “grudges his venison and his wine-flask to the King of England ? It is well, bold Robin!⁠—but when you come to see me in merry London , I trust to be a less niggard host. Thou art right, however, good fellow. Let us therefore to horse and away⁠—Wilfred has been impatient this hour. Tell me, bold Robin, hast thou never a friend in thy band, who, not content with advising, will needs direct thy motions, and look miserable when thou dost presume to act for thyself?”

“Such a one,” said Robin, “is my Lieutenant, Little John, who is even now absent on an expedition as far as the borders of Scotland ; and I will own to your Majesty, that I am sometimes displeased by the freedom of his councils⁠—but, when I think twice, I cannot be long angry with one who can have no motive for his anxiety save zeal for his master’s service.”

“Thou art right, good yeoman,” answered Richard; “and if I had Ivanhoe, on the one hand, to give grave advice, and recommend it by the sad gravity of his brow, and thee, on the other, to trick me into what thou thinkest my own good, I should have as little the freedom of mine own will as any king in Christendom or Heathenesse.⁠—But come, sirs, let us merrily on to Coningsburgh, and think no more on’t.”