“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.

“Fair cousin,” said Athelstane to Rowena, “could I think that this sudden disappearance of Ivanhoe was occasioned by other than the weightiest reason, I would myself resume⁠—”

But he had no sooner let go her hand, on first observing that Ivanhoe had disappeared, than Rowena, who had found her situation extremely embarrassing, had taken the first opportunity to escape from the apartment.

“Certainly,” quoth Athelstane, “women are the least to be trusted of all animals, monks and abbots excepted. I am an infidel, if I expected not thanks from her, and perhaps a kiss to boot⁠—These cursed grave-clothes have surely a spell on them, everyone flies from me.⁠—To you I turn, noble King Richard, with the vows of allegiance, which, as a liege-subject⁠—”