The long feast had at length its end; and, while the goblet circulated freely, men talked of the feats of the preceding tournament⁠—of the unknown victor in the archery games, of the Black Knight, whose self-denial had induced him to withdraw from the honours he had won⁠—and of the gallant Ivanhoe, who had so dearly bought the honours of the day. The topics were treated with military frankness, and the jest and laugh went round the hall. The brow of Prince John alone was overclouded during these discussions; some overpowering care seemed agitating his mind, and it was only when he received occasional hints from his attendants, that he seemed to take interest in what was passing around him. On such occasions he would start up, quaff a cup of wine as if to raise his spirits, and then mingle in the conversation by some observation made abruptly or at random.

“We drink this beaker,” said he, “to the health of Wilfred of Ivanhoe, champion of this Passage of Arms, and grieve that his wound renders him absent from our board⁠—Let all fill to the pledge, and especially Cedric of Rotherwood , the worthy father of a son so promising.”