"
Athelstane burst into a loud laugh, when he heard it, at the last
line, but Rowena would have had the fool whipped, had not the Thane
interceded; and to him, she said, she could refuse nothing.
CHAPTER IV.
IVANHOE REDIVIVUS.
I trust nobody will suppose, from the events described in the last
chapter, that our friend Ivanhoe is really dead. Because we have given
him an epitaph or two and a monument, are these any reasons that he
should be really gone out of the world? No: as in the pantomime, when
we see Clown and Pantaloon lay out Harlequin and cry over him, we are
always sure that Master Harlequin will be up at the next minute alert
and shining in his glistening coat; and, after giving a box on the ears
to the pair of them, will be taking a dance with Columbine, or leaping
gayly through the clock-face, or into the three-pair-of-stairs'
window:--so Sir Wilfrid, the Harlequin of our Christmas piece, may be
run through a little, or may make believe to be dead, but will assuredly
rise up again when he is wanted, and show himself at the right moment.
The suspicious-looking characters from whom Wamba ran away were no
cut-throats and plunderers, as the poor knave imagined, but no other
than Ivanhoe's friend, the hermit, and a reverend brother of his, who
visited the scene of the late battle in order to see if any Christians
still survived there, whom they might shrive and get ready for heaven,
or to whom they might possibly offer the benefit of their skill as
leeches.
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