He heard the supper
gong sounding: he knew his way to the door well enough; he entered the
familiar hall with a benedicite, and without any more words took his
place.
*****
You might have thought for a moment that the gray friar trembled and his
shrunken cheek looked deadly pale; but he recovered himself presently:
nor could you see his pallor for the cowl which covered his face.
A little boy was playing on Athelstane's knee; Rowena smiling and
patting the Saxon Thane fondly on his broad bullhead, filled him a huge
cup of spiced wine from a golden jug. He drained a quart of the liquor,
and, turning round, addressed the friar:--
"And so, gray frere, thou sawest good King Richard fall at Chalus by the
bolt of that felon bowman?"
"We did, an it please you. The brothers of our house attended the good
King in his last moments: in truth, he made a Christian ending!"
"And didst thou see the archer flayed alive? It must have been rare
sport," roared Athelstane, laughing hugely at the joke. "How the fellow
must have howled!"
"My love!" said Rowena, interposing tenderly, and putting a pretty white
finger on his lip.
"I would have liked to see it too," cried the boy.
"That's my own little Cedric, and so thou shalt. And, friar, didst
see my poor kinsman Sir Wilfrid of Ivanhoe? They say he fought well at
Chalus!"
"My sweet lord," again interposed Rowena, "mention him not.
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