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It is impossible for language to describe the bitter scowl of rage
which rendered yet darker the swarthy countenance of the Templar. In the
extremity of his resentment and confusion, his quivering fingers griped
towards the handle of his sword, and perhaps only withdrew, from the
consciousness that no act of violence could be safely executed in that
place and presence. Cedric, whose feelings were all of a right onward
and simple kind, and were seldom occupied by more than one object at
once, omitted, in the joyous glee with which he heard of the glory of
his countrymen, to remark the angry confusion of his guest; "I would
give thee this golden bracelet, Pilgrim," he said, "couldst thou tell me
the names of those knights who upheld so gallantly the renown of merry
England."

"That will I do blithely," replied the Pilgrim, "and without guerdon; my
oath, for a time, prohibits me from touching gold."

"I will wear the bracelet for you, if you will, friend Palmer," said
Wamba.

"The first in honour as in arms, in renown as in place," said the
Pilgrim, "was the brave Richard, King of England."

"I forgive him," said Cedric; "I forgive him his descent from the tyrant
Duke William."

"The Earl of Leicester was the second," continued the Pilgrim; "Sir
Thomas Multon of Gilsland was the third."

"Of Saxon descent, he at least," said Cedric, with exultation.

"Sir Foulk Doilly the fourth," proceeded the Pilgrim.

"Saxon also, at least by the mother's side," continued Cedric, who
listened with the utmost eagerness, and forgot, in part at least, his
hatred to the Normans, in the common triumph of the King of England and
his islanders. "And who was the fifth?" he demanded.

"The fifth was Sir Edwin Turneham."

"Genuine Saxon, by the soul of Hengist!" shouted Cedric--"And the
sixth?" he continued with eagerness--"how name you the sixth?"

"The sixth," said the Palmer, after a pause, in which he seemed to
recollect himself, "was a young knight of lesser renown and lower rank,
assumed into that honourable company, less to aid their enterprise than
to make up their number--his name dwells not in my memory."

"Sir Palmer," said Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert scornfully, "this assumed
forgetfulness, after so much has been remembered, comes too late to
serve your purpose. I will myself tell the name of the knight before
whose lance fortune and my horse's fault occasioned my falling--it was
the Knight of Ivanhoe; nor was there one of the six that, for his years,
had more renown in arms.--Yet this will I say, and loudly--that were he
in England, and durst repeat, in this week's tournament, the challenge
of St John-de-Acre, I, mounted and armed as I now am, would give him
every advantage of weapons, and abide the result."

"Your challenge would soon be answered," replied the Palmer, "were your
antagonist near you. As the matter is, disturb not the peaceful hall
with vaunts of the issue of the conflict, which you well know cannot
take place. If Ivanhoe ever returns from Palestine, I will be his surety
that he meets you."

"A goodly security!" said the Knight Templar; "and what do you proffer
as a pledge?"

"This reliquary," said the Palmer, taking a small ivory box from his
bosom, and crossing himself, "containing a portion of the true cross,
brought from the Monastery of Mount Carmel."

The Prior of Jorvaulx crossed himself and repeated a pater noster, in
which all devoutly joined, excepting the Jew, the Mahomedans, and the
Templar; the latter of whom, without vailing his bonnet, or testifying
any reverence for the alleged sanctity of the relic, took from his neck
a gold chain, which he flung on the board, saying--"Let Prior Aymer
hold my pledge and that of this nameless vagrant, in token that when the
Knight of Ivanhoe comes within the four seas of Britain, he underlies
the challenge of Brian de Bois-Guilbert, which, if he answer not, I will
proclaim him as a coward on the walls of every Temple Court in Europe."

"It will not need," said the Lady Rowena, breaking silence; "My voice
shall be heard, if no other in this hall is raised in behalf of the
absent Ivanhoe. I affirm he will meet fairly every honourable challenge.
Could my weak warrant add security to the inestimable pledge of this
holy pilgrim, I would pledge name and fame that Ivanhoe gives this proud
knight the meeting he desires."

A crowd of conflicting emotions seemed to have occupied Cedric, and
kept him silent during this discussion. Gratified pride, resentment,
embarrassment, chased each other over his broad and open brow, like the
shadow of clouds drifting over a harvest-field; while his attendants,
on whom the name of the sixth knight seemed to produce an effect almost
electrical, hung in suspense upon their master's looks. But when Rowena
spoke, the sound of her voice seemed to startle him from his silence.

"Lady," said Cedric, "this beseems not; were further pledge necessary, I
myself, offended, and justly offended, as I am, would yet gage my honour
for the honour of Ivanhoe. But the wager of battle is complete, even
according to the fantastic fashions of Norman chivalry--Is it not,
Father Aymer?"

It is impossible for language to describe the bitter scowl of rage

which rendered yet darker the swarthy countenance of the Templar. In the

extremity of his resentment and confusion, his quivering fingers griped

towards the handle of his sword, and perhaps only withdrew, from the

consciousness that no act of violence could be safely executed in that

place and presence. Cedric, whose feelings were all of a right onward

and simple kind, and were seldom occupied by more than one object at

once, omitted, in the joyous glee with which he heard of the glory of

his countrymen, to remark the angry confusion of his guest; "I would

give thee this golden bracelet, Pilgrim," he said, "couldst thou tell me

the names of those knights who upheld so gallantly the renown of merry

England."

"That will I do blithely," replied the Pilgrim, "and without guerdon; my

oath, for a time, prohibits me from touching gold."

"I will wear the bracelet for you, if you will, friend Palmer," said

Wamba.

"The first in honour as in arms, in renown as in place," said the

Pilgrim, "was the brave Richard, King of England."

"I forgive him," said Cedric; "I forgive him his descent from the tyrant

Duke William."

"The Earl of Leicester was the second," continued the Pilgrim; "Sir

Thomas Multon of Gilsland was the third."

"Of Saxon descent, he at least," said Cedric, with exultation.

"Sir Foulk Doilly the fourth," proceeded the Pilgrim.

"Saxon also, at least by the mother's side," continued Cedric, who

listened with the utmost eagerness, and forgot, in part at least, his

hatred to the Normans, in the common triumph of the King of England and

his islanders. "And who was the fifth?" he demanded.

"The fifth was Sir Edwin Turneham."

"Genuine Saxon, by the soul of Hengist!" shouted Cedric--"And the

sixth?" he continued with eagerness--"how name you the sixth?"

"The sixth," said the Palmer, after a pause, in which he seemed to

recollect himself, "was a young knight of lesser renown and lower rank,

assumed into that honourable company, less to aid their enterprise than

to make up their number--his name dwells not in my memory."

"Sir Palmer," said Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert scornfully, "this assumed

forgetfulness, after so much has been remembered, comes too late to

serve your purpose. I will myself tell the name of the knight before

whose lance fortune and my horse's fault occasioned my falling--it was

the Knight of Ivanhoe; nor was there one of the six that, for his years,

had more renown in arms.--Yet this will I say, and loudly--that were he

in England, and durst repeat, in this week's tournament, the challenge

of St John-de-Acre, I, mounted and armed as I now am, would give him

every advantage of weapons, and abide the result."

"Your challenge would soon be answered," replied the Palmer, "were your

antagonist near you. As the matter is, disturb not the peaceful hall

with vaunts of the issue of the conflict, which you well know cannot

take place. If Ivanhoe ever returns from Palestine, I will be his surety

that he meets you."

"A goodly security!" said the Knight Templar; "and what do you proffer

as a pledge?"

"This reliquary," said the Palmer, taking a small ivory box from his

bosom, and crossing himself, "containing a portion of the true cross,

brought from the Monastery of Mount Carmel."

The Prior of Jorvaulx crossed himself and repeated a pater noster, in

which all devoutly joined, excepting the Jew, the Mahomedans, and the

Templar; the latter of whom, without vailing his bonnet, or testifying

any reverence for the alleged sanctity of the relic, took from his neck

a gold chain, which he flung on the board, saying--"Let Prior Aymer

hold my pledge and that of this nameless vagrant, in token that when the

Knight of Ivanhoe comes within the four seas of Britain, he underlies

the challenge of Brian de Bois-Guilbert, which, if he answer not, I will

proclaim him as a coward on the walls of every Temple Court in Europe."

"It will not need," said the Lady Rowena, breaking silence; "My voice

shall be heard, if no other in this hall is raised in behalf of the

absent Ivanhoe. I affirm he will meet fairly every honourable challenge.

Could my weak warrant add security to the inestimable pledge of this

holy pilgrim, I would pledge name and fame that Ivanhoe gives this proud

knight the meeting he desires."

A crowd of conflicting emotions seemed to have occupied Cedric, and

kept him silent during this discussion. Gratified pride, resentment,

embarrassment, chased each other over his broad and open brow, like the

shadow of clouds drifting over a harvest-field; while his attendants,

on whom the name of the sixth knight seemed to produce an effect almost

electrical, hung in suspense upon their master's looks. But when Rowena

spoke, the sound of her voice seemed to startle him from his silence.

"Lady," said Cedric, "this beseems not; were further pledge necessary, I

myself, offended, and justly offended, as I am, would yet gage my honour

for the honour of Ivanhoe. But the wager of battle is complete, even

according to the fantastic fashions of Norman chivalry--Is it not,

Father Aymer?"