"You are called wise men, sirs," said the Jester, "and I a crazed fool; but, uncle Cedric and cousin Athelstane, the fool shall decide this controversy for ye, and save ye the trouble of straining courtesies any further. I am like John-a-Duck's mare, that will let no man mount her but John-a-Duck. I came to save my master, and if he will not consent-basta1—I can but go away home again. Kind service cannot be chucked from hand to hand like a shuttlecock or stoolball.2 I'll hang for no man but my own born master.'

"Go, then, noble Cedric," said Athelstane. "Neglect not this opportunity. Your presence without may encourage friends to our rescue: your remaining here would ruin us all."

And is there any prospect, then, of rescue from without?" said Cedric, looking at the Jester.

"Prospect, indeed!" echoed Wamba. "Let me tell you. When you fill my cloak, you are wrapped in a general's cassock. Five hundred men are there without, and I was this morning one of their chief leaders. My fool's cap was a casque, and my bauble, a truncheon. Well, we shall see what good they will make by exchanging a fool for a wise man. Truly, I fear they will lose in valor what they may gain in discretion. And so farewell, master! and be kind to poor Gurth and his dog Fangs; and let my coxcomb3 hang in the hall at Rotherwood, in memory that I flung away my life for my master, like a faithful— fool."

The last word came out with a sort of double expression, betwixt jest and earnest. The tears stood in Cedric's eyes.

"Thy memory shall be preserved," he said, "while fidelity and affection have honor upon earth. But that I trust I shall find the means of saving Rowena,- and thee, Athelstane,- and

1 Stop.

2 A ball used in playing the game of stoolball,

by women alone, and much resembling cricket.

—a game usually played

3 The short stick customarily carried by fools or jesters: it bore a fool's head carved upon it.

thee, also, my poor Wamba,- thou shouldst not overbear me in this matter."

The exchange of dress was now accomplished, when a sudden doubt struck Cedric.

"I know no language," he said, "but my own, and a few words of their mincing1 Norman. How shall I bear myself like a reverend brother?"

Pax vobiscum or drink, bless

"The spell lies in two words," replied Wamba: will answer all queries. If you go or come, eat or ban, Pax vobiscum carries you through it all. It is as useful to a friar as a broomstick to a witch, or a wand to a conjurer. Speak it but thus, in a deep, grave tone,-Pax vobiscum! — it is irresistible. Watch and ward, knight and squire, foot and horse, it acts as a charm upon them all. I think, if they bring me out to be hanged to-morrow, as is much to be doubted they may, I will try its weight upon the finisher of the sentence."

"If such prove the case," said his master, "my religious orders are soon taken, Pax vobiscum. I trust I shall remember the password. Noble Athelstane, farewell! And farewell, my poor boy, whose heart might make amends for a weaker head! I will save you, or return and die with you. The royal blood of our Saxon kings shall not be spilt while mine beats in my veins; nor shall one hair fall from the head of the kind knave who risked himself for his master, if Cedric's peril can prevent it. Farewell!"

"Farewell, noble Cedric," said Athelstane. "Remember, it is the true part of a friar to accept refreshment, if you are offered any."

"Farewell, uncle," added Wamba; "and remember Pax vobis

cum."

Thus exhorted, Cedric sallied forth upon his expedition; and it was not long ere he had occasion to try the force of that spell which his Jester had recommended as omnipotent. In a lowarched and dusky passage, by which he endeavored to work his way to the hall of the castle, he was interrupted by a female form.

1 Fine-cut; that is, prim, affected.

"Pax vobiscum!" said the pseudo1 friar, and was endeavoring to hurry past, when a soft voice replied, "Et vobis2—quæso, domine reverendissime, pro misericordia vestra."3

"I am somewhat deaf," replied Cedric in good Saxon, and at the same time muttered to himself, “A curse on the fool and his Pax vobiscum! I have lost my javelin at the first cast."

It was, however, no unusual thing for a priest of those days to be deaf of his Latin ear, and this the person who now addressed Cedric knew full well.

"I pray you of dear love, reverend father," she replied in his own language, "that you will deign to visit with your ghostly comfort a wounded prisoner of this castle, and have such compassion upon him and us as thy holy office teaches. Never shall good deed so highly advantage thy convent."

"Daughter," answered Cedric, much embarrassed, "my time in this castle will not permit me to exercise the duties of mine office. I must presently forth. There is life and death upon my speed."

"Yet, father, let me entreat you by the vow you have taken on you,” replied the suppliant, "not to leave the oppressed and endangered without counsel or succor."

"May the Fiend fly away with me, and leave me in Ifrin with the souls of Odin and of Thor!"4 answered Cedric impatiently, and would probably have proceeded in the same tone of total departure from his spiritual character, when the colloquy was interrupted by the harsh voice of Urfried, the old crone of the

turret.

"How, minion," said she to the female speaker, "is this the manner in which you requite the kindness which permitted thee to leave thy prison-cell yonder? Puttest thou the reverend man to use ungracious language to free himself from a Jewess?"

1 Counterfeit.

2 "And with you;

" that is, "Peace be with you also."

3 " I pray, O most holy father! for thy mercy."

4 In the Scandinavian mythology, the god of war, and the defender of the gods against the giants.

“A Jewess!” said Cedric, availing himself of the information

"Let me pass, woman!

to get clear of their interruption. Stop me not, at your peril. I am fresh from my holy office, and would avoid pollution."

"Come this way, father," said the old hag. "Thou art a stranger in this castle, and canst not leave it without a guide. Come hither, for I would speak with thee. And you, daughter of an accursed race, go to the sick man's chamber, and tend him until my return; and woe betide you if you again quit it without my permission!"

Rebecca retreated. Her importunities had prevailed upon Urfried to suffer her to quit the turret, and Urfried had employed her services where she herself would most gladly have paid them, by the bedside of the wounded Ivanhoe. With an understanding awake to their dangerous situation, and prompt to avail herself of each means of safety which occurred, Rebecca had hoped something from the presence of a man of religion, who, she learned from Urfried, had penetrated into this godless castle. She watched the return of the supposed ecclesiastic with the purpose of addressing him and interesting him in favor of the prisoners; with what imperfect success, the reader has been just acquainted.

CHAPTER XXVII.

HEN Urfried had with clamors and menaces driven Re

with them from she called,

she proceeded to conduct the unwilling Cedric into a small apartment, the door of which she heedfully secured. Then, fetching from a cupboard a stoup of wine and two flagons, she placed them on the table, and said, in a tone rather asserting a fact than asking a question, "Thou art Saxon, father. Deny it not," she continued, observing that Cedric hastened not to reply. "The sounds of my native language are sweet to mine ears, though

seldom heard, save from the tongues of the wretched and degraded serfs on whom the proud Normans impose the meanest drudgery of this dwelling. Thou art a Saxon, father, -a Saxon, —and, save as thou art a servant of God, a freeman. Thine accents are sweet in mine ear."

"Do not Saxon priests visit this castle, then?" replied Cedric. "It were, methinks, their duty to comfort the outcast and oppressed children of the soil."

"They come not; or, if they come, they better love to revel at the board of their conquerors," answered Urfried, "than to hear the groans of their countrymen: so, at least, report speaks of them. Of myself, I can say little. This castle, for ten years, has opened to no priest save the Norman chaplain who partook the revels of Front-de-Bœuf, and he has been long gone to render an account of his stewardship. But thou art a Saxon, priest, and I have one question to ask of thee."

-a Saxon

But

She

"I am a Saxon," answered Cedric, "but unworthy, surely, of the name of priest. Let me begone on my way. I swear I will return, or send one of our fathers more worthy to hear your confession." "Stay yet awhile," said Urfried. "The accents of the voice which thou hearest now will soon be choked with the cold earth, and I would not descend to it like the beast I have lived. wine must give me strength to tell the horrors of my tale." poured out a cup, and drank it with a frightful avidity, which seemed desirous of draining the last drop in the goblet. "Partake it, father." Cedric would have avoided pledging her in this ominous conviviality, but the sign which she made to him expressed impatience and despair. He complied with her request, and answered her challenge in a large wine-cup. She then proceeded with her story, as if appeased by his complaisance.

"I was not born," she said, "father, the wretch that thou now seest me. I was free, was happy, was honored, loved, and was beloved. The wrinkled, decrepit hag before thee was once the daughter of the noble thane of Torquilstone, before whose frown a thousand vassals trembled!"