to Rotherwood, not as a guest, but as a son or brother."

"Cedric has already made me rich," said the Knight,--"he has taught me
the value of Saxon virtue. To Rotherwood will I come, brave Saxon, and
that speedily; but, as now, pressing matters of moment detain me from
your halls. Peradventure when I come hither, I will ask such a boon as
will put even thy generosity to the test."

"It is granted ere spoken out," said Cedric, striking his ready hand
into the gauntleted palm of the Black Knight,--"it is granted already,
were it to affect half my fortune."

"Gage not thy promise so lightly," said the Knight of the Fetterlock;
"yet well I hope to gain the boon I shall ask. Meanwhile, adieu."

"I have but to say," added the Saxon, "that, during the funeral rites
of the noble Athelstane, I shall be an inhabitant of the halls of his
castle of Coningsburgh--They will be open to all who choose to partake
of the funeral banqueting; and, I speak in name of the noble Edith,
mother of the fallen prince, they will never be shut against him who
laboured so bravely, though unsuccessfully, to save Athelstane from
Norman chains and Norman steel."

"Ay, ay," said Wamba, who had resumed his attendance on his master,
"rare feeding there will be--pity that the noble Athelstane cannot
banquet at his own funeral.--But he," continued the Jester, lifting up
his eyes gravely, "is supping in Paradise, and doubtless does honour to
the cheer."

"Peace, and move on," said Cedric, his anger at this untimely jest being
checked by the recollection of Wamba's recent services. Rowena waved a
graceful adieu to him of the Fetterlock--the Saxon bade God speed him,
and on they moved through a wide glade of the forest.

They had scarce departed, ere a sudden procession moved from under the
greenwood branches, swept slowly round the silvan amphitheatre, and
took the same direction with Rowena and her followers. The priests of
a neighbouring convent, in expectation of the ample donation, or
"soul-scat", which Cedric had propined, attended upon the car in which
the body of Athelstane was laid, and sang hymns as it was sadly
and slowly borne on the shoulders of his vassals to his castle of
Coningsburgh, to be there deposited in the grave of Hengist, from whom
the deceased derived his long descent. Many of his vassals had assembled
at the news of his death, and followed the bier with all the external
marks, at least, of dejection and sorrow. Again the out