CHAPTER IV.
Away! our journey lies through dell and dingle,
Where the blythe fawn trips by its timid mother,
Where the broad oak, with intercepting boughs,
Chequers the sun-beam in the green-award alley—
Up and away!—for lovely paths are these
To tread, when the glad Sun is on his throne;
Less pleasant and less safe when Cynthia's lamp
With doubtful glimmer lights the dreary forest.
Ettrick Forest.
When Cedric the Saxon saw his son drop
senseless down in the lists at Ashby, his first impulse was to order him into the custody and care
of his own attendants, but the words choked in
his throat. He could not bring himself to acknowledge, in presence of such an assembly, the
son whom he had renounced and disinherited.
He ordered, however, Oswald to keep an eye
upon him; and directed that officer, with two of
his serfs, to convey Ivanhoe to Ashby so soon as
the crowd was dispersed. Oswald, however, was