But the king has been wounded by a bolt from the bow of Sir Bertrand de Gourdon while he is slaughtering the infant, and there is an end of him.

Ivanhoe, too, is killed at the siege,--Sir Roger de Backbite having stabbed him in the back during the scene.

Had he not been then killed, his widow Rowena could not have married Athelstane, which she soon did after hearing the sad news; nor could he have had that celebrated epitaph in Latin and English; Hie est Guilfridus, belli dum vixit avidus.
Cum gladeo et lancea Normannia et quoque Francia Verbera dura dabat.

Per Turcos multum equitabat.
Guilbertum occidit;--atque Hyerosolyma vidit.
Heu! nunc sub fossa sunt tanti militis ossa.
Uxor Athelstani est conjux castissima Thani.[5] The translation we are told was by Wamba; Under the stone you behold, Buried and coffined and cold, Lieth Sir Wilfrid the Bold.
Always he marched in advance, Warring in Flanders and France, Doughty with sword and with lance Famous in Saracen fight, Rode in his youth, the Good Knight, Scattering Paynims in flight.
Brian, the Templar untrue, Fairly in tourney he slew; Saw Hierusalem too.
Now he is buried and gone, Lying beneath the gray stone.
Where shall you find such a one?
Long time his widow deplored, Weeping, the fate of her lord, Sadly cut off by the sword.
When she was eased of her pain, Came the good lord Athelstane, When her ladyship married again.
The next chapter begins naturally as follows; "I trust nobody will suppose, from the events described in the last chapter, that our friend Ivanhoe is really dead." He is of course cured of his wounds, though they take six years in the curing.

And then he makes his way back to Rotherwood, in a friar's disguise, much as he did on that former occasion when we first met him, and there is received by Athelstane and Rowena,--and their boy!--while Wamba sings him a song: Then you know the worth of a lass, Once you have come to forty year! No one, of course, but Wamba knows Ivanhoe, who roams about the country, melancholy,--as he of course would be,--charitable,--as he perhaps might be,--for we are specially told that he had a large fortune and nothing to do with it, and slaying robbers wherever he met them;--but sad at heart all the time.