Common politeness forbids.

Let yonder ale-swilling Athelstane defend his,--ha, ha!--_wife_; and my Lady Rowena guard her,--ha, ha!--_son_!" and he laughed wildly and madly.
But Athelstane is killed,--this time in earnest,--and then Ivanhoe rushes to the rescue.

He finds Gurth dead at the park-lodge, and though he is all alone,--having outridden his followers,--he rushes up the chestnut avenue to the house, which is being attacked.

"An Ivanhoe! an Ivanhoe!" he bellowed out with a shout that overcame all the din of battle;--"Notre Dame a la recousse ?" and to hurl his lance through the midriff of Reginald de Bracy, who was commanding the assault,--who fell howling with anguish,--to wave his battle-axe over his own head, and to cut off those of thirteen men-at-arms, was the work of an instant.

"An Ivanhoe! an Ivanhoe!" he still shouted, and down went a man as sure as he said "hoe!" Nevertheless he is again killed by multitudes, or very nearly,--and has again to be cured by the tender nursing of Wamba.