"The Black Knight," answered Rebecca, faintly; then instantly again shouted with joyful eagerness-" But no-but no !—the name of the Lord of Hosts be blessed!-he is on foot again, and fights as if there were twenty men's strength in his single arm-His sword is broken -he snatches an axe from a yeoman-he presses Front-de-Bœuf with blow on blow-The giant stoops and totters like an oak under the steel of the woodman-he falls-he falls!"

"Front-de-Boeuf !" exclaimed Ivanhoe. "Front-de-Bœuf," answered the Jewess; "his men rush to the rescue, headed by the haughty Templar-their united force compels the champion to pause They drag Front-de-Bœuf within the walls."

"The assailants have won the barriers, have they not?" said Ivanhoe.

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They have-they have-and they press the besieged hard upon the outer wall; some plant ladders, some swarm like bees, and endeavour to ascend upon the shoulders of each other-down go stones, beams, and trunks of trees upon their

heads, and as fast as they bear the wounded to the rear, fresh men supply their place in the assault-Great God! hast thou given men thine own image, that it should be thus cruelly defaced by the hands of their brethren !"

"Think not of that,” replied Ivanhoe; "this is no time for such thoughts.-Who yield?—who push their way?”

"The ladders are thrown down,” replied Rebecca, shuddering; "the soldiers lie grovelling under them like crushed reptiles-The besieged have the better."

"Saint George strike for us," said the Knight; ❝do the false yeomen give way ?"

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“No!” exclaimed Rebecca, “ they bear themselves right yeomanly-the Black Knight approaches the postern with his huge axe-the thundering blows which he deals, you may hear them above all the din and shouts of the battleStones and beams are hailed down on the bold champion-he regards them no more than if they were thistle-down or feathers."

"By Saint John of Acre," said Ivanhoe, rai

sing himself joyfully on his couch, "methought there was but one man in England that might do such a deed."

"The postern gate shakes," continued Rebecca; "it crashes-it is splintered by his blowsthey rush in the out-work is won-Oh God!they hurl the defenders from the battlementsthey throw them into the moat-O men, if ye be indeed men, spare them that can resist no longer!"

"The bridge—the bridge which communicates with the castle-have they won that pass ?" exclaimed Ivanhoe.

"No," replied Rebecca, "the Templar has destroyed the plank on which they crossed-few of the defenders escaped with him into the castle -the shrieks and cries which you hear tell the fate of the others-Alas! I see that it is still more difficult to look upon victory than upon battle."

"What do they now, maiden ?" said Ivanhoe; "look forth yet again—this is no time to faint at bloodshed."

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"It is over for the time," said Rebecca; our friends strengthen themselves within the out-work

which they have mastered, and it affords them so good a shelter from the foemen's shot, that the garrison only bestow a few bolts on it from interval to interval, as if rather to disquiet than ef, fectually injure them.”

"Our friends," said Wilfrid, " will surely not abandon an enterprize so gloriously begun and so happily attained.—O no ! I will put my faith in the good knight whose axe has rent heart-ofoak and bars of iron.—Singular,” he again muttered to himself, " if there be two who can do a deed of such derring-do*— a fetter-lock, and a shackle-bolt on a field sable-what may that mean? -seest thou nought else, Rebecca, by which the Black Knight may be distinguished ?"

"Nothing," said the Jewess; " all about him is black as the wing of the night raven. Nothing can I spy that can mark him further-but having once seen him put forth his strength in battle, methinks I could know him again among a thousand warriors. He rushes to the fray as if he were

*** Derring-do-desperate courage.

summoned to a banquet. There is more than mere strength, there seems as if the whole soul and spirit of the champion were given to every blow which he deals upon his enemies. God assoilzie him of the sin of bloodshed!-it is fearful, yet magnificent, to behold how the arm and heart of one man can triumph over hundreds.”

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Rebecca," said Ivanhoe, “thou hast painted a hero; surely they rest but to refresh their force, or to provide the means of crossing the moat-Under such a leader as thou hast spoken this knight to be, there are no craven fears, no cold-blooded delays, no yielding up a gallant emprize; since the difficulties which render it arduous render it also glorious. I swear by the honour of my house -I vow by the name of my bright lady-love, I would endure ten years captivity to fight one day by that good knight's side in such a quarrel as this!"

"Alas!" said Rebecca, leaving her station at the window, and approaching the couch of the wounded knight, "this impatient yearning after action—this struggling with and repining at your present weakness, will not fail to injure your re