ison
were slain, and several others wounded. But, confident in their armour
of proof, and in the cover which their situation afforded, the followers
of Front-de-Boeuf, and his allies, showed an obstinacy in defence
proportioned to the fury of the attack and replied with the discharge
of their large cross-bows, as well as with their long-bows, slings, and
other missile weapons, to the close and continued shower of arrows;
and, as the assailants were necessarily but indifferently protected, did
considerably more damage than they received at their hand. The whizzing
of shafts and of missiles, on both sides, was only interrupted by the
shouts which arose when either side inflicted or sustained some notable
loss.

"And I must lie here like a bedridden monk," exclaimed Ivanhoe, "while
the game that gives me freedom or death is played out by the hand of
others!--Look from the window once again, kind maiden, but beware that
you are not marked by the archers beneath--Look out once more, and tell
me if they yet advance to the storm."

With patient courage, strengthened by the interval which she had
employed in mental devotion, Rebecca again took post at the lattice,
sheltering herself, however, so as not to be visible from beneath.

"What dost thou see, Rebecca?" again demanded the wounded knight.

"Nothing but the cloud of arrows flying so thick as to dazzle mine eyes,
and to hide the bowmen who shoot them."

"That cannot endure," said Ivanhoe; "if they press not right on to
carry the castle by pure force of arms, the archery may avail but little
against stone walls and bulwarks. Look for the Knight of the Fetterlock,
fair Rebecca, and see how he bears himself; for as the leader is, so
will his followers be."

"I see him not," said Rebecca.

"Foul craven!" exclaimed Ivanhoe; "does he blench from the helm when the
wind blows highest?"

"He blenches not! he blenches not!" said Rebecca, "I see him now; he
leads a body of men close under the outer barrier of the barbican. [36]
--They pull down the piles and palisades; they hew down the barriers
with axes.--His high black plume floats abroad over the throng, like
a raven over the field of the slain.--They have made a breach in the
barriers--they rush in--they are thrust back!--Front-de-Boeuf heads the
defenders; I see his gigantic form above the press. They throng again to
the breach, and the pass is disputed hand to hand, and man to man. God
of Jacob! it is the meeting of