two fierce tides--the conflict of two
oceans moved by adverse winds!"

She turned her head from the lattice, as if unable longer to endure a
sight so terrible.

"Look forth again, Rebecca," said Ivanhoe, mistaking the cause of her
retiring; "the archery must in some degree have ceased, since they are
now fighting hand to hand.--Look again, there is now less danger."

Rebecca again looked forth, and almost immediately exclaimed, "Holy
prophets of the law! Front-de-Boeuf and the Black Knight fight hand
to hand on the breach, amid the roar of their followers, who watch the
progress of the strife--Heaven strike with the cause of the oppressed
and of the captive!" She then uttered a loud shriek, and exclaimed, "He
is down!--he is down!"

"Who is down?" cried Ivanhoe; "for our dear Lady's sake, tell me which
has fallen?"

"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-Boeuf 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-Boeuf!" 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-Boeuf within the walls."

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

"They have--they have!" exclaimed Rebecca--"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 places 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," said 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!" exclaimed the knight; "do the false yeomen
give way?"

"No!" exclaimed Rebecca, "they bear themselves rig