w fighting hand to hand, rung with the furious blows
which they dealt each other, De Bracy with his sword, the Black Knight
with his ponderous axe. At length the Norman received a blow, which,
though its force was partly parried by his shield, for otherwise never
more would De Bracy have again moved limb, descended yet with such
violence on his crest, that he measured his length on the paved floor.

"Yield thee, De Bracy," said the Black Champion, stooping over him, and
holding against the bars of his helmet the fatal poniard with which the
knights dispatched their enemies, (and which was called the dagger of
mercy,)--"yield thee, Maurice de Bracy, rescue or no rescue, or thou art
but a dead man."

"I will not yield," replied De Bracy faintly, "to an unknown conqueror.
Tell me thy name, or work thy pleasure on me--it shall never be said
that Maurice de Bracy was prisoner to a nameless churl."

The Black Knight whispered something into the ear of the vanquished.

"I yield me to be true prisoner, rescue or no rescue," answered the
Norman, exchanging his tone of stern and determined obstinacy for one of
deep though sullen submission.

"Go to the barbican," said the victor, in a tone of authority, "and
there wait my further orders."

"Yet first, let me say," said De Bracy, "what it imports thee to know.
Wilfred of Ivanhoe is wounded and a prisoner, and will perish in the
burning castle without present help."

"Wilfred of Ivanhoe!" exclaimed the Black Knight--"prisoner, and
perish!--The life of every man in the castle shall answer it if a hair
of his head be singed--Show me his chamber!"

"Ascend yonder winding stair," said De Bracy; "it leads to his
apartment--Wilt thou not accept my guidance?" he added, in a submissive
voice.

"No. To the barbican, and there wait my orders. I trust thee not, De
Bracy."

During this combat and the brief conversation which ensued, Cedric, at
the head of a body of men, among whom the Friar was conspicuous, had
pushed across the bridge as soon as they saw the postern open, and drove
back the dispirited and despairing followers of De Bracy, of whom some
asked quarter, some offered vain resistance, and the greater part fled
towards the court-yard. De Bracy himself arose from the ground, and cast
a sorrowful glance after his conqueror. "He trusts me not!" he repeated;
"but have I deserved his trust?" He then lifted his sword from the
floor, took off his helmet in token of submission,