“Thy daughter!” said Front-de-Boeuf, as if surprised⁠—“By heavens, Isaac, I would I had known of this. I deemed that yonder black-browed girl had been thy concubine, and I gave her to be a handmaiden to Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, after the fashion of patriarchs and heroes of the days of old, who set us in these matters a wholesome example.”

The yell which Isaac raised at this unfeeling communication made the very vault to ring, and astounded the two Saracens so much that they let go their hold of the Jew. He availed himself of his enlargement to throw himself on the pavement, and clasp the knees of Front-de-Boeuf.

“Take all that you have asked,” said he, “Sir Knight⁠—take ten times more⁠—reduce me to ruin and to beggary, if thou wilt⁠—nay, pierce me with thy poniard, broil me on that furnace, but spare my daughter, deliver her in safety and honour!⁠—As thou art born of woman, spare the honour of a helpless maiden⁠—She is the image of my deceased Rachel, she is the last of six pledges of her love⁠—Will you deprive a widowed husband of his sole remaining comfort?⁠—Will you reduce a father to wish that his only living child were laid beside her dead mother, in the tomb of our fathers?”

“I would,” said the Norman, somewhat relenting, “that I had known of this before. I thought your race had loved nothing save their moneybags.”

“Think not so vilely of us, Jews though we be,” said Isaac, eager to improve the moment of apparent sympathy; “the hunted fox, the tortured wildcat loves its young⁠—the despised and persecuted race of Abraham love their children!”