“Think not of such foolishness, Sir Knight,” answered Rebecca, “but hasten to the Regent, the Queen Mother, and to Prince John⁠—they cannot, in honour to the English crown, allow of the proceedings of your Grand Master. So shall you give me protection without sacrifice on your part, or the pretext of requiring any requital from me.”

“With these I deal not,” he continued, holding the train of her robe⁠—“it is thee only I address; and what can counterbalance thy choice? Bethink thee, were I a fiend, yet death is a worse, and it is death who is my rival.”

“I weigh not these evils,” said Rebecca, afraid to provoke the wild knight, yet equally determined neither to endure his passion, nor even feign to endure it. “Be a man, be a Christian! If indeed thy faith recommends that mercy which rather your tongues than your actions pretend, save me from this dreadful death, without seeking a requital which would change thy magnanimity into base barter.”

“No, damsel!” said the proud Templar, springing up, “thou shalt not thus impose on me⁠—if I renounce present fame and future ambition, I renounce it for thy sake, and we will escape in company. Listen to me, Rebecca,” he said, again softening his tone; “ England ⁠— Europe ⁠—is not the world. There are spheres in which we may act, ample enough even for my ambition. We will go to Palestine , where Conrade, Marquis of Montserrat , is my friend⁠—a friend free as myself from the doting scruples which fetter our freeborn reason⁠—rather with Saladin will we league ourselves, than endure the scorn of the bigots whom we contemn.⁠—I will form new paths to greatness,” he continued, again traversing the room with hasty strides⁠—“ Europe shall hear the loud step of him she has driven from her sons!⁠—Not the millions whom her crusaders send to slaughter, can do so much to defend Palestine