“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.”