“Rebecca,” said Ivanhoe, “thou hast painted a hero; surely they rest but to refresh their force, or to provide the means of crossing the moat⁠—Under such a leader as thou hast spoken this knight to be, there are no craven fears, no cold-blooded delays, no yielding up a gallant emprize; since the difficulties which render it arduous render it also glorious. I swear by the honour of my house⁠—I vow by the name of my bright ladylove, I would endure ten years’ captivity to fight one day by that good knight’s side in such a quarrel as this!”

“Alas,” said Rebecca, leaving her station at the window, and approaching the couch of the wounded knight, “this impatient yearning after action⁠—this struggling with and repining at your present weakness, will not fail to injure your returning health⁠—How couldst thou hope to inflict wounds on others, ere that be healed which thou thyself hast received?”