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.