prompt:
Chapter: Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words
     Can no way change you to a milder form,
     I'll woo you, like a soldier, at arms' end,
     And love you 'gainst the nature of love, force you.
     --Two Gentlemen of Verona

The apartment to which the Lady Rowena had been introduced was fitted
up with some rude attempts at ornament and magnificence, and her being
placed there might be considered as a peculiar mark of respect not
offered to the other prisoners. But the wife of Front-de-Boeuf, for whom
it had been originally furnished, was long dead, and decay and neglect
had impaired the few ornaments with which her taste had adorned it.
The tapestry hung down from the walls in many places, and in others
was tarnished and faded under the effects of the sun, or tattered and
decayed by age. Desolate, however, as it was, this was the apartment of
the castle which had been judged most fitting for the accommodation
of the Saxon heiress; and here she was left to meditate upon her fate,
until the actors in this nefarious drama had arranged the several parts
which each of them was to perform. This had been settled in a council
held by Front-de-Boeuf, De Bracy, and the Templar, in which, after
a long and warm debate concerning the several advantages which each
insisted upon deriving from his peculiar share in this audacious
enterprise, they had at length determined the fate of their unhappy
prisoners.

It was about the hour of noon, therefore, when De Bracy, for whose
advantage the expedition had been first planned, appeared to prosecute
his views upon the hand and possessions of the Lady Rowena.

The interval had not entirely been bestowed in holding council with his
confederates, for De Bracy had found leisure to decorate his person
with all the foppery of the times. His green cassock and vizard were
now flung aside. His long luxuriant hair was trained to flow in quaint
tresses down his richly furred cloak. His beard was closely shaved, his
doublet reached to the middle of his leg, and the girdle which secured
it, and at the same time supported his ponderous sword, was embroidered
and embossed with gold work. We have already noticed the extravagant
fashion of the shoes at this period, and the points of Maurice de
Bracy's might have challenged the prize of extravagance with the gayest,
being turned up and twisted like the horns of a ram. Such was the dress
of a gallant of the period; and, in the present instance, that effect
was aided by the handsome person and good demeanour of the wearer, whose
manners partook alike of the grace of a courtier, and the frankness of a
soldier.

He saluted Rowena by doffing his velvet bonnet, garnished with a golden
broach, representing St Michael trampling down the Prince of Evil. With
this, he gently motioned the lady to a seat; and, as she still retained
her standing posture, the knight ungloved his right hand, and motioned
to conduct her thither. But Rowena declined, by her gesture, the
proffered compliment, and replied, "If I be in the presence of
my jailor, Sir Knight--nor will circumstances allow me to think
otherwise--it best becomes his prisoner to remain standing till she
learns her doom."

"Alas! fair Rowena," returned De Bracy, "you are in presence of your
captive, not your jailor; and it is from your fair eyes that De Bracy
must receive that doom which you fondly expect from him."

"I know you not, sir," said the lady, drawing herself up with all the
pride of offended rank and beauty; "I know you not--and the insolent
familiarity with which you apply to me the jargon of a troubadour, forms
no apology for the violence of a robber."

"To thyself, fair maid," answered De Bracy, in his former tone--"to
thine own charms be ascribed whate'er I have done which passed the
respect due to her, whom I have chosen queen of my heart, and lodestar
of my eyes."

"I repeat to you, Sir Knight, that I know you not, and that no man
wearing chain and spurs ought thus to intrude himself upon the presence
of an unprotected lady."

"That I am unknown to you," said De Bracy, "is indeed my misfortune;
yet let me hope that De Bracy's name has not been always unspoken, when
minstrels or heralds have praised deeds of chivalry, whether in the
lists or in the battle-field."

"To heralds and to minstrels, then, leave thy praise, Sir Knight,"
replied Rowena, "more suiting for their mouths than for thine own; and
tell me which of them shall record in song, or in book of tourney, the
memorable conquest of this night, a conquest obtained over an old man,
followed by a few timid hinds; and its booty, an unfortunate maiden,
transported against her will to the castle of a robber?"

"You are unjust, Lady Rowena," said the knight, biting his lips in
some confusion, and speaking in a tone more natural to him than that of
affected gallantry, which he had at first adopted; "yourself free from
passion, you can allow no excuse for the frenzy of another, although
caused by your own beauty."

"I pray you, Sir Knight," said Rowena, "to cease a language so commonly
used by strolling minstrels, that it becomes not the mouth of knights or
nobles. Certes, you constrain me to sit down, since you enter upon such
commonplace terms, of which each vile crowder hath a stock that might
last from hence to Christmas."

"Proud damsel," said De Bracy, incensed at finding his gallant style
procured him nothing but contempt--"proud damsel, thou shalt be as
proudly encountered. Know then, that I have supported my pretensions to
your hand in the way that best suited thy character. It is meeter for
thy humour to be wooed with bow and bill, than in set terms, and in
courtly language."

"Courtesy of tongue," said Rowena, "when it is used to veil churlishness
of deed, is but a knight's girdle around the breast of a base clown. I
wonder not that the restraint appears to gall you--more it were for your
honour to have retained the dress and language of an outlaw, than
to veil the deeds of one under an affectation of gentle language and
demeanour."

"You counsel well, lady," said the Norman; "and in the bold language
which best justifies bold action I tell thee, thou shalt never leave
this castle, or thou shalt leave it as Maurice de Bracy's wife. I am
not wont to be baffled in my enterprises, nor needs a Norman noble
scrupulously to vindicate his conduct to the Saxon maiden whom he
distinguishes by the offer of his hand. Thou art proud, Rowena, and thou
art the fitter to be my wife. By what other means couldst thou be raised
to high honour and to princely place, saving by my alliance? How else
wouldst thou escape from the mean precincts of a country grange, where
Saxons herd with the swine which form their wealth, to take thy seat,
honoured as thou shouldst be, and shalt be, amid all in England that is
distinguished by beauty, or dignified by power?"

"Sir Knight," replied Rowena, "the grange which you contemn hath been
my shelter from infancy; and, trust me, when I leave it--should that
day ever arrive--it shall be with one who has not learnt to despise the
dwelling and manners in which I have been brought up."

"I guess your meaning, lady," said De Bracy, "though you may think it
lies too obscure for my apprehension. But dream not, that Richard Coeur
de Lion will ever resume his throne, far less that Wilfred of Ivanhoe,
his minion, will ever lead thee to his footstool, to be there welcomed
as the bride of a favourite. Another suitor might feel jealousy while he
touched this string; but my firm purpose cannot be changed by a passion
so childish and so hopeless. Know, lady, that this rival is in my power,
and that it rests but with me to betray the secret of his being within
the castle to Front-de-Boeuf, whose jealousy will be more fatal than
mine."

"Wilfred here?" said Rowena, in disdain; "that is as true as that
Front-de-Boeuf is his rival."

De Bracy looked at her steadily for an instant.

"Wert thou really ignorant of this?" said he; "didst thou not know
that Wilfred of Ivanhoe travelled in the litter of the Jew?--a meet
conveyance for the crusader, whose doughty arm was to reconquer the Holy
Sepulchre!" And he laughed scornfully.

"And if he is here," said Rowena, compelling herself to a tone of
indifference, though trembling with an agony of apprehension which she
could not suppress, "in what is he the rival of Front-de-Boeuf? or what
has he to fear beyond a short imprisonment, and an honourable ransom,
according to the use of chivalry?"

"Rowena," said De Bracy, "art thou, too, deceived by the common error of
thy sex, who think there can be no rivalry but that respecting their own
charms? Knowest thou not there is a jealousy of ambition and of wealth,
as well as of love; and that this our host, Front-de-Boeuf, will push
from his road him who opposes his claim to the fair barony of Ivanhoe,
as readily, eagerly, and unscrupulously, as if he were preferred to him
by some blue-eyed damsel? But smile on my suit, lady, and the wounded
champion shall have nothing to fear from Front-de-Boeuf, whom else thou
mayst mourn for, as in the hands of one who has never shown compassion."

"Save him, for the love of Heaven!" said Rowena, her firmness giving way
under terror for her lover's impending fate.

"I can--I will--it is my purpose," said De Bracy; "for, when Rowena
consents to be the bride of De Bracy, who is it shall dare to put forth
a violent hand upon her kinsman--the son of her guardian--the companion
of her youth? But it is thy love must buy his protection. I am not
romantic fool enough to further the fortune, or avert the fate, of one
who is likely to be a successful obstacle between me and my wishes. Use
thine influence with me in his behalf, and he is safe,--refuse to employ
it, Wilfred dies, and thou thyself art not the nearer to freedom."

"Thy language," answered Rowena, "hath in its indifferent bluntness
something which cannot be reconciled with the horrors it seems to
express. I believe not that thy purpose is so wicked, or thy power so
great."

"Flatter thyself, then, with that belief," said De Bracy, "until
time shall prove it false. Thy lover lies wounded in this castle--thy
preferred lover. He is a bar betwixt Front-de-Boeuf and that which
Front-de-Boeuf loves better than either ambition or beauty. What will
it cost beyond the blow of a poniard, or the thrust of a javelin, to
silence his opposition for ever? Nay, were Front-de-Boeuf afraid to
justify a deed so open, let the leech but give his patient a wrong
draught--let the chamberlain, or the nurse who tends him, but pluck
the pillow from his head, and Wilfred in his present condition, is sped
without the effusion of blood. Cedric also--"

"And Cedric also," said Rowena, repeating his words; "my noble--my
generous guardian! I deserved the evil I have encountered, for
forgetting his fate even in that of his son!"

"Cedric's fate also depends upon thy determination," said De Bracy; "and
I leave thee to form it."

Hitherto, Rowena had sustained her part in this trying scene with
undismayed courage, but it was because she had not considered the
danger as serious and imminent. Her disposition was naturally that which
physiognomists consider as proper to fair complexions, mild, timid,
and gentle; but it had been tempered, and, as it were, hardened, by the
circumstances of her education. Accustomed to see the will of all, even
of Cedric himself, (sufficiently arbitrary with others,) give way before
her wishes, she had acquired that sort of courage and self-confidence
which arises from the habitual and constant deference of the circle in
which we move. She could scarce conceive the possibility of her will
being opposed, far less that of its being treated with total disregard.

Her haughtiness and habit of domination was, therefore, a fictitious
character, induced over that which was natural to her, and it deserted
her when her eyes were opened to the extent of her own danger, as well
as that of her lover and her guardian; and when she found her will, the
slightest expression of which was wont to command respect and attention,
now placed in opposition to that of a man of a strong, fierce, and
determined mind, who possessed the advantage over her, and was resolved
to use it, she quailed before him.

After casting her eyes around, as if to look for the aid which was
nowhere to be found, and after a few broken interjections, she raised
her hands to heaven, and burst into a passion of uncontrolled vexation
and sorrow. It was impossible to see so beautiful a creature in such
extremity without feeling for her, and De Bracy was not unmoved, though
he was yet more embarrassed than touched. He had, in truth, gone too
far to recede; and yet, in Rowena's present condition, she could not be
acted on either by argument or threats. He paced the apartment to and
fro, now vainly exhorting the terrified maiden to compose herself, now
hesitating concerning his own line of conduct.

If, thought he, I should be moved by the tears and sorrow of this
disconsolate damsel, what should I reap but the loss of these fair hopes
for which I have encountered so much risk, and the ridicule of Prince
John and his jovial comrades? "And yet," he said to himself, "I feel
myself ill framed for the part which I am playing. I cannot look on so
fair a face while it is disturbed with agony, or on those eyes when they
are drowned in tears. I would she had retained her original haughtiness
of disposition, or that I had a larger share of Front-de-Boeuf's
thrice-tempered hardness of heart!"

Agitated by these thoughts, he could only bid the unfortunate Rowena be
comforted, and assure her, that as yet she had no reason for the
excess of despair to which she was now giving way. But in this task of
consolation De Bracy was interrupted by the horn, "hoarse-winded blowing
far and keen," which had at the same time alarmed the other inmates
of the castle, and interrupted their several plans of avarice and
of license. Of them all, perhaps, De Bracy least regretted the
interruption; for his conference with the Lady Rowena had arrived at a
point, where he found it equally difficult to prosecute or to resign his
enterprise.

And here we cannot but think it necessary to offer some better proof
than the incidents of an idle tale, to vindicate the melancholy
representation of manners which has been just laid before the reader. It
is grievous to think that those valiant barons, to whose stand against
the crown the liberties of England were indebted for their existence,
should themselves have been such dreadful oppressors, and capable of
excesses contrary not only to the laws of England, but to those of
nature and humanity. But, alas! we have only to extract from the
industrious Henry one of those numerous passages which he has collected
from contemporary historians, to prove that fiction itself can hardly
reach the dark reality of the horrors of the period.

The description given by the author of the Saxon Chronicle of the
cruelties exercised in the reign of King Stephen by the great barons and
lords of castles, who were all Normans, affords a strong proof of the
excesses of which they were capable when their passions were inflamed.
"They grievously oppressed the poor people by building castles; and when
they were built, they filled them with wicked men, or rather devils, who
seized both men and women who they imagined had any money, threw them
into prison, and put them to more cruel tortures than the martyrs ever
endured. They suffocated some in mud, and suspended others by the feet,
or the head, or the thumbs, kindling fires below them. They squeezed the
heads of some with knotted cords till they pierced their brains, while
they threw others into dungeons swarming with serpents, snakes, and
toads." But it would be cruel to put the reader to the pain of perusing
the remainder of this description. [29]

As another instance of these bitter fruits of conquest, and perhaps the
strongest that can be quoted, we may mention, that the Princess Matilda,
though a daughter of the King of Scotland, and afterwards both Queen of
England, niece to Edgar Atheling, and mother to the Empress of Germany,
the daughter, the wife, and the mother of monarchs, was obliged, during
her early residence for education in England, to assume the veil of a
nun, as the only means of escaping the licentious pursuit of the Norman
nobles. This excuse she stated before a great council of the clergy of
England, as the sole reason for her having taken the religious habit.
The assembled clergy admitted the validity of the plea, and the
notoriety of the circumstances upon which it was founded; giving thus
an indubitable and most remarkable testimony to the existence of that
disgraceful license by which that age was stained. It was a matter of
public knowledge, they said, that after the conquest of King William,
his Norman followers, elated by so great a victory, acknowledged no
law but their own wicked pleasure, and not only despoiled the conquered
Saxons of their lands and their goods, but invaded the honour of their
wives and of their daughters with the most unbridled license; and hence
it was then common for matrons and maidens of noble families to assume
the veil, and take shelter in convents, not as called thither by the
vocation of God, but solely to preserve their honour from the unbridled
wickedness of man.

Such and so licentious were the times, as announced by the public
declaration of the assembled clergy, recorded by Eadmer; and we need add
nothing more to vindicate the probability of the scenes which we have
detailed, and are about to detail, upon the more apocryphal authority of
the Wardour MS.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Elsewhere in Front-de-Boeufs castle, De Bracy tries his best to persuade Rowena to marry him. He threatens that if she does not accept him, the lives of Ivanhoe and Cedric will be forfeited. In the conversation, she learns that Ivanhoe is a prisoner in the same castle and breaks down. The bugle call interrupts this scene as well.


prompt:
Chapter: I'll woo her as the lion woos his bride.
     --Douglas

While the scenes we have described were passing in other parts of the
castle, the Jewess Rebecca awaited her fate in a distant and sequestered
turret. Hither she had been led by two of her disguised ravishers, and
on being thrust into the little cell, she found herself in the presence
of an old sibyl, who kept murmuring to herself a Saxon rhyme, as if to
beat time to the revolving dance which her spindle was performing upon
the floor. The hag raised her head as Rebecca entered, and scowled at
the fair Jewess with the malignant envy with which old age and ugliness,
when united with evil conditions, are apt to look upon youth and beauty.

"Thou must up and away, old house-cricket," said one of the men; "our
noble master commands it--Thou must e'en leave this chamber to a fairer
guest."

"Ay," grumbled the hag, "even thus is service requited. I have known
when my bare word would have cast the best man-at-arms among ye out of
saddle and out of service; and now must I up and away at the command of
every groom such as thou."

"Good Dame Urfried," said the other man, "stand not to reason on it,
but up and away. Lords' hests must be listened to with a quick ear. Thou
hast had thy day, old dame, but thy sun has long been set. Thou art now
the very emblem of an old war-horse turned out on the barren heath--thou
hast had thy paces in thy time, but now a broken amble is the best of
them--Come, amble off with thee."

"Ill omens dog ye both!" said the old woman; "and a kennel be your
burying-place! May the evil demon Zernebock tear me limb from limb, if I
leave my own cell ere I have spun out the hemp on my distaff!"

"Answer it to our lord, then, old housefiend," said the man, and
retired; leaving Rebecca in company with the old woman, upon whose
presence she had been thus unwillingly forced.

"What devil's deed have they now in the wind?" said the old hag,
murmuring to herself, yet from time to time casting a sidelong and
malignant glance at Rebecca; "but it is easy to guess--Bright eyes,
black locks, and a skin like paper, ere the priest stains it with his
black unguent--Ay, it is easy to guess why they send her to this lone
turret, whence a shriek could no more be heard than at the depth of
five hundred fathoms beneath the earth.--Thou wilt have owls for thy
neighbours, fair one; and their screams will be heard as far, and as
much regarded, as thine own. Outlandish, too," she said, marking the
dress and turban of Rebecca--"What country art thou of?--a Saracen?
or an Egyptian?--Why dost not answer?--thou canst weep, canst thou not
speak?"

"Be not angry, good mother," said Rebecca.

"Thou needst say no more," replied Urfried "men know a fox by the train,
and a Jewess by her tongue."

"For the sake of mercy," said Rebecca, "tell me what I am to expect as
the conclusion of the violence which hath dragged me hither! Is it
my life they seek, to atone for my religion? I will lay it down
cheerfully."

"Thy life, minion?" answered the sibyl; "what would taking thy life
pleasure them?--Trust me, thy life is in no peril. Such usage shalt thou
have as was once thought good enough for a noble Saxon maiden. And shall
a Jewess, like thee, repine because she hath no better? Look at me--I
was as young and twice as fair as thou, when Front-de-Boeuf, father of
this Reginald, and his Normans, stormed this castle. My father and his
seven sons defended their inheritance from story to story, from chamber
to chamber--There was not a room, not a step of the stair, that was not
slippery with their blood. They died--they died every man; and ere their
bodies were cold, and ere their blood was dried, I had become the prey
and the scorn of the conqueror!"

"Is there no help?--Are there no means of escape?" said
Rebecca--"Richly, richly would I requite thine aid."

"Think not of it," said the hag; "from hence there is no escape but
through the gates of death; and it is late, late," she added, shaking
her grey head, "ere these open to us--Yet it is comfort to think that we
leave behind us on earth those who shall be wretched as ourselves. Fare
thee well, Jewess!--Jew or Gentile, thy fate would be the same; for thou
hast to do with them that have neither scruple nor pity. Fare thee well,
I say. My thread is spun out--thy task is yet to begin."

"Stay! stay! for Heaven's sake!" said Rebecca; "stay, though it be to
curse and to revile me--thy presence is yet some protection."

"The presence of the mother of God were no protection," answered the old
woman. "There she stands," pointing to a rude image of the Virgin Mary,
"see if she can avert the fate that awaits thee."

She left the room as she spoke, her features writhed into a sort of
sneering laugh, which made them seem even more hideous than their
habitual frown. She locked the door behind her, and Rebecca might hear
her curse every step for its steepness, as slowly and with difficulty
she descended the turret-stair.

Rebecca was now to expect a fate even more dreadful than that of Rowena;
for what probability was there that either softness or ceremony would be
used towards one of her oppressed race, whatever shadow of these might
be preserved towards a Saxon heiress? Yet had the Jewess this advantage,
that she was better prepared by habits of thought, and by natural
strength of mind, to encounter the dangers to which she was exposed. Of
a strong and observing character, even from her earliest years, the pomp
and wealth which her father displayed within his walls, or which she
witnessed in the houses of other wealthy Hebrews, had not been able to
blind her to the precarious circumstances under which they were enjoyed.
Like Damocles at his celebrated banquet, Rebecca perpetually beheld,
amid that gorgeous display, the sword which was suspended over the heads
of her people by a single hair. These reflections had tamed and brought
down to a pitch of sounder judgment a temper, which, under other
circumstances, might have waxed haughty, supercilious, and obstinate.

From her father's example and injunctions, Rebecca had learnt to bear
herself courteously towards all who approached her. She could not indeed
imitate his excess of subservience, because she was a stranger to the
meanness of mind, and to the constant state of timid apprehension, by
which it was dictated; but she bore herself with a proud humility, as
if submitting to the evil circumstances in which she was placed as
the daughter of a despised race, while she felt in her mind the
consciousness that she was entitled to hold a higher rank from her
merit, than the arbitrary despotism of religious prejudice permitted her
to aspire to.

Thus prepared to expect adverse circumstances, she had acquired the
firmness necessary for acting under them. Her present situation required
all her presence of mind, and she summoned it up accordingly.

Her first care was to inspect the apartment; but it afforded few hopes
either of escape or protection. It contained neither secret passage nor
trap-door, and unless where the door by which she had entered joined the
main building, seemed to be circumscribed by the round exterior wall of
the turret. The door had no inside bolt or bar. The single window opened
upon an embattled space surmounting the turret, which gave Rebecca,
at first sight, some hopes of escaping; but she soon found it had no
communication with any other part of the battlements, being an isolated
bartisan, or balcony, secured, as usual, by a parapet, with embrasures,
at which a few archers might be stationed for defending the turret, and
flanking with their shot the wall of the castle on that side.

There was therefore no hope but in passive fortitude, and in that strong
reliance on Heaven natural to great and generous characters. Rebecca,
however erroneously taught to interpret the promises of Scripture to
the chosen people of Heaven, did not err in supposing the present to be
their hour of trial, or in trusting that the children of Zion would be
one day called in with the fulness of the Gentiles. In the meanwhile,
all around her showed that their present state was that of punishment
and probation, and that it was their especial duty to suffer without
sinning. Thus prepared to consider herself as the victim of misfortune,
Rebecca had early reflected upon her own state, and schooled her mind to
meet the dangers which she had probably to encounter.

The prisoner trembled, however, and changed colour, when a step was
heard on the stair, and the door of the turret-chamber slowly opened,
and a tall man, dressed as one of those banditti to whom they owed
their misfortune, slowly entered, and shut the door behind him; his cap,
pulled down upon his brows, concealed the upper part of his face, and he
held his mantle in such a manner as to muffle the rest. In this guise,
as if prepared for the execution of some deed, at the thought of which
he was himself ashamed, he stood before the affrighted prisoner; yet,
ruffian as his dress bespoke him, he seemed at a loss to express what
purpose had brought him thither, so that Rebecca, making an effort
upon herself, had time to anticipate his explanation. She had already
unclasped two costly bracelets and a collar, which she hastened to
proffer to the supposed outlaw, concluding naturally that to gratify his
avarice was to bespeak his favour.

"Take these," she said, "good friend, and for God's sake be merciful
to me and my aged father! These ornaments are of value, yet are they
trifling to what he would bestow to obtain our dismissal from this
castle, free and uninjured."

"Fair flower of Palestine," replied the outlaw, "these pearls are
orient, but they yield in whiteness to your teeth; the diamonds are
brilliant, but they cannot match your eyes; and ever since I have taken
up this wild trade, I have made a vow to prefer beauty to wealth."

"Do not do yourself such wrong," said Rebecca; "take ransom, and have
mercy!--Gold will purchase you pleasure,--to misuse us, could only bring
thee remorse. My father will willingly satiate thy utmost wishes; and
if thou wilt act wisely, thou mayst purchase with our spoils thy
restoration to civil society--mayst obtain pardon for past errors, and
be placed beyond the necessity of committing more."

"It is well spoken," replied the outlaw in French, finding it difficult
probably to sustain, in Saxon, a conversation which Rebecca had opened
in that language; "but know, bright lily of the vale of Baca! that thy
father is already in the hands of a powerful alchemist, who knows how to
convert into gold and silver even the rusty bars of a dungeon grate. The
venerable Isaac is subjected to an alembic, which will distil from
him all he holds dear, without any assistance from my requests or thy
entreaty. The ransom must be paid by love and beauty, and in no other
coin will I accept it."

"Thou art no outlaw," said Rebecca, in the same language in which he
addressed her; "no outlaw had refused such offers. No outlaw in this
land uses the dialect in which thou hast spoken. Thou art no outlaw, but
a Norman--a Norman, noble perhaps in birth--O, be so in thy actions, and
cast off this fearful mask of outrage and violence!"

"And thou, who canst guess so truly," said Brian de Bois-Guilbert,
dropping the mantle from his face, "art no true daughter of Israel,
but in all, save youth and beauty, a very witch of Endor. I am not an
outlaw, then, fair rose of Sharon. And I am one who will be more prompt
to hang thy neck and arms with pearls and diamonds, which so well become
them, than to deprive thee of these ornaments."

"What wouldst thou have of me," said Rebecca, "if not my wealth?--We
can have nought in common between us--you are a Christian--I am a
Jewess.--Our union were contrary to the laws, alike of the church and
the synagogue."

"It were so, indeed," replied the Templar, laughing; "wed with a Jewess?
'Despardieux!'--Not if she were the Queen of Sheba! And know, besides,
sweet daughter of Zion, that were the most Christian king to offer me
his most Christian daughter, with Languedoc for a dowery, I could not
wed her. It is against my vow to love any maiden, otherwise than 'par
amours', as I will love thee. I am a Templar. Behold the cross of my
Holy Order."

"Darest thou appeal to it," said Rebecca, "on an occasion like the
present?"

"And if I do so," said the Templar, "it concerns not thee, who art no
believer in the blessed sign of our salvation."

"I believe as my fathers taught," said Rebecca; "and may God forgive my
belief if erroneous! But you, Sir Knight, what is yours, when you appeal
without scruple to that which you deem most holy, even while you are
about to transgress the most solemn of your vows as a knight, and as a
man of religion?"

"It is gravely and well preached, O daughter of Sirach!" answered the
Templar; "but, gentle Ecclesiastics, thy narrow Jewish prejudices make
thee blind to our high privilege. Marriage were an enduring crime on
the part of a Templar; but what lesser folly I may practise, I shall
speedily be absolved from at the next Preceptory of our Order. Not the
wisest of monarchs, not his father, whose examples you must needs allow
are weighty, claimed wider privileges than we poor soldiers of the
Temple of Zion have won by our zeal in its defence. The protectors of
Solomon's Temple may claim license by the example of Solomon."

"If thou readest the Scripture," said the Jewess, "and the lives of the
saints, only to justify thine own license and profligacy, thy crime
is like that of him who extracts poison from the most healthful and
necessary herbs."

The eyes of the Templar flashed fire at this reproof--"Hearken," he
said, "Rebecca; I have hitherto spoken mildly to thee, but now my
language shall be that of a conqueror. Thou art the captive of my bow
and spear--subject to my will by the laws of all nations; nor will I
abate an inch of my right, or abstain from taking by violence what thou
refusest to entreaty or necessity."

"Stand back," said Rebecca--"stand back, and hear me ere thou offerest
to commit a sin so deadly! My strength thou mayst indeed overpower for
God made women weak, and trusted their defence to man's generosity. But
I will proclaim thy villainy, Templar, from one end of Europe to
the other. I will owe to the superstition of thy brethren what their
compassion might refuse me, Each Preceptory--each Chapter of thy Order,
shall learn, that, like a heretic, thou hast sinned with a Jewess. Those
who tremble not at thy crime, will hold thee accursed for having so
far dishonoured the cross thou wearest, as to follow a daughter of my
people."

"Thou art keen-witted, Jewess," replied the Templar, well aware of the
truth of what she spoke, and that the rules of his Order condemned in
the most positive manner, and under high penalties, such intrigues as
he now prosecuted, and that, in some instances, even degradation had
followed upon it--"thou art sharp-witted," he said; "but loud must be
thy voice of complaint, if it is heard beyond the iron walls of this
castle; within these, murmurs, laments, appeals to justice, and screams
for help, die alike silent away. One thing only can save thee, Rebecca.
Submit to thy fate--embrace our religion, and thou shalt go forth in
such state, that many a Norman lady shall yield as well in pomp as in
beauty to the favourite of the best lance among the defenders of the
Temple."

"Submit to my fate!" said Rebecca--"and, sacred Heaven! to what
fate?--embrace thy religion! and what religion can it be that
harbours such a villain?--THOU the best lance of the Templars!--Craven
knight!--forsworn priest! I spit at thee, and I defy thee.--The God of
Abraham's promise hath opened an escape to his daughter--even from this
abyss of infamy!"

As she spoke, she threw open the latticed window which led to the
bartisan, and in an instant after, stood on the very verge of the
parapet, with not the slightest screen between her and the tremendous
depth below. Unprepared for such a desperate effort, for she had
hitherto stood perfectly motionless, Bois-Guilbert had neither time
to intercept nor to stop her. As he offered to advance, she exclaimed,
"Remain where thou art, proud Templar, or at thy choice advance!--one
foot nearer, and I plunge myself from the precipice; my body shall
be crushed out of the very form of humanity upon the stones of that
court-yard, ere it become the victim of thy brutality!"

As she spoke this, she clasped her hands and extended them towards
heaven, as if imploring mercy on her soul before she made the final
plunge. The Templar hesitated, and a resolution which had never yielded
to pity or distress, gave way to his admiration of her fortitude. "Come
down," he said, "rash girl!--I swear by earth, and sea, and sky, I will
offer thee no offence."

"I will not trust thee, Templar," said Rebecca; "thou hast taught me
better how to estimate the virtues of thine Order. The next Preceptory
would grant thee absolution for an oath, the keeping of which concerned
nought but the honour or the dishonour of a miserable Jewish maiden."

"You do me injustice," exclaimed the Templar fervently; "I swear to you
by the name which I bear--by the cross on my bosom--by the sword on my
side--by the ancient crest of my fathers do I swear, I will do thee
no injury whatsoever! If not for thyself, yet for thy father's sake
forbear! I will be his friend, and in this castle he will need a
powerful one."

"Alas!" said Rebecca, "I know it but too well--dare I trust thee?"

"May my arms be reversed, and my name dishonoured," said Brian de
Bois-Guilbert, "if thou shalt have reason to complain of me! Many a law,
many a commandment have I broken, but my word never."

"I will then trust thee," said Rebecca, "thus far;" and she descended
from the verge of the battlement, but remained standing close by one of
the embrasures, or "machicolles", as they were then called.--"Here," she
said, "I take my stand. Remain where thou art, and if thou shalt attempt
to diminish by one step the distance now between us, thou shalt see that
the Jewish maiden will rather trust her soul with God, than her honour
to the Templar!"

While Rebecca spoke thus, her high and firm resolve, which corresponded
so well with the expressive beauty of her countenance, gave to her
looks, air, and manner, a dignity that seemed more than mortal. Her
glance quailed not, her cheek blanched not, for the fear of a fate so
instant and so horrible; on the contrary, the thought that she had her
fate at her command, and could escape at will from infamy to death,
gave a yet deeper colour of carnation to her complexion, and a yet
more brilliant fire to her eye. Bois-Guilbert, proud himself and
high-spirited, thought he had never beheld beauty so animated and so
commanding.

"Let there be peace between us, Rebecca," he said.

"Peace, if thou wilt," answered Rebecca--"Peace--but with this space
between."

"Thou needst no longer fear me," said Bois-Guilbert.

"I fear thee not," replied she; "thanks to him that reared this dizzy
tower so high, that nought could fall from it and live--thanks to him,
and to the God of Israel!--I fear thee not."

"Thou dost me injustice," said the Templar; "by earth, sea, and sky,
thou dost me injustice! I am not naturally that which you have seen me,
hard, selfish, and relentless. It was woman that taught me cruelty, and
on woman therefore I have exercised it; but not upon such as thou. Hear
me, Rebecca--Never did knight take lance in his hand with a heart more
devoted to the lady of his love than Brian de Bois-Guilbert. She, the
daughter of a petty baron, who boasted for all his domains but a ruinous
tower, and an unproductive vineyard, and some few leagues of the barren
Landes of Bourdeaux, her name was known wherever deeds of arms were
done, known wider than that of many a lady's that had a county for a
dowery.--Yes," he continued, pacing up and down the little platform,
with an animation in which he seemed to lose all consciousness of
Rebecca's presence--"Yes, my deeds, my danger, my blood, made the name
of Adelaide de Montemare known from the court of Castile to that of
Byzantium. And how was I requited?--When I returned with my dear-bought
honours, purchased by toil and blood, I found her wedded to a Gascon
squire, whose name was never heard beyond the limits of his own paltry
domain! Truly did I love her, and bitterly did I revenge me of her
broken faith! But my vengeance has recoiled on myself. Since that day
I have separated myself from life and its ties--My manhood must know no
domestic home--must be soothed by no affectionate wife--My age must
know no kindly hearth--My grave must be solitary, and no offspring must
outlive me, to bear the ancient name of Bois-Guilbert. At the feet of
my Superior I have laid down the right of self-action--the privilege
of independence. The Templar, a serf in all but the name, can possess
neither lands nor goods, and lives, moves, and breathes, but at the will
and pleasure of another."

"Alas!" said Rebecca, "what advantages could compensate for such an
absolute sacrifice?"

"The power of vengeance, Rebecca," replied the Templar, "and the
prospects of ambition."

"An evil recompense," said Rebecca, "for the surrender of the rights
which are dearest to humanity."

"Say not so, maiden," answered the Templar; "revenge is a feast for the
gods! And if they have reserved it, as priests tell us, to themselves,
it is because they hold it an enjoyment too precious for the possession
of mere mortals.--And ambition? it is a temptation which could disturb
even the bliss of heaven itself."--He paused a moment, and then added,
"Rebecca! she who could prefer death to dishonour, must have a proud and
a powerful soul. Mine thou must be!--Nay, start not," he added, "it must
be with thine own consent, and on thine own terms. Thou must consent to
share with me hopes more extended than can be viewed from the throne
of a monarch!--Hear me ere you answer and judge ere you refuse.--The
Templar loses, as thou hast said, his social rights, his power of free
agency, but he becomes a member and a limb of a mighty body, before
which thrones already tremble,--even as the single drop of rain which
mixes with the sea becomes an individual part of that resistless ocean,
which undermines rocks and ingulfs royal armadas. Such a swelling flood
is that powerful league. Of this mighty Order I am no mean member, but
already one of the Chief Commanders, and may well aspire one day to hold
the batoon of Grand Master. The poor soldiers of the Temple will not
alone place their foot upon the necks of kings--a hemp-sandall'd monk
can do that. Our mailed step shall ascend their throne--our gauntlet
shall wrench the sceptre from their gripe. Not the reign of your
vainly-expected Messiah offers such power to your dispersed tribes as my
ambition may aim at. I have sought but a kindred spirit to share it, and
I have found such in thee."

"Sayest thou this to one of my people?" answered Rebecca. "Bethink
thee--"

"Answer me not," said the Templar, "by urging the difference of our
creeds; within our secret conclaves we hold these nursery tales in
derision. Think not we long remained blind to the idiotical folly of our
founders, who forswore every delight of life for the pleasure of dying
martyrs by hunger, by thirst, and by pestilence, and by the swords of
savages, while they vainly strove to defend a barren desert, valuable
only in the eyes of superstition. Our Order soon adopted bolder and
wider views, and found out a better indemnification for our sacrifices.
Our immense possessions in every kingdom of Europe, our high military
fame, which brings within our circle the flower of chivalry from every
Christian clime--these are dedicated to ends of which our pious founders
little dreamed, and which are equally concealed from such weak spirits
as embrace our Order on the ancient principles, and whose superstition
makes them our passive tools. But I will not further withdraw the veil
of our mysteries. That bugle-sound announces something which may require
my presence. Think on what I have said.--Farewell!--I do not say forgive
me the violence I have threatened, for it was necessary to the display
of thy character. Gold can be only known by the application of the
touchstone. I will soon return, and hold further conference with thee."

He re-entered the turret-chamber, and descended the stair, leaving
Rebecca scarcely more terrified at the prospect of the death to which
she had been so lately exposed, than at the furious ambition of the bold
bad man in whose power she found herself so unhappily placed. When she
entered the turret-chamber, her first duty was to return thanks to
the God of Jacob for the protection which he had afforded her, and to
implore its continuance for her and for her father. Another name glided
into her petition--it was that of the wounded Christian, whom fate had
placed in the hands of bloodthirsty men, his avowed enemies. Her heart
indeed checked her, as if, even in communing with the Deity in prayer,
she mingled in her devotions the recollection of one with whose fate
hers could have no alliance--a Nazarene, and an enemy to her faith. But
the petition was already breathed, nor could all the narrow prejudices
of her sect induce Rebecca to wish it recalled.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Rebecca meets the old hag, Urfried, in the little tower where she is imprisoned. Urfried makes the most frightening forecast for Rebecca, recounting her own terrible fate at the hands of Front-de-Boeufs father. Urfried, however, had submitted to the elder Front-de-Bouefs molestation, accepting the subsequent shame and dishonor. The brave Rebecca looks around for some escape, but finds none. Musing over her fate, she hears footsteps on the stairs. A tall man stands at the door. She offers her jewelry to the man who takes off his cap and reveals himself as Bois-Guilbert. He makes advances at her, which she refuses. Rebecca threatens to kill herself. She would rather die than be dishonored as the old woman Urfried has been. The trumpet call also saves Rebecca, for it summons Bois-Guilbert, who promises to visit her again.