"Art thou in thy senses, Israelite?" said the Norman, sternly--"has thy

flesh and blood a charm against heated iron and scalding oil?"

"I care not!" said the Jew, rendered desperate by paternal affection;

"do thy worst. My daughter is my flesh and blood, dearer to me a

thousand times than those limbs which thy cruelty threatens. No silver

will I give thee, unless I were to pour it molten down thy avaricious

throat--no, not a silver penny will I give thee, Nazarene, were it to

save thee from the deep damnation thy whole life has merited! Take my

life if thou wilt, and say, the Jew, amidst his tortures, knew how to

disappoint the Christian."

"We shall see that," said Front-de-Boeuf; "for by the blessed rood,

which is the abomination of thy accursed tribe, thou shalt feel the

extremities of fire and steel!--Strip him, slaves, and chain him down

upon the bars."

In spite of the feeble struggles of the old man, the Saracens had

already torn from him his upper garment, and were proceeding totally to

disrobe him, when the sound of a bugle, twice winded without the castle,

penetrated even to the recesses of the dungeon, and immediately

after loud voices were heard calling for Sir Reginald Front-de-Boeuf.

Unwilling to be found engaged in his hellish occupation, the savage

Baron gave the slaves a signal to restore Isaac's garment, and, quitting

the dungeon with his attendants, he left the Jew to thank God for

his own deliverance, or to lament over his daughter's captivity,

and probable fate, as his personal or parental feelings might prove

strongest.




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