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."




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