nse on the part of the besieged. The archers, trained by their
woodland pastimes to the most effective use of the longbow, shot so
rapidly and accurately that no point at which a defender could show the
least part of his person escaped their [v]cloth-yard shafts. By this
heavy discharge, which continued as thick and sharp as hail, two or
three of the garrison were slain and several others wounded. But,
confident in their armor of proof and in the cover which their situation
afforded, the followers of Front-de-Boeuf, and his allies, showed an
obstinacy in defense proportioned to the fury of the attack, replying
with the discharge of their large cross-bows to the close and continued
shower of arrows. As the assailants were necessarily but indifferently
protected, they received more damage than they did.

"And I must lie here like a bedridden monk," exclaimed Ivanhoe, "while
the game that gives me freedom or death is played out by the hands of
others! Look from the window once again, kind maiden, but beware that
you are not marked by the archers beneath--look out once more and tell
me if they yet advance to the storm."

With patient courage, Rebecca again took post at the lattice.

"What dost thou see?" demanded the wounded knight.

"Nothing but the cloud of arrows flying so thick as to dazzle mine eyes
and hide the bowmen who shoot them."

"That cannot endure," remarked Ivanhoe. "If they press not on to carry
the castle by pure force of arms, the archery may avail but little
against stone walls and bulwarks. Look for the sable knight and see how
he bears himself, for as the leader is, so will his followers be."

"I see him not," said Rebecca.

"Foul craven!" exclaimed Ivanhoe; "does he blench from the helm when the
wind blows highest?"

"He blenches not! he blenches not!" cried Rebecca. "I see him now; he
heads a body of men close under the outer barrier of the barbican. They
pull down the piles and palisades; they hew down the barriers with axes.
His high black plume floats over the throng, like a raven over the field
of the slain. They have made a breach in the barriers--they rush
in--they are thrust back! Front-de-Boeuf heads the defenders; I see his
gigantic form above the press. They throng again to the breach, and the
pass is disputed hand to hand, and man to man. Have mercy, God!"

She turned her head from the lattice, as if unable longer to endure a
sight so terrible.

"Look forth again, Rebecca," urged