not know thee!"

"Holy mother! what has chanced?" said Ivanhoe, in his turn becoming
ghastly pale; "where is thy daughter--where is Rebecca?"

"Away from me!" said the old Jew, tottering. "Away Rebecca is--dead!"

*****

When the Disinherited Knight heard that fatal announcement, he fell to
the ground senseless, and was for some days as one perfectly distraught
with grief. He took no nourishment and uttered no word. For weeks he
did not relapse out of his moody silence, and when he came partially to
himself again, it was to bid his people to horse, in a hollow voice, and
to make a foray against the Moors. Day after day he issued out against
these infidels, and did nought but slay and slay. He took no plunder
as other knights did, but left that to his followers; he uttered no
war-cry, as was the manner of chivalry, and he gave no quarter, insomuch
that the "silent knight" became the dread of all the Paynims of Granada
and Andalusia, and more fell by his lance than by that of any the most
clamorous captains of the troops in arms against them. Thus the tide of
battle turned, and the Arab historian, El Makary, recounts how, at
the great battle of Al Akab, called by the Spaniards Las Navas, the
Christians retrieved their defeat at Alarcos, and absolutely killed
half a milllion of Mahometans. Fifty thousand of these, of course, Don
Wilfrid took to his own lance; and it was remarked that the melancholy
warrior seemed somewhat more easy in spirits after that famous feat of
arms.

CHAPTER VII.

THE END OF THE PERFORMANCE.

In a short time the terrible Sir Wilfrid of Ivanhoe had killed off
so many of the Moors, that though those unbelieving miscreants poured
continual reinforcements into Spain from Barbary, they could make no
head against the Christian forces, and in fact came into battle quite
discouraged at the notion of meeting the dreadful silent knight. It was
commonly believed amongst them, that the famous Malek Ric, Richard
of England, the conqueror of Saladin, had come to life again, and was
battling in the Spanish hosts--that this, his second life, was a
charmed one, and his body inaccessible to blow of scimitar or thrust of
spear--that after battle he ate the hearts and drank the blood of
many young Moors for his supper: a thousand wild legends were told of
Ivanhoe, indeed, so that the Morisco warriors came half vanquished into
the field, and fell an easy prey to the Spaniards, who cut away among
them with