Ivanhoe: Chapters 18–27

But no sooner was he informed that Ivanhoe was in careful, and probably in friendly hands, than the paternal anxiety which had been excited by the dubiety of his fate, gave way anew to the feeling of injured pride and resentment, at what he termed Wilfred’s filial disobedience.

He submitted to the operation without remonstrance, except that, darting a reproachful look at his master, he said, “This comes of loving your flesh and blood better than mine own.”

I saw the javelin was well aimed — I heard it whizz through the air with all the wrathful malevolence of him who cast it, and it quivered after it had pitched in the ground, as if with regret for having missed its mark.

They promised implicit obedience, and departed with alacrity on their different errands.

“A brother of our order,” replied the friar, shaking his head; “we have been at our orisons all night.”

Believe, however, that my word, when pledged, is as inviolate as if I wore golden spurs.

Resistance was vain; and they were compelled to follow to a large room, which, rising on clumsy Saxon pillars, resembled those refectories and chapter-houses which may be still seen in the most ancient parts of our most ancient monasteries.

Wedded to Rowena, indeed, her nobler and more generous soul may yet awake the better nature which is torpid within him.

He had no weapon, excepting a poniard at his belt, which served to counterbalance the weight of the bunch of rusty keys that hung at his right side.

The unhappy Isaac was deprived not only of the power of rising to make the obeisance which his terror dictated, but he could not even doff his cap, or utter any word of supplication; so strongly was he agitated by the conviction that tortures and death were impending over him.

I swear to thee by that which thou dost NOT believe, by the gospel which our church teaches, and by the keys which are given her to bind and to loose, that my purpose is deep and peremptory.

“I will pay,” he said, “the thousand pounds of silver — That is,” he added, after a moment’s pause, “I will pay it with the help of my brethren; for I must beg as a mendicant at the door of our synagogue ere I make up so unheard-of a sum.”

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.

“‘Tis but a contrivance to gain time,” said Locksley; “they dare not do a deed for which I could exact a fearful penalty.”

“Fearless and wicked as they are, they dare not attempt such open and gratuitous cruelty!”