“Sayest thou this to one of my people?”
answered Rebecca. “Bethink thee—–”
“Answer me not,” said the Templar, “by
urging the difference of our creeds; within our secret
conclaves we hold these nursery tales in derision.
Think not we long remained blind to the idiotical
folly of our founders, who forswore every delight of
life for the pleasure of dying martyrs by hunger, by
thirst, and by pestilence, and by the swords of savages,
while they vainly strove to defend a barren desert,
valuable only in the eyes of superstition. Our
Order soon adopted bolder and wider views, and found
out a better indemnification for our sacrifices.
Our immense possessions in every kingdom of Europe,
our high military fame, which brings within our circle
the flower of chivalry from every Christian clime—–these
are dedicated to ends of which our pious founders
little dreamed, and which are equally concealed from
such weak spirits as embrace our Order on the ancient
principles, and whose superstition makes them our passive
tools. But I will not further withdraw the veil
of our mysteries. That bugle-sound announces
something which may require my presence. Think
on what I have said.—–Farewell!—–I
do not say forgive me the violence I have threatened,
for it was necessary to the display of thy character.
Gold can be only known by the application of the touchstone.
I will soon return, and hold further conference with
thee.”
He re-entered the turret-chamber, and descended the
stair, leaving Rebecca scarcely more terrified at
the prospect of the death to which she had been so
lately exposed, than at the furious ambition of the
bold bad man in whose power she found herself so unhappily
placed. When she entered the turret-chamber,
her first duty was to return thanks to the God of
Jacob for the protection which he had afforded her,
and to implore its continuance for her and for her
father. Another name glided into her petition—–it
was that of the wounded Christian, whom fate had placed
in the hands of bloodthirsty men, his avowed enemies.
Her heart indeed checked her, as if, even in communing
with the Deity in prayer, she mingled in her devotions
the recollection of one with whose fate hers could
have no alliance —–a Nazarene, and
an enemy to her faith. But the petition was already
breathed, nor could all the narrow prejudices of her
sect induce Rebecca to wish it recalled.
CHAPTER XXV
A damn’d cramp piece of penmanship as ever I saw in my life!
She Stoops to Conquer
When the Templar reached the hall of the castle, he
found De Bracy already there. “Your love-suit,”
said De Bracy, “hath, I suppose, been disturbed,
like mine, by this obstreperous summons. But
you have come later and more reluctantly, and therefore
I presume your interview has proved more agreeable
than mine.”
“Has your suit, then, been unsuccessfully paid
to the Saxon heiress?” said the Templar.
