"I will not yield," replied De Bracy faintly, "to an unknown conqueror. Tell me thy name, or work thy pleasure on me—it shall never be said that Maurice De Bracy was prisoner to a nameless churl."
The Black Knight whispered something into the ear of the vanquished.
"I yield me to be true prisoner, rescue or no rescue," answered the Norman, exchanging his tone of stern and determined obstinacy for one of the deepest submission.
"Go to the barbican," said the victor, in a tone of authority, "and there wait my further orders."
"Yet first, let me say," said De Bracy, "what it imports thee to know. Wilfrid of Ivanhoe is wounded and a prisoner, and will perish in the burning castle without present help."
"Wilfrid of Ivanhoe!" exclaimed the Black Knight—"prisoner, and perish!—the life of every man in the castle shall answer it if a hair of his head be singed—Shew me his chamber."
"Ascend yonder winding stair—it leads to his apartment—Wilt thou not accept my guidance?"
