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Everybody looked around and searched for Ivanhoe, but he was not there. Somebody said that a Jew asked to see him and after a short talk, Ivanhoe left the castle.

“My beautiful cousin, Rowena…” said Athelstane, but Rowena was not there either! The situation was terribly embarrassing for her, and while Athelstan was looking for Ivanhoe, she escaped from the room.

“Certainly,” said Athelstane, “these grave-clothes have a spell on them, every one runs from me. To you I turn, noble King Richard…”

But King Richard was gone also! He went to talk to the Jew who had spoken with Ivanhoe, then he demanded a horse and rode away.

“I swear!” said Athelstane, “Every one I speak to disappears as soon as they hear my voice! Come, my friends, let us go and eat before our supper disappears as well!”

* * *

Our scene returns to the exterior of the Preceptory of Templestowe, about the hour when the bloody die was to be cast for the life or death of Rebecca. Many people came to watch the event.

This enclosure was formed on a piece of level ground adjoining to the Preceptory, which had been levelled with care, for the exercise of military and chivalrous sports.

A throne was erected for the Grand Master at the east end, surrounded with seats of distinction for the Preceptors and Knights of the Order.

At the opposite end of the lists a stake was prepared for burning the supposed witch.

The heavy bell of the church of Saint Michael of Templestowe gave the signal for the approaching ceremony.

The unfortunate Rebecca was conducted to the black chair placed near the stake. The Grand Master took his seat, and a herald announced, “Here stands the good Knight, Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, ready to do battle with any knight of free blood, who will be a champion for this Rebecca.” The trumpets sounded, and there was a pause for many minutes.

“No champion appears for her,” said the Grand Master. “But we will wait until noon.”

During this awful pause, Rebecca heard the voice of Bois-Guilbert, who came close by her side.

“Sit on my horse and we will ride far away. I will make you my queen and with my lance and sword I will win you a kingdom.”

“Go away,” said Rebecca, “you are my enemy, cruel, hard-hearted man!”

At this instant a knight appeared on the plain advancing towards the lists. A hundred voices exclaimed, “A champion! a champion!” But the knight’s horse, urged for many miles to its utmost speed, seemed to fall from fatigue, and the rider seemed weak or tired.

The knight said to the herald, “I am Wilfred of Ivanhoe, a good knight and noble, come here to defend with lance and sword the just and lawful maiden Rebecca, daughter of Isaac of York; to prove the judgment pronounced against her to be false, and to announce that Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert is a traitor, murderer, and liar; as I will prove in this field with my body against his, by the aid of God. Does the Grand Master allow me the combat?”