The　King　bent　and　reeled　back；　the　besiegers　were　dismayed；　the
  garrison　and　the　Count　of　Chalus　set　up　a　shout　of　triumph：　but　it
  was　premature。
  As　quick　as　thought　Ivanhoe　was　into　the　Count　with　a　thrust　in
  tierce；　which　took　him　just　at　the　joint　of　the　armor；　and　ran　him
  through　as　clean　as　a　spit　does　a　partridge。　　Uttering　a　horrid
  shriek；　he　fell　back　writhing；　the　King　recovering　staggered　up　the
  parapet；　the　rush　of　knights　followed；　and　the　union…jack　was
  planted　triumphantly　on　the　walls；　just　as　Ivanhoe；but　we　must
  leave　him　for　a　moment。
  〃Ha；　St。　Richard！ha；　St。　George！〃　the　tremendous　voice　of　the
  Lion…king　was　heard　over　the　loudest　roar　of　the　onset。　　At　every
  sweep　of　his　blade　a　severed　head　flew　over　the　parapet；　a　spouting
  trunk　tumbled；　bleeding；　on　the　flags　of　the　bartizan。　　The　world
  hath　never　seen　a　warrior　equal　to　that　Lion…hearted　Plantagenet；
  as　he　raged　over　the　keep；　his　eyes　flashing　fire　through　the　bars
  of　his　morion；　snorting　and　chafing　with　the　hot　lust　of　battle。
  One　by　one　les　enfans　de　Chalus　had　fallen；　there　was　only　one　left
  at　last　of　all　the　brave　race　that　had　fought　round　the　gallant
  Count：only　one；　and　but　a　boy；　a　fair…haired　boy；　a　blue…eyed
  boy！　he　had　been　gathering　pansies　in　the　fields　but　yesterdayit
  was　but　a　few　years；　and　he　was　a　baby　in　his　mother's　arms！　　What
  could　his　puny　sword　do　against　the　most　redoubted　blade　in
  Christendom？and　yet　Bohemond　faced　the　great　champion　of　England；
  and　met　him　foot　to　foot！　　Turn　away；　turn　away；　my　dear　young
  friends　and　kind…hearted　ladies！　　Do　not　look　at　that　ill…fated
  poor　boy！　his　blade　is　crushed　into　splinters　under　the　axe　of　the
  conqueror；　and　the　poor　child　is　beaten　to　his　knee！　。　。　。
  〃Now；　by　St。　Barbacue　of　Limoges；〃　said　Bertrand　de　Gourdon；　〃the
  butcher　will　never　strike　down　yonder　lambling！　　Hold　thy　hand；　Sir
  King；　or；　by　St。　Barbacue〃
  Swift　as　thought　the　veteran　archer　raised　his　arblast　to　his
  shoulder；　the　whizzing　bolt　fled　from　the　ringing　string；　and　the
  next　moment　crashed　quivering　into　the　corselet　of　Plantagenet。
  'Twas　a　luckless　shot；　Bertrand　of　Gourdon！　　Maddened　by　the　pain
  of　the　wound；　the　brute　nature　of　Richard　was　aroused：　his　fiendish
  appetite　for　blood　rose　to　madness；　and　grinding　his　teeth；　and
  with　a　curse　too　horrible　to　mention；　the　flashing　axe　of　the　royal
  butcher　fell　down　on　the　blond　ringlets　of　the　child；　and　the
  children　of　Chalus　were　no　more！　。　。　。
  I　just　throw　this　off　by　way　of　description；　and　to　show　what　MIGHT
  be　done　if　I　chose　to　indulge　in　this　style　of　composition；　but　as
  in　the　battles　which　are　described　by　the　kindly　chronicler；　of　one
  of　whose　works　this　present　masterpiece　is　professedly　a
  continuation；　everything　passes　off　agreeablythe　people　are
  slain；　but　without　any　unpleasant　sensation　to　the　reader；　nay；
  some　of　the　most　savage　and　blood…stained　characters　of　history；
  such　is　the　indomitable　good…humor　of　the　great　novelist；　become
  amiable；　jovial　companions；　for　whom　one　has　a　hearty　sympathyso；
  if　you　please；　we　will　have　this　fighting　business　at　Chalus；　and
  the　garrison　and　honest　Bertrand　of　Gourdon；　disposed　of；　the
  former；　according　to　the　usage　of　the　good　old　times；　having　been
  hung　up　or　murdered　to　a　man；　and　the　latter　killed　in　the　manner
  described　by　the　late　Dr。　Goldsmith　in　his　History。
  As　for　the　Lion…hearted；　we　all　very　well　know　that　the　shaft　of
  Bertrand　de　Gourdon　put　an　end　to　the　royal　heroand　that　from
  that　29th　of　March　he　never　robbed　nor　murdered　any　more。　　And　we
  have　legends　in　recondite　books　of　the　manner　of　the　King's　death。
  〃You　must　die；　my　son；〃　said　the　venerable　Walter　of　Rouen；　as
  Berengaria　was　carried　shrieking　from　the　King's　tent。　　〃Repent；
  Sir　King；　and　separate　yourself　from　your　children！〃
  〃It　is　ill　jesting　with　a　dying　man；〃　replied　the　King。　　〃Children
  have　I　none；　my　good　lord　bishop；　to　inherit　after　me。〃
  〃Richard　of　England；〃　said　the　archbishop；　turning　up　his　fine
  eyes；　〃your　vices　are　your　children。　　Ambition　is　your　eldest
  child；　Cruelty　is　your　second　child；　Luxury　is　your　third　child；
  and　you　have　nourished　them　from　your　youth　up。　　Separate　yourself
  from　these　sinful　ones；　and　prepare　your　soul；　for　the　hour　of
  departure　draweth　nigh。〃
  Violent；　wicked；　sinful；　as　he　might　have　been；　Richard　of　England
  met　his　death　like　a　Christian　man。　　Peace　be　to　the　soul　of　the
  brave！　　When　the　news　came　to　King　Philip　of　France；　he　sternly
  forbade　his　courtiers　to　rejoice　at　the　death　of　his　enemy。　　〃It　is
  no　matter　of　joy　but　of　dolor；〃　he　said；　〃that　the　bulwark　of
  Christendom　and　the　bravest　king　of　Europe　is　no　more。〃
  Meanwhile　what　has　become　of　Sir　Wilfrid　of　Ivanhoe；　whom　we　left
  in　the　act　of　rescuing　his　sovereign　by　running　the　Count　of　Chalus
  through　the　body？
  As　the　good　knight　stooped　down　to　pick　his　sword　out　of　the　corpse
  of　his　fallen　foe；　some　one　coming　behind　him　suddenly　thrust　a
  dagger　into　his　back　at　a　place　where　his　shirt…of…mail　was　open
  （for　Sir　Wilfrid　had　armed　that　morning　in　a　hurry；　and　it　was　his
  breast；　not　his　back；　that　he　was　accustomed　ordinarily　to　protect）；
  and　when　poor　Wamba　came　up　on　the　rampart；　which　he　did　when　the
  fighting　was　over；being　such　a　fool　that　he　could　not　be　got　to
  thrust　his　head　into　danger　for　glory's　sakehe　found　his　dear
  knight　with　the　dagger　in　his　back　lying　without　life　upon　the　body
  of　the　Count　de　Chalus　whom　he　had　anon　slain。
  Ah；　what　a　howl　poor　Wamba　set　up　when　he　found　his　master　killed！
  How　he　lamented　over　the　corpse　of　that　noble　knight　and　friend！
  What　mattered　it　to　him　that　Richard　the　King　was　borne　wounded　to
  his　tent；　and　that　Bertrand　de　Gourdon　was　flayed　alive？　　At
  another　time　the　sight　of　this　spectacle　might　have　amused　the
  simple　knave；　but　now　all　his　thoughts　were　of　his　lord：　so　good；
  so　gentle；　so　kind；　so　loyal；　so　frank　with　the　great；　so　tender　to
  the　poor；　so　truthful　of　speech；　so　modest　regarding　his　own　merit；
  so　true　a　gentleman；　in　a　word；　that　anybody　might；　with　reason；
  deplore　him。
  As　Wamba　opened　the　dear　knight's　corselet；　he　found　a　locket　round
  his　neck；　in　which　there　was　some　hair；　not　flaxen　like　that　of　my
  Lady　Rowena；　who　was　almost　as　fair　as　an　Albino；　but　as　black；
  Wamba　thought；　as　the　locks　of　the　Jewish　maiden　whom　the　knight
  had　rescued　in　the　lists　of　Templestowe。　　A　bit　of　Rowena's　hair
  was　in　Sir　Wilfrid's　possession；　too；　but　that　was　in　his　purse
  along　with　his　seal　of　arms；　and　a　couple　of　groats：　for　the　good
  knight　never　kept　any　money；　so　generous　was　he　of　his　largesses
  when　money　came　in。
  Wamba　took　the　purse；　and　seal；　and　groats；　but　he　left　the　locket
  of　hair　round　his　master's　neck；　and　when　he　returned　to　England
  never　said　a　word　about　the　circumstance。　　After　all；　how　should　he
  know　whose　hair　it　was？　　It　might　have　been　the　knight's
  grandmother's　hair　for　aught　the　fool　knew；　so　he　kept　his　counsel
  when　he　brought　back　the　sad　news　and　tokens　to　the　disconsolate
  widow　at　Rotherwood。
  The　poor　fellow　would　never　have　left　the　body　at　all；　and　indeed
  sat　by　it　all　night；　and　until　the　gray　of　the　morning；　when；
  seeing　two　suspicious…looking　characters　advancing　towards　him；　he
  fled　in　dismay；　supposing　that　they　were　marauders　who　were　out
  searching　for　booty　among　the　dead　bodies；　and　having　not　the　least
  courage；　he　fled　from　these；　and　tumbled　down　the　breach；　and　never
  stopped　running　as　fast　as　his　legs　would　carry　him；　until　he
  reached　the　tent　of　his　late　beloved　master。
  The　news　of　the　knight's　demise；　it　appeared；　had　been　known　at　his
  quarters　long　before；　for　his　servants　were　gone；　and　had　ridden
  off　on　his　horses；　his　chests　were　plundered：　there　was　not　so　much
  as　a　shirt…collar　left　in　his　drawers；　and　the　very　bed　and
  blankets　had　been　carried　away　by　these　FAITHFUL　attendants。　　Who
  had　slain　Ivanhoe？　　That　remains　a　mystery　to　the　present　day；　but
  Roger　de　Backbite；　whose　nose　he　had　pulled　for　defamation；　and　who
  was　behind　him　in　the　assault　at　Chalus；　was　seen　two　years
  afterwards　at　the　court　of　King　John　in　an　embroidered　velvet
  waistcoat　which　Rowena　could　have　sworn　she　had　worked　for　Ivanhoe；
  and　about　which　the　widow　would　have　made　some　little　noise；　but
  thatbut　that　she　was　no　longer　a　widow。
  That　she　truly　deplored　the　death　of　her　lord　cannot　be　questioned；
  for　she　ordered　the　deepest　mourning　which　any　milliner　in　York
  could　supply；　and　erected　a　monument　to　his　memory　as　big　as　a
  minster。　　But　she　was　a　lady　of　such　fine　principles；　that　she　did
  not　allow　her　grief　to　overmaster　her；　and　an　opportunity　speedily
  arising　for　uniting　the　two　best　Saxon　families　in　England；　by　an
  alliance　between　herself　and　the　gentleman　who　offered　himself　to
  her；　Rowena　sacrificed　her　inclination　to　remain　single；　to　her
  sense　of　duty；　and　contracted　a　second　matrim