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- Вальтер Скотт
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- Стр. 302/364
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No
censer
round
our
altar
beams
,
And
mute
our
timbrel
,
trump
,
and
horn
.
But
THOU
hast
said
,
the
blood
of
goat
,
The
flesh
of
rams
,
I
will
not
prize
;
A
contrite
heart
,
and
humble
thought
,
Are
mine
accepted
sacrifice
.
When
the
sounds
of
Rebecca
's
devotional
hymn
had
died
away
in
silence
,
the
low
knock
at
the
door
was
again
renewed
.
"
Enter
,
"
she
said
,
"
if
thou
art
a
friend
;
and
if
a
foe
,
I
have
not
the
means
of
refusing
thy
entrance
.
"
"
I
am
,
"
said
Brian
de
Bois-Guilbert
,
entering
the
apartment
,
"
friend
or
foe
,
Rebecca
,
as
the
event
of
this
interview
shall
make
me
.
"
Alarmed
at
the
sight
of
this
man
,
whose
licentious
passion
she
considered
as
the
root
of
her
misfortunes
,
Rebecca
drew
backward
with
a
cautious
and
alarmed
,
yet
not
a
timorous
demeanour
,
into
the
farthest
corner
of
the
apartment
,
as
if
determined
to
retreat
as
far
as
she
could
,
but
to
stand
her
ground
when
retreat
became
no
longer
possible
.
She
drew
herself
into
an
attitude
not
of
defiance
,
but
of
resolution
,
as
one
that
would
avoid
provoking
assault
,
yet
was
resolute
to
repel
it
,
being
offered
,
to
the
utmost
of
her
power
.
"
You
have
no
reason
to
fear
me
,
Rebecca
,
"
said
the
Templar
;
"
or
if
I
must
so
qualify
my
speech
,
you
have
at
least
NOW
no
reason
to
fear
me
.
"
