I hold you most noble."

"I rejoice to hear it before we die," she answered, looking him
in the eyes in such a fashion that he dropped his head before her
burning gaze, "who hold you dear, Sir Godwin, for whose sake I
have dared these things, although I am nought to you. Nay, speak
not; the lady Rosamund has told me all that story--except its
answer."

Now they were off the sand over which they had been racing side
by side, and beginning to breast the mountain slope, nor was
Godwin sorry that the clatter of their horses' hoofs upon the
stones prevented further speech between them. So far they had
outpaced the Assassins, who had a longer and a rougher road to
travel; but the great cloud of dust was not seven hundred yards
away, and in front of it, shaking their spears, rode some of the
best mounted of their soldiers.

"These horses still have strength; they are better than I thought
them," cried Masouda. "They will not gain on us across the
mountains, but afterwards--"

For the next league they spoke no more, who must keep their
horses from falling as they toiled up the steep path. At length
they reached the crest, and there, on the very top of it, saw
Wulf and Rosamund standing by Flame and Smoke.

"They rest," Godwin said, then he shouted, "Mount! mount! The foe
is close."

So they climbed to their saddles again, and, all four of them
together began to descend the long slope that stretched to the
plain two leagues beneath. Far off across this plain ran a broad
silver streak, beyond which from that height they could see the
walls of a city.

"The Orontes!" cried Masouda. "Cross that, and we are safe." But
Godwin looked first at his horse, then at Masouda, and shook his
head.

Well might he do so, for, stout-hearted as they were, the beasts
were much distressed that had galloped so far without drawing
rein. Down the steep road they plunged, panting; indeed at times
it was hard to keep them on their feet.

"They will reach the plain--no more," said Godwin, and Masouda
nodded.

The descent was almost done, and not a mile behind them the
white-robed Assassins streamed endlessly. Godwin plied his spurs
and Masouda her whip, although with little hope, for they knew
that the end was near. Down the last declivity they rushed, till
suddenly, as they reached its foot, Masouda's horse reeled,
stopped, and sank to the ground, while Godwin's pulled up beside
it.

"Ride on!" he cried to Rosamund and Wulf in front;