"Good people, will ye see a lady tousled by knavish street brawlers! What ho—a rescue—a Burton—a Burton—a rescue—ho!"
Her voice rose high above the coarse laughter and chatter of the crowd.
"What's this? Who calls?"
The crowd parted to right and left with screams and imprecations, and on a sudden two horsemen reined up their steeds beside the sisters.
"Back, ye knaves! Unhand the lady!" cried the younger of the two, striking out with his whip at the heads of Rebecca's captors.
Putting up their hands to ward off these blows, the fellows hastily retreated a few steps, leaving Rebecca and Phœbe standing alone.
"What's here!" cried the young man. "God warn us, an it be not fair Mistress Burton herself!"
He leaped from his horse, and with the bridle in one hand and his high-crowned hat in the other, he advanced, bowing toward the sisters.
He was a strongly built young man of middle height. His smooth face, broad brow, and pleasant eyes were lighted up by a happy smile wherein were shown a set of strong white teeth all too rare in the England of his time. His abundant blond hair was cut short on top, but hung down on each side, curling slightly over his ears. He wore a full-skirted, long-sleeved jerkin secured by a long row of many small buttons down the front. A loose lace collar lay flat over his shoulders and chest. His French hose was black, and from the tops of his riding-boots there protruded an edging of white lace.
He wore a long sword with a plain scabbard and hilt, and on his hands were black gloves, well scented.