With a graceful gesture, Sir Guy invited Phœbe to approach his horse. She obeyed, and stepping upon his hand found herself instantly seated before his saddle. She seemed to find the seat familiar, and her heart beat with a pleasure she could scarce explain when, a moment later, the handsome cavalier swung into place behind her and put one arm about her waist to steady her.
Rebecca started forward, terror-stricken.
"Phœbe—Phœbe!" she cried. "Ye wouldn't leave me here!"
"Nay—nay!" said a gruff but kindly voice at her side. "Here, gi'e us your hand, dame, step on my foot, and up behind you go."
Sir Guy's horse was turning to go, and in her panic Rebecca awaited no second bidding, but scrambled quickly though clumsily to a seat behind the serving-man.
They were all four soon free of the crowd and out of danger, thanks to the universal respect for rank and the essential good nature of the May-day gathering.
The horses assumed an easy ambling gait, a sort of single step which was far more comfortable than Rebecca had feared she would find it.
The relief of deliverance from the rude mob behind her gave Rebecca courage, and she gazed about with some interest.
On either side of the street the houses, which hitherto had stood apart with gardens and orchards between them, were now set close together, with the wide eaves of their sharp gables touching over narrow and dark alleyways. The architecture was unlike anything she had ever seen, the walls being built with the beams showing outside and the windows of many small diamond-shaped panes.
They had only proceeded a few yards when Rebecca saw the glint of sunbeams on water before them and found that they were approaching a great square tower, surmounted by numberless poles bearing formless round masses at their ends.