"What is it—who are they whom you flee?" asked the young knight, as he came to Phœbe's side.
"Men seeking thee, Guy—for reward! There is a price on thy head, dear. For high treason! Oh, may God aid us this night!"
"High treason!" he exclaimed. Then, after a pause, he continued, in a stern voice:
"How many be they?"
"Two."
Sir Guy laughed in evident relief.
"But two! By my troth, why should we fear them, sweetheart?" he said. "An I be not a match for four of these scurvy rascals, call me not knight!"
"Alas—alas!" cried Phœbe, in alarm, as she saw Sir Guy slacken his pace. "Stay not to fight, Guy. Urge on—urge on! The whole countryside is awake. How, then, canst thou better thee by fighting two? Nay, on—on!" and she spurred again, beckoning him after with an imperious hand.
He yielded to her reasoning, and soon reached her side again.
"We must to London Bridge, Guy," Phœbe said. "Know you a way back thither?"