"Do not fear," I whispered: "there be but three, and they are wellnigh drunk. If the worst comes to the worst I will fight them all—and meanwhile you can escape."
I felt her shiver, even while her fingers gripped my arm still more tightly. Brave as she was, she was still a woman, who shrank from being brought into contact with brutal and profane men.
"Do not leave me if you can help it," she whispered, and then she seemed to master herself, and we walked boldly towards them.
"Good morrow," said one of the men.
"Good morrow," I replied.
"And whither go you?"
"That is my business."
"Ay, and mine too. Know you I am a constable and carry a truncheon? Come, tell me who you are."
"Ay, and let the wench show us her face," said another.
"Ay, and let her give us a kiss," said the third.