“I do not hold you vile,” panted Godwin, as he spurred his labouring steed.  “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; but they would not.  He stormed at them, but they replied:  “Nay, we will die together.”

Masouda looked at the horses Flame and Smoke, which seemed but little troubled.

“So be it,” she said; “they have carried double before, and must again.  Mount in front of the lady, Sir Godwin; and, Sir Wulf, give me your hand, and you will learn what this breed can do.”