“Give her up,” answered Godwin, “and go our ways dishonoured?  Aye, with our breath, but not before.  Who then has such urgent need of the lady Rosamund?”

Again there was whispering between the pair.

“My master says,” was the answer, “he thinks that all who see her will have need of her, since such loveliness is rare.  But if you wish a name, well, one comes into his mind; the name of the knight Lozelle.”

“The knight Lozelle!” murmured Rosamund, turning even paler than before, as well she might.  For this Lozelle was a powerful man and Essex-born.  He owned ships of whose doings upon the seas and in the East evil tales were told, and once had sought Rosamund’s hand in marriage, but being rejected, uttered threats for which Godwin, as the elder of the twins, had fought and wounded him.  Then he vanished—­none knew where.

“Is Sir Hugh Lozelle here then?” asked Godwin, “masked like you common cowards?  If so, I desire to meet him, to finish the work I began in the snow last Christmas twelvemonths.”

“Find that out if you can,” answered the tall man.  But Wulf said, speaking low between his clenched teeth: 

“Brother, I see but one chance.  We must place Rosamund between us and charge them.”

The captain of the band seemed to read their thoughts, for again he whispered into the ear of his companion, who called out: 

“My master says that if you try to charge, you will be fools, since we shall stab and ham-string your horses, which are too good to waste, and take you quite easily as you fall.  Come then, yield, as you can do without shame, seeing there is no escape, and that two men, however brave, cannot stand against a crowd.  He gives you one minute to surrender.”

Now Rosamund spoke for the first time.

“My cousins,” she said, “I pray you not to let me fall living into the hands of Sir Hugh Lozelle, or of yonder men, to be taken to what fate I know not.  Let Godwin kill me, then, to save my honour, as but now he said he would to save my soul, and strive to cut your way through, and live to avenge me.”

The brethren made no answer, only they looked at the water and then at one another, and nodded.  It was Godwin who spoke again, for now that it had come to this struggle for life and their lady, Wulf, whose tongue was commonly so ready, had grown strangely silent, and fierce-faced also.

“Listen, Rosamund, and do not turn your eyes,” said Godwin.  “There is but one chance for you, and, poor as it is, you must choose between it and capture, since we cannot kill you.  The grey horse you ride is strong and true.  Turn him now, and spur into the water of Death Creek and swim it.  It is broad, but the incoming tide will help you, and perchance you will not drown.”

Rosamund listened and moved her head backwards towards the boat.  Then Wulf spoke—­few words and sharp:  “Begone, girl! we guard the boat.”