“Look,” she said; “they have come round during the night, as I feared they would. Now we must cross the path before them or be taken,” and she struck her horse fiercely with a stick she had cut at the stream. Half a mile further on a shout from the great body of men to their right, which was answered by another shout from those behind, told them that they were seen. “On!” said Masouda. “The race will be close.” So they began to gallop their best. Two miles were done, but although that behind was far off, the great cloud of dust to their right grew ever nearer till it seemed as though it must reach the mouth of the mountain pass before them. Then Godwin spoke: “Wulf and Rosamund ride on. Your horses are swift and can outpace them. At the crest of the mountain pass wait a while to breathe the beasts, and see if we come. If not, ride on again, and God be with you.” “Aye,” said Masouda, “ride and head for the Emesa bridge—it can be seen from far—and there yield yourselves to the officers of Salah-ed-din.” They hung back, but in a stern voice Godwin repeated: “Ride, I command you both.” “For Rosamund’s sake, so be it,” answered Wulf. Then he called to Smoke and Flame, and they stretched themselves out upon the sand and passed thence swifter than swallows. Soon Godwin and Masouda, toiling behind, saw them enter the mouth of the pass. “Good,” she said. “Except those of their own breed, there are no horses in Syria that can catch those two. They will come to Emesa, have no fear.” “Who was the man who brought them to us?” asked Godwin, as they galloped side by side, their eyes fixed upon the ever-nearing cloud of dust, in which the spear points sparkled. “My father’s brother—my uncle, as I called him,” she answered. “He is a sheik of the desert, who owns the ancient breed that cannot be bought for gold.” “Then you are not of the Assassins, Masouda?” “No; I may tell you, now that the end seems near. My father was an Arab, my mother a noble Frank, a French woman, whom he found starving in the desert after a fight, and took to his tent and made his wife. The Assassins fell upon us and killed him and her, and captured me as a child of twelve. Afterwards, when I grew older, being beautiful in those days, I was taken to the harem of Sinan, and, although in secret I had been bred up a Christian by my mother, they swore me of his accursed faith. Now you will understand why I hate him so sorely who murdered my father and my mother, and made me what I am; why I hold myself so vile also. Yes, I have been forced to serve as his spy or be killed, who, although he believed me his faithful slave, desired first to be avenged upon him.” “I do not hold you vile,” panted Godwin, as he spurred his labouring steed. “I hold you most noble.”