At this I laughed too, for now I realized that she was dressed in the attire of a gallant, the which I had not noticed at first, seeing that she wore a long cloak. She did not seem to have a vestige of fear, and I knew by the tone of her voice that her heart was light, even in spite of all she had passed through. Presently we came to a lonely spot, and then I allowed the man who had been shouting at us to stop to overtake us. It was but the work of a moment. The man was no swordsman, neither was he prepared for my attack. In truth, I believe he expected to find only Constance, so heedlessly did he ride up. As it was, he fell to the ground stunned and helpless. In less time than it takes me to tell, Constance had leaped on to the man's horse, and we were soon galloping side by side towards London. "They cannot catch us now," she laughed. "Why do you think so?" "Because I have the better horse. The man who rode this left the other far behind." After this we spoke not for some time, but rode steadily on. "You are not afraid, Constance?" "Not with you," she replied, and my heart burned with joy at the sound of her voice. Now and then as we passed into an open space I saw that the feather of her hat waved in the wind, and that the cloak slipped from her shoulders, revealing the gay attire she wore. "I'faith, you make a pretty man," I said. "Do I ride like one, Roland?" "Ay, and you ride like one, too. In truth, so well do you ride that I would e'en like a kiss to assure myself that thou art not some gay gallant who hath come riding with me." Again we dashed on, until when morning came we had wellnigh reached Barnet, and here I deemed it well to turn aside and make my way through the village of Enfield instead of keeping nearer London. Here we stopped and breakfasted while the horses were fed and groomed. No one cast suspicious eyes upon us, for in truth Constance might have passed as my younger brother, so bravely did she carry herself. Not even the maid of whom Will Shakespeare wrote in the play _As You Like It_, looked half as sweet and charming as she. "I would call you Rosalind, only Will's heroine was not half so fair as thee, neither was she half so brave," I laughed as we breakfasted together in the inn. I saw her lip quiver at this, and the tears well up into her eyes; and then I felt that, although she was as brave as any man--nay, braver than any man I ever knew--she was still a woman. I saw that, while she was fearless and bold in the face of danger, she became trembling and fearful now that the danger was over. Perchance, too, she remembered her father's fate, and thought of her own lonely condition. But that was only for a minute, for her eyes had neither tears nor sorrow in them as they looked up into mine and told me of her love.