" "Yea," said he, "and who is thy mistress?"
Said the damsel: "She is the Lady of the Burnt Rock;
and I fear me that these men are of the Riders of Utterbol;
and then will it go hard with her; for there is naught but hatred
betwixt my lord her husband and the tyrant of Utterbol."
Said Ralph: "And how many were they?" "O but three,
fair sir, but three," she said; "and thou so fair and strong,
like the war-god himself."
Ralph laughed: "Three to one is long odds," quoth he, "but I will come
with thee when thou hast let go my hands so that I may mount my horse.
But wilt thou not ride behind me, fair damsel; so wearied and spent
as thou wilt be by thy night."
She looked on him curiously, and laid a hand on his breast,
and the hauberk rings tinkled beneath the broidered surcoat;
then she said: "Nay, I had best go afoot before thee,
so disarrayed as I am."
Then she let him go, but followed him still with her eyes as he gat
him into the saddle. She walked on beside his horse's head;
and Ralph marvelled of her that for all her haste she had been in,
she went somewhat leisurely, picking her way daintily so as to tread
the smooth, and keep her feet from the rough.
Thus they went on, into the thicket and through it, and the damsel put
the thorns and briars aside daintily as she stepped, and went slower still
till they came to a pleasant place of oak-trees with greensward beneath them;
and then she stopped, and turning, faced Ralph, and spoke with another
voice than heretofore, whereas there was naught rueful or whining therein,
but somewhat both of glee and of mocking as it seemed.
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