dy
there!'

"'It is the Signet that he must have sent, sure enough,' the
captain said again, 'to disobey which is death.'

"'Yes, open, open,' whispered his companions.

"So they opened, though doubtfully, and we entered, and I barred
the door behind us. Then, to be short, through the darkness of
the tower basement, guiding ourselves by the wall, we crept to
the entrance of that way of which I know the secret. Ay, and
along all its length and through the rock door of escape at the
end of which I set so that none can turn it, save skilled masons
with their tools, and into the cave where we found you. It was no
great matter, having the Signet, although without the Signet it
had not been possible to-night, when every gate is guarded."

"No great matter!" gasped Rosamund. "Oh, Godwin and Wulf! if you
could know how she thought of and made ready everything; if you
could have seen how all those cruel men glared at us, searching
out our very souls! If you could have heard how high she answered
them, waving that ring before their eyes and bidding them to obey
its presence, or to die!"

"Which they surely have done by now," broke in Masouda quietly,
"though I do not pity them, who were wicked. Nay; thank me not; I
have done what I promised to do, neither less nor more, and--I
love danger and a high stake. Tell us your story, Sir Godwin."

So, seated there on the grass in the darkness, he told them of
their mad ride and of the slaying of the guards, while Rosamund
raised her hands and thanked Heaven for its mercies, and that
they were without those accursed walls.

"You may be within them again before sunset," said Masouda
grimly.

"Yes," answered Wulf, "but not alive. Now what plan have you? To
ride for the coast towns?"

"No," replied Masouda; "at least not straight, since to do so we
must pass through the country of the Assassins, who by this day's
light will be warned to watch for us. We must ride through the
desert mountain lands to Emesa, many miles away, and cross the
Orontes there, then down into Baalbec, and so back to Beirut."

"Emesa?" said Godwin. "Why Saladin holds that place, and of
Baalbec the lady Rosamund is princess."

"Which is best?" asked Masouda shortly. "That she should fall
into the hands of Salah-ed-din, or back into those of the master
of the Assassins? Choose which you wish."

"I choose Salah-ed-din," broke in Rosamund, "for at least he is
my uncle, and will do me no wrong." Nor, knowi